One White Unicorn

Chapters

Chapter 2: Manor
Chapter 3: Symptoms
Chapter 4: Daytime
Chapter 5: Relics
Chapter 7: Violence
Chapter 8: Secrets
Chapter 9: Recovery
Chapter 10: Watched
Chapter 11: Baroness
Chapter 12: A Murderer
Chapter 13: Bath
Chapter 14: Unicorn
Chapter 15: The White Queen
Chapter 1: Arrival
Chapter 6: Mistress and Servants

Chapter 2: Manor

To Sweetie Belle, the walk was actually quite enjoyable. The scenery surrounding the De’Lis castle and manor were actually quite impressive. Most of the area consisted of farms, most of which seemed to be growing coarse vegetables like potatoes various Old-World grains, as well as a few anemic looking fields of cabbage. There were a few ponies in those fields, and they would usually only glare at Rarity and Sweetie Belle as they passed, although a few spoke to each other in hushed tones.

There were few buildings outside of the three main village sections. Sweetie Belle noticed a few windmills, although they had fallen into disrepair and no longer turned despite the chilly wind from the east. A couple of trees were present, seemingly the remnants of ancient windbreaks. They had since become massive and gnarled, their bodies rotting and dying from old age as they loomed over the flat and empty fields.

The walk was not nearly as enjoyable for Rarity. She did not seem to be able to appreciate the scenery, and as a mare of fashion with a career that did not require any continuous outdoor activity, she tired extremely easily. As the land ceased to become flat and the dirt road became more inclined, Sweetie Belle noticed that Rarity was beginning to fall behind: she seemed to be developing a limp in one of her rear legs.

“Rarity, are you okay?”

Rarity looked at Sweetie Belle, and tried to smile, but instead her eyes welled up with tears. Then she burst into all-out weeping. “I’m SWEATING!” she wailed.

Sweetie Belle rolled her eyes. “It’s not that much farther.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Sweetie Belle pointed at the large hill that occupied the center of the manor. “It’s up there.”

Rarity slowly looked up, the momentary look of relief on her face fading very quickly. “Up…there?”

“Yeah. Where else would it be?”

“Somewhere more…level.” Rarity sighed. “Can you carry me?”

“No,” said Sweetie Belle.

“Pleeeeaaasee…” whined Rarity.

“What, are you too old to make it up on your own? A little arthritic, maybe?”

Rarity’s eyes suddenly narrowed, and Sweetie Belle took a step back. She had not expected to see that look on her sister’s face. She had been joking, after all, because that was what sisters did- -but Rarity looked genuinely angry, and Sweetie Belle instinctively moved out of hoof striking distance.

“I’m not OLD,” said Rarity, passing Sweetie Belle and bumping her hard, nearly knocking her over. “It’s simply not ladylike to have to climb hills. If I keep up all this exercise, I’ll end up looking like Applejack. And then how will I ever get a date?”

The climb was more difficult than Rarity had anticipated, but she forced herself to keep going despite the pain in her leg and how out of breath she was becoming. All the while she regretted having tried to take so much luggage with her. She had not realized that Fleur lived on a hill.

After a half hour of walking, though, the castle became visible. Rarity had expected that it would give her the impetus she needed to make it the rest of the way, but upon seeing it she was resoundingly disappointed. The crown of the hill was surrounded by a crumbling, ancient stone wall that looked like something out of an ancient ruin. She had expected something more modern, and was briefly consumed by a fear that this would turn out to indeed be a “dusty, drafty, dark, drab, decrepit” locale.

This dread was not assuaged even as the rocky, scrub-covered land began to level out near a crumbling section of the wall where a mighty gate had apparently once resided. The gate had long-since been removed, or at this castle’s age even rotted away to nothing, leaving only a gaping square hole.

“Oh dear,” said Rarity. “This is…”

“Antique?” suggested Sweetie Belle.

Rarity grumbled, saying a few words that she doubted Sweetie Belle was allowed to hear at her age. Sweetie Belle, of course, heard them, and not for the first time. They were an extensive part of Scootaloo’s vocabulary.

Sweetie Belle followed her sister into the castle, but momentarily hesitated. She was not sure why, but she suddenly felt cold. It was probably because of the wind, which was stronger on top of the hill and still carried the chill of winter despite it being spring, and Sweetie Belle did her best to dismiss it as such. Something felt wrong, though, as if she did not want to enter that castle, and she found herself shivering and afraid, even though she did not know why.

“Sweetie Belle?” said Rarity, sounding somewhat annoyed.

“I’m coming,” said Sweetie Belle, overcoming her hesitation and following her sister into the ruin.

As it turned out, though, it was not a ruin at all. The outside hill was dry and rocky, covered with the remains of the crumbling wall as it slowly fell apart. The inside, though, formed a level plateau that showed signs of being maintained with great care.

All around them were extensive formal gardens. They were laid out perfectly, with tall, well-spaced trees and hedges. Tall, ancient yews stood against fields and paths that broke off and were only visible from the main pathway in passing, leaving them dark and mysterious.

And it was that mysteriousness that made Sweetie Belle feel even more uncomfortable. The shapes of these trees and the way they connected to the ground, rarifying the dirt with their gnarled roots, indicated that they were incrediably old. Not just the trees, but the garden itself. These trees, shrubs, and flowers had been maintained for decades or even centuries, and the stone paths were well-worn cobblestones formed from the same type of stone that made the walls, which were far less poorly maintained on the inside and tended to be covered with well-manicured displays of various dark-leaved vines.

The extensiveness of the plantings made their surroundings seem suddenly darker, aided by the fact that the chill air suddenly seemed to be accompanied by gray, overcast skies. The sun, likewise, was far to one side of the sky, and the shadow of the wall was already growing long over the part of the garden nearest to it.

The path was long, and Sweetie Belle felt more and more nervous as they slowly curved through it toward the central part of the castle, which was itself obscured by the trees and by the curious curving style of the main path. As strange as she felt, she could not stop herself from going forward. Even though almost nothing was in bloom, the plants around her were beautiful: ominous like the Everfree Forest, but at the same time clearly maintained in precise form in accordance with gardening traditions that had long-since died out before colonists had even reached the Canterlot Region of Equestria.

There were no ponies, though, or at least that was what Sweetie Belle thought. She almost jumped when she actually saw one: an all-white Pegasus with long, dark hair tied into braids. The Pegasus was carefully watering a stone planter of spindly, strange looking plants. Sweetie Belle smiled at her, but the older mare just narrowed her eyes and glared at the pair of them, muttering something in her own language through the watering can handle in her teeth.

Sweetie Belle decided that the Pegasus gardener was not in a good mood- -probably from having to do so much work to maintain such an extensive display- -and Sweetie Belle elected to leave her alone. As she did, she caught a glimpse of a second pony, but only for a brief moment. Far through the trees and displays, she saw a stunning artificial pond. A white-coated unicorn with a white mane stared back at her with strangely empty, gray eyes, and smiled at her. Sweetie Belle was so taken aback from his appearance even at a distance that she almost stopped, or would have if the center of the castle had not come into view.

Its presence was so astounding that both Sweetie Belle and Rarity stopped in speechlessness. Even Sweetie Belle had been expecting some kind of decaying ruin, but instead found herself facing a stunning Romanesque building. The front portion was long and multi-leveled. It’s thick stone walls were dotted with many windows, and it looked nearly modern- -but behind it seemed to sit the remainder of the building, or a second one completely: a massive structure with a number of thick, soaring towers and round walls. Unlike the outer wall, they had been perfectly maintained- -or even reconstructed in modern times from the look of them. To Sweetie Belle, the front building looked like a mansion greater than any she had ever seen, and the rear like something out of a storybook.

“Oh wow,” whispered Rarity.

Sweetie Belle turned to her sister. “I didn’t know your friend was this rich!”

“Neither…neither did I…”

The two of them approached the castle. Outside of the front building, several tall trees were planted. Unlike the other darker trees, these were covered completely in pure white flowers that slowly wafted in the breeze, and they had been assembled in a neat row so as to not grow over the building’s windows.

Sweetie Belle though these trees were beautiful- -until she got close. She immediately wrinkled her nose, and then clapped her hoof over it. The trees, as beautiful as they were, stunk, and badly. They smelled like something that had rotted underwater for a long time.

The only motion was the blowing of the trees, and the pedals of their beautiful but dying flowers as they slowly fell to the ground. There were no ponies, or workers of any kind. Nopony to meet them, nor any ponies at all.

“Well,” said Rarity, her voice betraying the fact that she was feeling not unlike the sensation that Sweetie Belle was feeling. “I suppose…we should go in?”

“I’m not so sure I want to.”

“I’m certainly not going to stay out here,” snapped Rarity, trotting toward the building excitedly. “Or do you think it is haunted, perhaps?”

“No,” said Sweetie Belle, annoyed by the mocking tone of her sister’s voice. She not help but remember a strange story that she had once heard from Diamond Tiara about a strange house in the distant desert, and what was lurking inside.

Then, for just a moment, Sweetie Belle though that she was being proven right as the grand front door swung open just before Rarity could reach it and she saw a single green eye staring back at them from inside.

Sweetie Belle and Rarity both cried out in fright, only to seconds later feel like identical fools. The pony facing them was a tall white earth-pony dressed in a butler uniform. His golden hair was tied back behind his head, and the reason that Sweetie Belle and Rarity had only seen one eye was because the other was covered with an eyepatch.

Despite this threatening appearance, he smiled kindly if a little sheepishly. He was not much older than Rarity, if not even younger.

“Hello!” he said, doing his best to conceal his rustic accent. He stepped back and gestured for them to enter. “You must be Rarity. And your…daughter?”

Rarity gave him the most crushing glare that Sweetie Belle had ever witnessed, and the color drained from his already white face. “Sister,” said Rarity through gritted teeth.

“My- -my apologies!” He said. “It’s just that- -you look so alike- -and you being such a stunning mare, I assumed you were married and- -”

“Keep digging,” said Sweetie Belle.

The stallion blubbered for a moment, and then stopped suddenly. He closed his eyes and bowed deeply. “Mistress Rarity, I am so sorry,” he said. “I can see I have offended you, and to have this be your first impression of De’Lis ancestral estate…it is simply intolerable!”

“This is hardly my first impression,” muttered Rarity. “I certainly had enough time to view the entirety of this place. While I WALKED here.”

The butler looked up, confused. “Wait. Walked? Why did you walk?”

“Because the carriage pullers you sent refused to go beyond the outer towns. And might I say that the ponies there were QUITE rude to us.”

The butler seemed to blanch once again. “You should not have been in the villages,” he said, looking strangely afraid. His one eye darted between the two of them, and his other hoof seemed to instinctively go to where his other had once been. “We- -we paid them to take you directly here!”

“Well, they didn’t,” said Rarity. “We had to WALK all the way here. And our luggage is still down in the village!”

The butler looked mortified. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’ll take Feathery Snipper and fetch it myself tonight.”

“You’re not a very competent butler, are you?” said Sweetie Belle.

The butler sighed. “You noticed, I see.” He sighed and shook his head. “We would have sent you one of Baroness De’Lis’s personal carriages, but the staff is very short right now.”

“Short?”

The butler nodded. “The Baroness has only recently returned from her foray to Canterlot, and I’m afraid that the staff is still being built up. The Baroness tends to be very particular with who she hires, as is her prerogatives.”

“Yes, and clearly competence is not something she has considered.”

The butler looked hurt, and Rarity realized that she was being mean. He had accidentally insulted her, yes, but the remainder of what had occurred was not his fault. Rarity’s anger began to fade, in part because she had finally reached the beautiful castle and in part because the stallion apologizing profusely to her was tall, with perfect hair and a butler uniform. Had he possessed a horn and a pedigree, Rarity would have considered forgiving him on the spot, among other things.

Rarity sighed. “I suppose this does happen sometimes, though. I’m sure we’ll laugh about it later. Just as long as you do retrieve that luggage. I came all the way out here to construct Fleur a set of dresses, and I simply cannot do my job without my tools and equipment.”

“We do have several reams of cloth, as well as some supplies- -”

Rarity held out her hoof, stopping him. “I’m being nice because you are clearly not an experienced butler,” she said.

“And because she thinks you’re cute.”

Rarity blushed. “Just don’t push me,” she said, then, turning to Sweetie Belle, “EITHER of you.” Rarity turned back to the butler. “Now, if you would be…so…kind…”

She trailed off as a strange smell suddenly seemed to permeate the air. Rarity sniffed and turned her head, looking through the large room. It was the first time she noticed just how dark it was, with the shadows of the tall castle walls now having extended to cover much of the central house and with the internal lamps of the castle not yet lit.

Rarity sniffed again, and Sweetie Belle seemed to be noticing the aroma too. It was not the smell of an old building or even the rather unpleasant scent of the blossoms outside. Instead, it was a perfume.

As a pony who had dedicated her life to fashion and elegance, Rarity had through the years acquired the ability to recognize literally hundreds of individual perfumes, and to judge their quality within mere seconds. This scent, however, was one that she had never encountered before. It was not floral at all, and what it even was Rarity had no idea, save for an extremely complex mixture with an alluring scent. As a perfume, though, Rarity would have associated it more with a stallion’s cologne; for a mare to wear it was a bold and provocative choice.

That was when her eyes were drawn to the top of one of the two flanking grand staircases of the castle’s main foyer. From the shadows and darkness overhead, a white figure emerged. Slender and pale, she walked down the stairs. Every step she took was silent and perfectly placed, as though her perfect body were in fact made of shimmering mist. Watching this, Rarity suddenly felt her heart beating quickly for reasons that she was not fully able to explain.

Fleur De’Lis descended, smiling as she moved, and then finally stepped off the stairs, turning her head slightly to push her perfect pink mane into its most elegant position.

“Silver,” she said, her own voice accented in a way that was quite similar to that of the and clearly addressing her servant, who bowed before her.

“I was just about to find you, Lady De’Lis,” he said, his head still bent before her. “To inform you that your guests have arrived.”

“Guests?” Fleur’s eyes, which had been almost exclusively been locked on Rarity, now suddenly shifted to Sweetie Belle. For a moment, she seemed profoundly surprised. Then a different expression crossed her eyes, and she smiled. “Oh my!” she said, sounding far more overjoyed than Sweetie Belle would have expected. “You resemble Rarity, in miniature!”

“I do hope you don’t mind,” said Rarity. “My parents were called away on, ahem, ‘urgent business’, and I thought that my sister could learn a great deal from your culture. That, and I will need some amount of help filling your order. I realize I should have written first, but- -”

“Don’t be silly, Rarity!” said Fleur. “This castle, it is so very big, and it does sometimes grow lonely! Having another guest shall be no trouble! Besides, we are all white unicorns here, are we not?”

“That we are,” laughed Rarity. “Although, to be honest, we Ponyville unicorns hardly compare to you.”

“Oh, Rarity,” giggled Fleur. “Such a flatterer! I assure you, I may exceed you in height, but certainly not in skill. And I certainly do not exceed your sister in sheer filly-adorableness.”

This made Sweetie Belle uncomfortable. Not just the strange way that Fleur was complimenting her, but the way the older pony’s eyes never once left her. Or even blinked. Sweetie Belle chalked it up to Fleur being foreign and from a much different culture, but she decided that her ways would take some getting used to.

“My Lady,” said Silver, sounding nervous. “I am afraid that the carriage that was hired for them, it only reached as far as the second village.”

Fleur’s eyes widened and finally left Sweetie Belle. “Non,” she said. She turned quickly to Rarity. “It didn’t, surely!”

“I’m afraid it did,” said Rarity.

“Yeah,” said Sweetie Belle. “They really didn’t want to get near the castle. Like, at all.”

“Well, no, I should think not,” said Fleur. “This building, the villages her many superstitions about it. They say…” She paused, then shook her head. “What they say of it does not matter. Simply folklore of the peasantry.” She paused as her expression became distant. “Not all of it unwarranted. Some of my ancestors were not kind to those who worked our land.”

“But you cannot lay the blame for their actions upon yourself, My Lady,” said Silver, “and your kindness alone has paid back their sins tenfold, at least!”

“If only it could work that way,” sighed Fleur. She shook her head, and then went back to smiling. “Come, though,” she said, leading Rarity and Sweetie Belle with her. “The hour grows late. I shall have Silver Sight finish preparing our evening meal. In the meantime, if you so wish, you may use the castle bath. I understand well how difficult the walk from the outer villages can be to those of us with more aristocratic builds.”

For the first time since they had arrived, Rarity’s eyes lit up. Sweetie Belle, though, did not share her sister’s elation.

The bath, of course, was possibly the most exquisite that Rarity had ever had. Even the Ponyville Spa, though still one of her favorite places, did not compare to the combination of carved marble pools, the exquisite imported soaps, and the extensive tile mosaics that filled the extensive bath. Even the smallest of the baths was the size of a swimming pool, filled completely with warm water and steam that wafted the smells of the bath oil into the air around her. It was so relaxing that it almost made the sweating worth the effort just so that Rarity could feel the sensation of becoming clean again.

She would have stayed there for hours, or perhaps even days, but she knew that Fleur and Sweetie Belle would be expecting her at dinner and that it would be rude not to attend. So, eventually, she managed to force her dripping wet body out of the marble bath and onto the tiled walkways beside it.

As she did, she winced. As relaxed as she had been in the bath, leaving it immediately made her feel cold, and having sat so long made the arthritis in her rear knees almost unbearable.

Rarity had forgotten her pain pills in her luggage, so she was forced to move stiffly toward the vanity area on the far side of the bath. The arthritis was painful in both knees, but really only bad in her right. It was the result of an unfortunate fillyhood injury involving a very foolish attempt to ride an apple cart down Dead Mare hill- -Applejack’s idea, of course- -followed by a slightly later set of injuries she had received in her attempts to cheerlead before dropping out school completely. It had not been bad at first, but had been exacerbated by a career that required almost constant standing, bending, and lifting- -in addition to her age.

With her magic and a small cloth, Rarity wiped away the steam from one of the mirrors and looked at her reflection. She had dealt with it by joking, by feigning offense and drama, and because of that Sweetie Belle no doubt failed to notice just how painful it had been for her to point out her sister’s signs of aging. How much it had hurt her, down to her core.

Without her makeup, the signs were even more apparent: the beginning of wrinkles in the corner of her eyes were one, and the arthritis was another. As Rarity took up a brush, she noticed several gray hairs inside her once beautiful blue mane. She wanted to cry. Her whole appearance was that of a pony just beginning to pass her prime. Once, she had been beautiful, but now that beauty was fading- -and as old as she looked now, within a few years her appearance would be far, far worse.

“Excuse me, Mistress Rarity?” said a soft voice.

Rarity jumped, nearly slipping on the tile and desperately attempting to cover her nakedness. She turned quickly, prepared to fling the hairbrush at whatever pony dared to see her unclothed and without her makeup, but found herself looking into the blue eyes of thestral filly with a curious white coat color and a pale green mane. The girl was not much older than Sweetie Belle, and she was quite clearly a servant. A pile of fresh, high-threat count towels as white as her coat was perched between her bat-like wings. “I did not mean to startle you!” she said, sounding meekly ashamed. “I am the Baroness’s maidservant. I brought you towels.”

“Towels?” Rarity looked down at herself, realizing that she was still soaking wet. She had hardly noticed, and wondered how long she had been preoccupied with her reflection and the thoughts of her impending decay. “Oh. Thank you.” She levitated one of the towels from the girl’s back, and looked back to the mirror. The servant girl moved to put the towels in a specially designed rack, but Rarity stopped her.

“What is your name?” she asked.

The girl blinked, as though no one had ever asked her before. “I am Muguet. I don’t have a surname.”

“Muguet?”

The thestral nodded. “It is a flower. They grow to the north of here. They are very pretty. That is why I chose the name, even if I cannot live up to it.”

“I think you’re lovely,” said Rarity, drying herself.

Muguet blushed and smiled. “Not nearly so much as you or the Lady De’Lis, Mistress,” she said.

Rarity looked at the thestral and felt a sudden pang of jealousy. She was just barely entering marehood, and at the age where she would be the most beautiful. Rarity found herself wishing for that youth, but then mentally chastised herself for feeling that way about somepony that had done nothing wrong apart from being cute.

“Muguet,” she said, “do I look old to you?”

“There is nothing wrong with being old.”

It was not the answer Rarity had been expecting. “That’s not an answer.”

“My apologies. Do you look old? Older than me, yes. Perhaps older than the Lady De’Lis, but with her, it is hard to know. Perhaps…I may not understand the question? ‘Old’ is relative. Older than what?”

Rarity could clearly see that the girl was trying her best to help, and failing at it. “Never mind,” she said, turning back to the mirror and picking up the makeup she could use to at least slow the external appearance of her greatest failure.

When Rarity was led downstairs toward the main hall, she was feeling much more confident. She was clean, fresh-smelling, and had applied both mascara and an appropriate pale shade of eyeshadow. Due to her winter mane, she was not able to pull off the deeper eyeshadow’s that Fleur preferred, but she thought that she had done reasonably well with what she had been given. With her aging momentarily arrested, she was better able to ignore the severe pain in her rear leg.

By this time, the castle had grown quite dark. Little light came through the large, ornate windows and instead the long hallways were lit by a number of indoor gas lanterns. In the warm glow, Rarity was able to see that the inside of the castle was aesthetically quite similar to its outside. Like the façade, the hallways had the distinct appearance of being old: their size was far greater than what would be found in any normal mansion, and the ceilings consisted of high stone arches. At some point in modern time, though, the corridors had been modified to appear more modern. The walls had been paneled, and ornately carved but remarkably conservative edifices lined what would have otherwise been bland stone toward the ceiling. The floor was lined with a pleasantly colored carpet over smooth and expensive tile.

Rarity soon found herself wandering, enamored by the lavishness of the abode. She had already known that Fleur had exquisite taste, but had always seen her as something of a modern, trendsetting socialite. This view of a beautiful but distinctly Old-World version of the historical De’Lis family showed a different side of her that Rarity had never considered. This only increased her admiration for Fleur.

Eventually Rarity found herself walking through a comparatively narrow hallway. The light in it was somewhat more dim than in other locations; due to the spacing of the architectural features, the gas lights had been spaced quite distantly to avoid interrupting the aesthetic design. What interested Rarity, though, was that this particular area contained several paintings.

Approaching from a perpendicular hallway, Rarity stopped at a large painting that sat in the center of the hall. It was quite well executed, and its size and brushstrokes clearly indicated that it had been painted by a unicorn artist. The painting showed a far younger version of Fleur- -lankier, but still taller than most unicorns her age and far more beautiful- -posing beside a similarly slender white unicorn. The older unicorn closely resembled Fleur, although she had piercing blue eyes and a pale blue and white mane. By the jewels and dresses that they were both wearing- -as well as, of course, the strong resemblance- -Rarity was immediately able to recognize the elder unicorn as Couleur De’Lis, Fleur’s mother.

“Oh my,” said Rarity, looking up at the dual portrait. “It certainly is genetic, isn’t it?” She sighed. “Oh, to be nobility. If I had a body like that…” She paused, and then shook her head. Her own body, though aging, was quite fabulous despite her more squat stature.

As she stood, though, she suddenly shivered. The hall felt cold, and it likely was. This was an old and large castle, and spring had only come recently in northern Prance. Drafts were something that a pony would need to trade for the luxury of such a dwelling. Strangely, though, Rarity felt no draft. The room was not cold- -she was. And, for some reason, Couleur De’Lis’s deep blue painted eyes seemed to be staring at her far more harshly than they had a moment ago.

Remaining curious, though, Rarity continued down the hall. Many of the paintings, it seemed, were dedicated to Fleur’s mother. Rarity found that somewhat sweet, even if many of the paintings and photographs themselves were somewhat strange. Many of them were oddly dark, and pictured Couleur in strange places: a deep, overgrown garden, a strange and barren stone room, or standing ankle-deep in a clear lake at dusk. Couleur, of course, looked beautiful in all of them and posed most elegantly. The subject matter was just strange, though, but Rarity dismissed it as Fleur and her mother both sharing an unusual artsy streak.

Other than the main central painting, many of the flanking images showed Couleur- -often with Fleur- -in the nude, clearly reveling in the perfection of their svelte bodies. Rarity did not take nearly as much interest in those as she did in the photographs or images showing either of them in dresses, though.

There was nothing quite like the clothing of the aristocracy. Yes, it tended to maintain elements that had become unfashionable and obsolete sometimes decades before, but that very sense of tradition and call to the past make it remarkably alluring. After taking mental notes of several photographs, though, Rarity began to notice that the images were a bit more than minor anachronisms.

Fleur’s mother, it seemed, had possessed a strong appreciation for historical garments. Many of the images, either paintings or purposefully old-looking photographs, showed her and her guests dressed in clothing characteristic of what was worn in the mid ninth century almost a century and a half prior to the modern age. The stallions wore long, often heavy coats with tall top hats, and the mares a variety of dresses with narrow fitted tops and immense skirts. Couleur herself featured quite prominently, appearing in the epitome of aristocratic dress, although in a style that Rarity had only seen preserved in glass cases at the Manehattan Fashion Museum.

She was, of course, overjoyed at this sigh. As odd as her artistic tastes were, Couleur De’Lis’s passion for historical clothing was something that Rarity understood well, as she herself had made a hobby out of creating- -and periodically dressing in- -recreations of historical couture. It made her quite happy that she and Fleur’s clearly beloved mother had shared a passion for a far more civilized age of clothing, and she made a mental note to use this knowledge to inform her construction of Fleur’s wedding dress.

Rarity leaned in closer toward one particular photograph. There was no color, but the detail still remained.

“Remarkable,” she said in awe. “I’ve never seen such accurate reproductions…those are hoof-stitched. And even the buttons are period. I wonder if they’re antique?”

She leaned in just a bit closer, but found that because of the limitations of the photograph- -likely taken on an antique camera- -she was not able to actually see the design of the buttons. She did decide to bring this up with Fleur later, though, knowing that she had likely retained her mother’s belongings and more than likely knew the dressmaking master who had assembled her mother and friends’ outfits.

As Rarity leaned back, she admired the photographs and paintings one more time before turning down the dimly lit hallway- -and being met with a pair of harsh, black eyes.

Rarity squealed and leapt into the air, instinctively charging her horn as though she actually knew any manner of defensive spell. When she came back down to the floor, though, she realized that she was not staring into the dead eyes of some strange ghost or revenant, but rather the face of a severely displeased looking white Pegasus with a lantern in her mouth

“Oh my Celestia!” cried Rarity, laughing as she caught her breath. “You startled me! Oh my…so this is how Fluttershy feels most of the time, I suppose. No wonder she dyes her mane…”

The frowning Pegasus did not laugh, or respond in any visible way. She stood perfectly still, glaring at Rarity with her coal-like eyes. Rarity laughed again, this time awkwardly trying to break the tension. The Pegasus remained still, like a statue.

“Um…hello?” said Rarity. “Are you…okay?”

The Pegasus’s eyes shifted suddenly, almost startling Rarity a second time. Then she gently set down the lantern. With the light not so close to her face, Rarity was able to see that she was actually somewhat past middle age, with deep lines under her eyes and her long black hair tied into braids.

“You should not be here,” she said. Her accent was thick, but it was not local, but rather one from a far more eastern land.

“I do apologize, Ms…?”

“Feathery Snipper.”

“Ms. Snipper. I simply got distracted by these astounding paintings, and- -”

“It is not safe for you to wander around the castle like this,” snapped the Pegasus. “Not alone. And not at night.”

“Wh- -what?” said Rarity, suddenly feeling something very similar to the chill she had felt before.

Snipper stared at her for another uncomfortably long time, and then lifted the lantern she was carrying under her wing and started walking. After several steps, she stopped. “Are you coming?”

“Oh,” muttered Rarity. “Um…yes?”

She began following the older mare, and suddenly Snipper spoke again. “This castle is large,” she said, “and it is dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” said Rarity, suddenly looking around with a newfound sense of dread.

“Since the death of the previous Baroness, this building has sat unoccupied for some time. Much of it is still under renovation, especially in the old section.”

“Oh my. I didn’t realize- -”

“Because you didn’t bother to ask. And if you had ended up out in some unlit stone tower? I’d have to spend all night looking for you. Or all of tomorrow cleaning you off the floor at the bottom of the tower, or pull your skeleton out of one of the old passageways a few months from now. And my job is hard enough as it is.”

“I- -I didn’t realize!”

“That, and you’re keeping the Baroness waiting. She’s a patient pony. Too patient, if you ask me, especially with the bat.”

“I…um…didn’t ask you.”

“But she doesn’t like to have her guests going and getting lost,” snapped Snipper. “If it was up to me? You wouldn’t be here. Not now. It’s not ready.” She stopped suddenly and turned to Rarity. “But take my advice. Don’t wonder. Don’t go anywhere here without Fleur, or one of us servants. And especially- -ESPECIALLY- -don’t go into the old section! Not even if Fleur herself asks you to!”

“I…can see you’re trying to help,” said Rarity, trying to hide how unnerved she was becoming. “But you’re…well, to be honest, you’re frightening me.”

Snipper snorted, smiling to reveal a number of crooked and unpleasant looking teeth. “I’m scaring you? Mistress, just wait a few nights. Just wait…”

As soon as Rarity reached the dining hall, she immediately regretted having lingered instead of heading there straight away. It was immense, with swooping multi-arched ceiling that came as close to gothic as it could without breaking free of the overall modernized-Romanesque theme of the castle. The floor was laid out with a complex but elegantly subdued system of tiling that stretched from a solid wall on one side to a group of large windows overlooking the now darkened garden on the far side.

A long table, longer than any Rarity had ever seen, had been set up in the center of the room. It would have been able to accommodate a meeting of the nobility, or even to have Celestia herself in attendance should the need arise. Tonight, though, the functional spread was limited to just one far end. There, Rarity could see Fleur sitting at the head of the table with Sweetie Belle directly next to her and an empty place on the other side.

As Rarity approached, she heard Fleur’s familiar laugh, and a second laugh that she also recognized easily as the awkward laugh that Sweetie Belle made when she was trying to be polite. Their exchange was not going well, and Rarity blamed herself. Though beautiful, Fleur was not known for her ability to maintain a conversation. She usually preferred to strike poses and allow those around her- -generally Fancy Pants- -to speak for her.

Silver Sight, now in a white server uniform that matched his relatively muscular shape and his white coat quite well, reached out and pulled Rarity’s chair free from the table, smiling as he bowed. He had even gone so far as to switch to a white eyepatch, and Rarity greatly appreciated the attention to detail in his costume change. She could not help but return his smile, even though he immediately made the situation somewhat awkward by blushing profusely.

“Thank you, Silver,” said Rarity, taking her seat.

“Not a problem at all, Mistress.” He turned to Fleur. “My Lady, shall I serve the first course?”

“Of course!” replied Fleur, smiling. “After their long walk, I am sure that our friends are quite famished!”

Silver bowed. “Muguet and I will bring it at once.” He stepped back and turned to Feathery Snipper, gesturing to her to follow him. Rarity heard the Pegasus muttering something about how kitchen work was not part of her job.

Rarity turned her attention to Fleur and Sweetie Belle, the latter of whom seemed immensely relieved that Rarity had arrived. “I see you two are getting along well.”

“To a degree,” said Fleur. “Although I think I am not the conversationalist I wish that I were.”

Sweetie Belle’s eyes widened, and Rarity shot a look at her as both of them placed the blame on her. Fleur seemed to realize this as well. “No, no!” She said. “It is not Sweetie Belle’s fault, not at all!” She sighed. “It is simply that I am afraid I have difficulty connecting with children. It has been quite some time since I was one myself, and a lot has changed since then.”

“I think you did pretty well,” said Sweetie Belle, possibly lying.

Fleur smiled. “Thank you, Sweetie Belle. I suppose you have helped me to improve, no? I certainly will have to. I will not be able to avoid interacting with children much longer, won’t I?”

Rarity gasped and put her hooves to her mouth with a small squeal of excitement. “Fleur! You’re not?”

Fleur sighed, and though still smiling shook her head. “Not yet, I’m afraid. But I certainly do intend to get to work on the matter very shortly after the wedding. After all, it is critical that the House of De’Lis have a female heir to take my title when the time comes.” She paused. “That, and…I have always wanted children so dearly. A great many of them. So that these long-empty halls might be alive again, with the sound of many beautiful white unicorns. And there is no pony who I would rather share that joy with than the one I love, Fancy Pants.”

“I’m sure you will make an excellent mother,” said Rarity. “After all, I would suppose it is hereditary.”

“Hereditary?” said Fleur, looking confused.

“Yes,” said Rarity, slightly ashamed. “While I was coming back from the bath, I passed the display you have made to your mother.”

Fleur’s eyes lit up- -but also narrowed slightly. “Ah,” she said. “My mother, indeed! If I could be one tenth the mother she was to me, I would consider myself the grandest success in all of Equestria!”

“She was quite beautiful.”

“She was,” said Fleur, somewhat distantly as she remembered her mother. “And my own beauty is her gift to me. As her daughter, and as she taught me to carry myself, to behave like a mare of this station, and to maintain myself.” She sighed. “I do miss her so.”

“But are you sure you’re ready to become a mother yourself?”

Rarity and Fleur both turned suddenly to Sweetie Belle.

“Sweetie Belle!” gasped Rarity. “What kind of question is that?!”

“An honest one. You know, Applejack style.” Sweetie Belle turned to Fleur. “You’re a model, aren’t you?”

“I am,” said Fleur, suddenly seeming to enjoy conversing with Sweetie Belle much more.

“With a body like that,” said Rarity, “it would simply be a crime if you were not!”

“Oh you!”

“But you’re so successful,” continued Sweetie Belle. “And so young! Are you sure you don’t want to focus on your career now instead?”

Fleur laughed suddenly. “Such a perceptive filly! And so practical.” She took a breath. “Unfortunately, that is the mare’s curse, is it not? We are not like stallions. Our bodies get older differently. The choice to have children or not must be made young, I’m afraid. And I have made mine.”

“It’s not as though your career is over,” said Rarity. “You will still be the most sought-after fashion model in all of Equestria.”

“True,” said Fleur, “but I’m not sure I can maintain the lifestyle. You know how it is, Rarity. The life of a socialite is a hard one. And I think I might be ready for early retirement.” She looked up at the room around them. “Which is why I have returned home after so long. After the death of my beloved mother, I could not bring myself to come here for several years, save for occasional trips during the summers when I grew weary. But now, I feel that I should return. It is peaceful here, and quiet, and it lets me remember what it means to be a De’Lis.”

“It’s certainly a long way to come to visit, though,” sighed Rarity.

“Not if we meet in the middle.” Fleur gasped with sudden inspiration. “I know! Next year, you should join Fancy Pants and myself! We will go to Maris!”

Rarity’s eyes grew so wide that Sweetie Belle thought they looked to be on the verge of falling out. “Maris? The City of Lights? The center of haute couture, cuisine- -of true pony society itself?”

“The one!” laughed Fleur.

“Oh, oh my!” Rarity began waving her hooves near her face. “I never even considered it- -I think- -I think I’m going to faint.”

“I brought the smelling salts,” said Sweetie Belle, placing them on the table. Fleur laughed again, and even Sweetie Belle smiled this time.

“That said,” said Fleur, “I can’t help but wonder, are you as practical as your adorable sister?”

“Practical? Whatever do you mean?”

“Your career is far more extensive than mine. Three separate boutiques is impressive for one pony, and I understand you are rising through the ranks of society. But in all that hard work, have you chosen to focus on your progression…” she smiled slyly, “…or have you considered making white unicorns of your own?”

Rarity stammered and blushed, trying to avert the question somehow, and Sweetie Belle struggled to hold in laughter. They both were met with a brief reprieve, though, as Silver Sight and Muguet appeared caring several large platters.

“That smells divine,” said Rarity, addressing her compliment as much to Fleur as to Silver.

“Indeed,” said Fleur. “Silver Sight is a most competent cook.”

“Do butlers usually cook?” said Sweetie Belle as Muguet set a plate in front of her with great, shaking difficulty. “I thought they buttled.”

Before Rarity could answer, the plate suddenly dropped sharply, and Sweetie Belle was showered with bits of salad.

“I’m sorry!” cried Muguet. “I didn’t mean- -let me just- -EEP!”

In her nervousness, she had shifted the wait from her entire platter too much to one side. Despite her best attempt to regain control of the platter, it dropped completely. Rarity and Fleur cried out as a small tidal wave of food rushed toward them- -only for all of it to immediately freeze as it was suddenly held aloft by a glow of pale green light.

Fleur stared at a yeast roll that was slowly drifting by her head, and then blinked in confusion before staring wide-eyed at Sweetie Belle, who was supporting the entire meal by telekinesis.

“You- -you are doing this?” she said, partly in awe.

Sweetie Belle nodded, and then frowned as she concentrated on righting the various dishes and returning them to their proper format as best she could. Some of the dishes had lost their aesthetic design, but Sweetie Belle managed to reassemble them reasonably well and to gracefully set them back down on the table. Fleur and Rarity- -and Silver- -continued to stare at Sweetie Belle for a moment longer, making her feel quite uncomfortable.

This was only interrupted when Silver’s eyes shifted to Muguet. When the other saw this, they turned too, with Sweetie Belle looking over her shoulder to find a shaking, mortified thestral.

Muguet looked almost terrified as her eyes darted between the ponies she had been serving and finally settled on Fleur. “I’m- -I’m sorry,” she said, her voice sounding as though she was on the verge of tears. “I didn’t- -I can’t- -I have to go!” Crying, she suddenly ran out of the room.

“Muguet!” called Silver.

“Let her go,” sighed Fleur. She turned to Rarity, who appeared almost as concerned as Sweetie Belle felt. “Please don’t judge her too harshly, Rarity.”

“I wasn’t judging her,” said Rarity, quickly, even though Sweetie Belle knew that she probably had been. “It’s just that…”

“She isn’t an ideal servant? Yes. This I know. She remains…inexperienced. An excellent maid, certainly, but too nervous I think for this task. I am hoping you can forgive me. Servants are hard to find locally, because of the superstition and fear of my castle. I have only had a chance to find two, plus the old caretaker who you have already met.”

“So Feathery Snipper used to work here all alone?” said Rarity. She paused. “That actually explains a lot, come to think of it…”

“Three?” said Sweetie Belle, looking somewhat shocked.

“Yes, I’m afraid. I am in the process of hiring more in advance of the wedding, but at the moment, only three.”

“Then what about the other unicorn?”

Fleur looked to Sweetie Belle, confused. “Other unicorn?”

“Yeah. I saw him in the garden when we were coming in.”

Fleur looked to Rarity, then back at Sweetie Belle. “There are no other unicorns here, apart from us three. As I have said: I am the very last De’Lis. And Fancy Pants has business to attend to in Canterlot until next month.”

“So…you don’t have a unicorn servant too?”

“Unicorns don’t keep unicorn servants,” said Rarity, as though that were something obvious. “It is considered pretentious or outright gauche.”

“But Diamond Tiara’s family has, like, five unicorn servants.”

“I know,” said Rarity.

“Then who did I see?”

“Was it you, Fleur?” suggested Rarity.

“I do not believe so. I was indoors most of the day.” She paused, and smiled. “Ah! What it was, it must have been one of the statues! There are several on the grounds, and some are quite realistic.”

“Oh,” said Sweetie Belle, unconvinced. “It didn’t look like a statue, though…”

Growing quiet, Sweetie Belle picked up an apple from one of the plates that contained several. It was not unlike the apples of Ponyville, although slightly smaller. The surface was smooth and perfect, and Sweetie Belle turned it over admiring the perfect ripeness while Fleur and her sister began to talk about something boring and fashion related. Sweetie Belle was no expert on apples, but she had spent a great deal of time with Applebloom, who was literally named after them for some reason. She knew a well-formed apple when she saw one.

When she bit into it, though, she almost choked as the fetid fluid inside squirted into the back of her throat. On the inside, the apple had long since decayed into a mixture of rot and maggots.

Chapter 3: Symptoms

Apart from the rotting apple, the meal otherwise went well, at least at first. The conversation had gone slightly better once rarity was there, mostly because Sweetie Belle had to talk less- -even though, strangely, Fleur suddenly seemed to take a much greater interest in her.

The food has also been good, if a little strange. Sweetie Belle normally ate relatively little, focusing mostly on leafy greens, sometimes with various salad dressings on a rotating schedule. She was not accustomed to the heavier, richer foods that Fleur seemed to prefer. Their plates were abound with exotic breads and cheeses, as well as accompanying soups and carbohydrate-heavy dishes. Sweetie Belle was even allowed to have an admittedly small amount of pony wine, which was apparently customary in Prance. As much as Rarity and Fleur seemed to like it, to Sweetie Belle it just tasted like moldy grapes, and she hardly had more than a single sip.

Because of the combination of these things- -the bad apple, the heavy food, and the gross wine- -Sweetie Belle began to feel ill by about the time the dessert course started. This only grew, and Sweetie Belle did her best to hide that she was feeling unwell, even as she began to grow more and more nauseous and ill.

For the most part, she did a good job of it. By the time dinner had finished and she was permitted to depart the table for bed, she actually felt somewhat better. Being away from the food helped, even if she felt strangely woozy as she walked through the now mostly dark hallways of the castle.

She was not alone, of course. After some coaxing, Silver had coaxed Muguet to return and to make an attempt at redeeming herself; she was then given the task of walking Sweetie Belle to her room for the night. Silver himself had joined Feathery Snipper on a trip into town to collect Rarity’s luggage, and Rarity and Fleur had retired to a private room elsewhere in castle to enjoy a bit more pony wine and to discuss Fleur’s upcoming wedding and the dress that she might desire, as well as those she needed for her bridesmaids. That left Muguet as the only pony available to help Sweetie Belle.

Had Sweetie Belle not felt so terrible, this actually would have been an exciting situation. She had never met a thestral before in person, and had not even realized that a white color morph even existed for them. Adding to the intrigue was the fact that Muguet was only slightly older than her, and as fillies they probably shared at least some things in common.

Whatever illness was afflicting Sweetie Belle, though, had sapped her strength, and she could barely maintain even basic conversation. She could not even muster the strength to ask about Muguet’s cutie mark, which from what she could tell was a metal pail for some reason.

“Miss Sweetie Belle?” said Muguet at last. “I feel I really need to apologize to you. For my behavior at the dinner.”

“Behavior?”

“Yes,” said Muguet, nodding. “You are one of Lady De’Lis’s guests, and I failed. Right there, in front of you and Mistress Rarity, and the Baroness herself!” She winced. “And then I ran away like a coward instead of biting my lip and doing the job that the Baroness trusts me to do. Had you not rescued the food, dinner surely would have been ruined.”

“Don’t worry about it,” muttered Sweetie Belle. “Trust me. If ponies could get arrested for messing up, I’d be more wanted than Scootaloo at a hugging convention.”

“Your display was quite impressive, though,” said Muguet, clearly trying to attempt a compliment. “I have never seen magic like that.”

“Really? I just lifted some food. It isn’t that impressive. I’m sure Fleur can do a lot more. I mean, have you seen that horn?”

Muguet blushed and shook her head. “Indeed, I have, and it is an impressive horn, but I have rarely witnessed my Mistress use her divine abilities. She did appear impressed with yours, though.”

“Well that explains…” Sweetie Belle stopped suddenly, and the world seemed to swim around her as her nausea returned in full force. It took everything she had to keep her dinner down, but she did drop to her knees.

“Miss!” cried Muguet, dropping the lantern she was carrying and rushing to Sweetie Belle’s side.

“I don’t…oh wow. I feel BAD.”

Muguet put her hoof to Sweetie Belle’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever. Please, allow me to help you.”

Sweetie Belle hardly had a choice, but she let Muguet help her up. Despite her youth and size, Muguet was surprisingly strong, and her short coat was soft and smelled nice.

“The lantern,” mumbled Sweetie Belle, noticing that Muguet was leaving it behind.

“I am thestral,” said Muguet. “I do not need it. Just hold me tightly, Miss.”

Sweetie Belle did, or at least as tightly as she could. For a moment, she was sure that she blacked out, and had no idea for how long. When she awoke, she was being taken into a room. It was dark, but the moonlight shining through the two enormous windows on the far side of the room provided enough glow to see that the room was quite large, with the edge populated by a number of pieces of matching heirloom furniture, a fireplace, and a desk. There was even an antique-looking phonograph, something Fleur had likely had placed there knowing Sweetie Belle’s passion for music.

The center of the room was dominated by a large canopy bed, and Sweetie Belle had never felt so glad to see such a bed before in her life. Muguet, who was now experiencing some difficulty, gently led Sweetie Belle to the bed and helped her climb in.

“What the hay is happening to me?” gasped Sweetie Belle. Her voice had become hoarse, and a strange metallic taste was filling her mouth. “Of all the things…food poisoning?”

Muguet looked away, paused, and then shook her head. “No. This is not entirely unexpected.”

“You know. What did you do to me?”

“No, you misunderstand! This sickness is common here to those new to the castle. Even I became quite ill when the Lady De’Lis first brought me here, as did Silver Sight, although neither of us with a case so bad as yours. Lady De’Lis says it is something in the water, something that takes time to grow accustomed to. But your reaction is far greater than I’ve seen.”

“I feel like crap,” moaned Sweetie Belle, pulling herself deeper into the bed. The sheets had an amazing threat count, and she cursed under her breath that she was not healthy enough to enjoy it.

“Do you need me to stay with you?” asked Muguet.

“What? No. You don’t have to do that.”

“But I CAN do that, if it is your wish. Remember, I am a servant, and so long as I am here, I am YOUR servant. If there is anything I can do to help…”

Sweetie Belle paused for a moment. “Just some water, please? I’m so thirsty…”

Muguet smiled softly. “Water. Yes. I can bring that. Just drink it careful. It is, after all, what is causing your sickness.”

“Oh,” said Sweetie Belle. “Right…”

As Muguet left the room, Sweetie Belle felt herself drifting into unconsciousness again. One moment, she felt her eyelids falling, and the next she opened them to find that the room was still dark but that a glass of water had appeared on a small coaster on her nightstand. As delicious as it looked, Sweetie Belle was simply too tired to reach it, and quickly fell back asleep.

When she awoke a second time, her status had changed quite substantially. Because of the sickness, she had awakened in a state of delirium. The world around her looked strange, and the way the moon-shadows fell made the room seem so much larger than it was. She was not sure where she was, or why she was there, or whether or not she was even awake at all.

Her eyes slowly drifted about the room, staring calmly at the darkness. Then they suddenly stopped, and Sweetie Belle sat for a moment, confused as to why she was focusing on that one spot just at the tip of the moonlight. Then she felt her eyes widen as she realized that she was staring at a pony.

Beside her, barely illuminated by the now dim moonlight, stood a tall white unicorn with an almost grotesquely thin body. Sweetie Belle stared at the unicorn for a long moment, wondering if she was dreaming, before realizing that the unicorn was looking back at her, watching in the darkness with unblinking eyes and with a strange smile.

It was this smile that caused Sweetie Belle’s groggy mind to realize that something was very, very wrong. That unicorn should not have been there, although Sweetie Belle did not know why. Her heart began to beat quickly, and she felt herself wheezing as her breathing increased and the taste and smell of metal in her mouth and nose became almost unbearable.

The unicorn then started to move, almost gliding over the floor but still making dull hoofsteps against the wooden floor below. Sweetie Belle wanted to sit up and to run, or to hide, but found that she was unable to move. The only thing she could do was close her eyes and wait, listening as the hoofsteps drew closer, and closer- -and then as they stopped and slowly departed. Relieved, Sweetie Belle kept her eyes closed for a moment longer before opening them.

When she did, she found herself staring into a pair of long-dead gray eyes inches away from her own.

Sweetie Belle shot up with a start, her body drenched in cold sweat. She winced as she did, finding the room around her flooded with bright sunlight that hurt both her eyes and her head.

“Oh buck,” she said, covering her eyes with shaking hooves. As much as the sunlight hurt her, she realized that she did feel somewhat better. Supposedly she had not had a fever, but whatever she had had broken anyway, leaving her weak and shaky but feeling marginally better. “Note to self,” she said. “Stick to salads. Bland, bland salads. And no more pony wine.”

She sat like this for a moment longer before lifting the covers off herself. When she did and looked down at her body, she cried out in shock. Her legs and torso were covered in massive, ugly bruises. Sweetie Belle immediately racked her brain trying to even guess where they had come from, whether she had been somehow beaten or restrained without realizing it- -but she remembered nothing, save for the strange dream of the white unicorn.

At the same time as Sweetie Belle was sitting up in bed, far across the castle grounds Rarity and Fleur were already awake and walking together through Fleur’s extensive ancestral gardens. The pair of them had gone to sleep quite late after a long night of catching up, and Rarity had awoken quite early with a slight headache from perhaps a little too much pony wine the night before.

This would have made for a somewhat unpleasant morning had it not been for the fact that Feathery Snipper and Silver Sight had arrived back from the village very late the previous night with all of Rarity’s luggage in tow. This left Rarity overjoyed, and she was able to acquire some clothing that she thought was fitting of staying at the palace of an Equestrian noblemare. For her, this consisted of a hat and a waist-length blouse. Fleur, meanwhile, had dressed as well, wearing only a thin silver necklace with a large blue gem in the center. Even that, it seemed, was only to make an attempt to match Rarity: as per usual, Fleur preferred to remain absolutely naked to display her exquisite nude body to anypony who cared to witness it.

Seeing her like this in the lush and ancient garden, though, caused Rarity to suddenly begin to realize why Fleur’s mother had such a propensity to have herself painted in nature settings. The mottling of the light cast down through the trees overhead from the overcast sky made Fleur’s white coat seem almost to shimmer, and the contrast against the rough and nearly black trunks and deep green of the hemlocks and yews seemed to draw all the attention of the quiet garden directly to her. Rarity knew that it was rude to stare, but she could not help herself. Something inside her felt strange in a way that she had never felt before.

“Beautiful, no?” said Fleur.

Rarity stopped suddenly and blushed. “What? I didn’t- -how did you- -I- -”

Fleur pouted slightly. “You mean you do not like my garden?”

Rarity, now understanding what she meant, breathed a long sigh of relief and laughed. “Oh yes, darling. It is simply magical. Although, in all honesty, I never picked you to be one to favor this sort of thing.”

“I would say there are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” she said, smiling slyly at Rarity. “But, no, I would not have picked myself for such a hobby either. This was actually my mother’s pride. I used to play here as a young filly, to spend hours beneath these trees or amongst my mother’s flowers. I suppose it is…nostalgia? Fond remembrance? I’m not sure the word.”

“Your mother planted this?”

“Well, no, not personally,” laughed Fleur. “She simply expanded it, and ensured that it was cared for.” Fleur looked down the small path that they were walking together down. “And Feathery has done an excellent job maintaining it in my absence.”

“Indeed.”

The two continued to walk down the path in silence, and Rarity could not help but feel like she was getting far more distant from the castle than should have even been possible. It had seemed to vanish behind the greenery, and the air had become silent. There were not even the sounds of birds or insects. Rarity knew that there was a wall surrounding all of it- -but she could have sworn that they were miles away from where they had started.

The path eventually began to change, and was bordered on either side by a set of raised planters that clearly predated Couleur De’Lis quite considerably. They were made of gray stone which had been allowed to become overgrown with moss and lichen. A sort of mountain laurel had been planted atop them: thin, gnarled trees that reached over the path with their dark twisting stems, reaching for what light they could manage to acquire through the ancient trees that surrounded them.

Fleur stopped, and Rarity realized that they had come to an area of the path where it widened and surrounded a large statue. Rarity stared at it for a moment, marveling in its obvious age. It, like the stones of the planters, showed signs of weathering and immense antiquity. Despite the weathering, though, the subject of the statue was still clearly identifiable: an all-white unicorn, standing on his rear legs and staring at the sky with blank, stone eyes, his body carved from a strange sort of stone that looked as though it had once been white many centuries before.

The statue was surrounded by a pool that had been constructed around it. The pool contained several deep green floating plants that sat upon the inky water, and Fleur approached it. She looked down into the water, and then up at the carving of the unicorn.

“Your sister,” she said at last. “Her magic is strong, no? Her display last night was quite impressive.”

“Sweetie Belle?” said Rarity, confused.

“Do you have another sister?” asked Fleur, turning to Rarity and raising one eyebrow.

“No, it’s just that- -she’s Sweetie Belle. And not that I want to disparage her skills, but…she only levitated a plate of food.”

“Several, in fact. It is not a matter of raw strength, though. You of all ponies know that. It is in precision, reaction time, perception. And in these matters your sister is quite gifted for her age.”

“Oh,” said Rarity, not sure if she should feel proud or jealous. “Well, she spends a great deal of time practicing. She even has received training from Twilight. Twilight Sparkle, that is.”

“The Princess?” Fleur seemed somewhat intrigued. She looked back up at the ancient statue. “Indeed, this makes more sense, then. I have unfortunately not met the Princess of Friendship in person. Not yet. But her bloodline and mine have intertwined many times in the distant past.”

Rarity’s eyes grew wide. “Wait,” she said. “Fleur, you don’t mean…you DO mean. Twilight is related to the De’Lises?”

“My surname is both singular and plural,” corrected Fleur, “but yes. Our families once commonly exchanged members, back when House Twilight was still strong. Before they started breeding with the coloreds.”

“Then that means Twilight is nobility?”

Fleur turned around again. “Have you seen Shining Armor?”

“Yes,” admitted Rarity. “Although I have to admit I never found him as impressive close up as from a distance. His voice is…odd.”

Fleur continued to stare at Rarity for a moment. “Rarity, perhaps you do not realize how remarkably appropriate your name is.”

“Oh, trust me darling, I most certainly do.” Rarity was quite flattered. “As much as Rainbow Dash claims to be the most awesome pony in Ponyville, I do believe I exceed her in several key categories.”

“I do not doubt this,” said Fleur, “but it is also not what I meant.”

“Oh,” said Rarity, her expression falling a bit. “Then…what exactly did you mean?”

Fleur paused for a moment, as if she were composing her thoughts. “You are a white unicorn.”

Rarity smiled, relieved. “Oh, well, yes,” she said. “As are you. And I must say we both look amazing. You slightly more so, though, I’m sure.”

“And do you not realize the significance of that?”

Rarity paused. “Um…no?”

“The birth of a white unicorn outside of a noble house is almost inconceivable. No, it IS inconceivable. A commoner being born with this trait, it never occurs. But in your bloodline it has happened twice.”

“Commoner?” said Rarity.

Fleur’s eyes widened as she suddenly realized how insulting that had been. “It is not what I meant,” she said, quickly. “Please, I did not tend to offend. Alicornic, it is a challenging language sometimes. But what I say remains true!” She put her hoof on Rarity’s shoulder. “You, and your sister, are both one in many millions. And I find myself honored to have both of you here, and to have both of you attend my wedding. Your presence will be indeed a portent of great luck.”

“Well, thank you, Fleur, I didn’t realize- -” Rarity suddenly froze. “WAIT!” she gasped. “I’m- -I’m actually INVITED!”

Fleur looked shocked, and then laughed. “Well of course! You came all the way here just to make the dresses for my wedding, and it would be only fitting if you could be the mare of honor- -”

“Mare of…” Rarity looked around for a couch on which to faint. Upon not finding one, she did her best to contain herself.

“Yes,” said Fleur, seeming somewhat abashed. “I do have to admit, you are more Fancy’s friend than mine, but my lifestyle has…well…” She sighed. “I have so few real friends. You are one of them. And your sister, I find her immensely adorable. She conjures thoughts of the daughters I so wish to have, that they could be as beautiful and show such promise.” She paused, and the pause went on for several long seconds before Fleur spoke again. “Rarity, I am good at maintaining my composure, so you may not be able to tell, perhaps? I am extraordinarily nervous waiting on your response.”

“Darling, yes, of course!” squealed Rarity. “Of course of course OF COURSE!”

“Oh, I’m so glad. This means- -”

“It means that we need to get to work right away!” cried Rarity. “Those dresses certainly aren’t going to make themselves! I need to get you into a studio and start measuring, right away!”

“I do like being measured,” mused Fleur. She smiled. “Shall we get started, then?” 0%

Chapter 4: Daytime

Still groggy, Sweetie Belle attempted to make her way through the castle. It was enormous, to the point where she had a hard time understanding how this kind of thing could be a house at all- -or how Fleur managed to keep her sanity living here with only three other ponies.

The entirety of it seemed strangely ominous. Everything that Sweetie Belle saw was neat, clean, and at least mostly modern. This was not some decaying ruin like the Castle of the Two Sisters, but somehow that only made it worse. A ruin was supposed to be empty, but this house, with its rooms stocked with furniture and its halls filled with artwork or elegant designs, was the opposite. It was meant to have ponies in it, perhaps many- -and yet there was no one. It was silent and empty.

Even when Sweetie Belle eventually managed to find her way back to an area that she at least thought she knew, it occurred to her that she had no idea how she was supposed to eat breakfast. In her own house, it made perfect sense: either her or her mother would go to the kitchen, make food, and then eat it. For noble ponies, though, everything was so much more complicated: Sweetie Belle had no idea if she was supposed to go to the big dining room and get served, or if she should go to the kitchen, or if perhaps there was another room dedicated specifically to breakfasting.

This normally would have been just an annoyance, but Sweetie Belle was already weak from the night before. She tended to get tired easily, and she had to take breaks sometimes, as much as she did not want to. The emptiness of the castle around her and the strange paintings, architecture, and windows looking out on thick greenery beneath an overcast gray sky all seemed to merge together to convert her inconvenience into a cause of strange fear.

She wanted to break out running, to just try to get outside and away, when suddenly Sweetie Belle smelled something. It only took her a few seconds to realize that it was the smell of food. The path immediately became clear to her: she just needed to sniff her way to victory.

This, of course, was quite easy, and after only a few minutes she had reached a kitchen. This gave her pause, as it did not look like what she would have expected at all. She had imagined Fleur’s kitchen as being much larger, like the kind a restaurant would have. This one was much tinier, and had a well-worn table and a few chairs set up on one side across from a bright window over the sink.

Sitting on the table was a plate that seemed to contain the footsuffs that Sweetie Belle had smelled. It contained several crescent-shaped rolls, as well as a few slices of fruit. Sweetie Belle had not realized how hungry she had become, and immediately started drooling.

“Miss Belle?” said a voice behind her that caused Sweetie Bell to jump almost to the same height as the wooden table. She turned around quickly to see Muguet holding a glass container of milk, returning Sweetie Belle’s surprised expression. “What are you doing here? You should not be here at all!”

“I don’t even know where ‘here’ is!” cried Sweetie Belle, her sudden aggressive tone making Muguet jump back. “I’m so lost! All I wanted to do was get something to eat, and I can’t even figure out how I’m supposed to do THAT!”

Muguet blinked. “No, you misunderstand! This is the servant’s kitchen. I only meant that this is not where you should take breakfast. Lady De’Lis tends to favor the conservatory, or the garden if the weather is nice.”

“What the hay is a conservatory?” cried Sweetie Belle. She groaned. “I have no idea what any of this stuff IS!”

“I’m sorry,” said Muguet, looking ashamed. “I’ve failed again, I think.” She paused. “Where do you normally have your servants serve breakfast for you?”

“I don’t have them serve it at all!”

Mugeut looked confused. “Then who serves it?”

“I serve it! To myself!”

“I don’t- -I don’t understand- -”

Sweetie Belle suddenly realized how uncomfortable she was making Muguet, and sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just really hungry, and I had a bad night. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just that I’m not sued to all this servant stuff.”

“Not used to it?” Muguet paused. “Don’t you normally have a staff?”

“Like some sort of wizard?”

“No, as in servants, gardeners, handymares, cooks, maids, so forth?”

Sweetie Belle blinked, suddenly understanding the situation a little bit more. “Oh. No, of course not.”

Muguet gasped. “But you are nobility! Why would you not have them?” She gasped again. “Is it because you find being in the presence of lower classes that abhorrent? Then- -then I am truly sorry, Mistress Belle!” She bowed, nearly tipping over her milk. “I didn’t realize! I’ll go, and inform the others that- -”

“That isn’t what I meant!” exclaimed Sweetie Belle. “Sweet Celestia! How much coffee did you drink this morning?”

“None,” said Muguet. “Lady De’Lis says it will stunt my growth.”

“Well, she’d be an expert in that category.” Sweetie Belle paused. “But that’s not the point. My family doesn’t have servants because we’re not nobility. We’re just ordinary ponies, just like everypony else. As much as Rarity sometimes likes to pretend she’s not.”

Muguet looked even more confused. “But…you are the white unicorns.”

“We are. But we live in an ordinary house in an ordinary village and do ordinary pony things.”

“Oh,” said Muguet.

“You actually thought Rarity and I were nobles?”

“I assumed that was the case. You are friends of Lady De’Lis, after all. I thought you were members of her caste, or relatives.” Muguet’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh no! I have presumed! Please forgive me!” She bowed. “Then you must be as confused as I was when I first came here! I am so, so sorry!”

“It’s okay,” said Sweetie Belle, feeling more and more uncomfortable. Even though Muguet seemed to now understand that neither she nor Rarity were nobility, she was still treating Sweetie Belle as though she was, and that sort of thing had always made Sweetie Belle a little anxious. “We can call it even if you can show me where to eat. Those crescent things smell REALLY good…”

Muguet looked to the table, and then at Sweetie Belle. “The conservatory is downstairs. I can show you- -”

“But we’re already in a kitchen. Can’t we just eat here?”

Muguet seemed astonished, but actually smiled slightly. “Well, yes. Of course, if that is what you wish. Even if you are not of the noble class, you are still the guest of Lady De’Lis. I would be loath to refuse a request. Assuming you do not mind sharing a meal with a mere maid.”

“Why would I mind that?”

Muguet smiled. “Ah,” she said, placing the milk on the table. “I do sometimes forget, how the ways of things are in the West. Please sit down. I have more croissants in the oven. I made extras for Silver, but I do not think he will mind if you take a few. Also, we have milk now.”

Sweetie Belle did what she said and sat down on one of the chairs at the table. She watched as Muguet got out a pot-holder and opened the old-fashioned stove. The smell of crescent rolls immediately filled the kitchen, and Sweetie Belle continued with her drooling.

Muguet placed the rolls on the counter. “You said you slept poorly last night?” she said, “I am sorry to hear that. But happy to see that you are healthy again. I was worried.”

“Yeah,” said Sweetie Belle. “Whatever I had is gone now. But I woke up with all these bruises…”

“Yes,” sighed Muguet, plating the rolls and slicing several apples for Sweetie Belle. “That happens from time to time.”

“Time to time?”

“To you. To me. To the others, save for Lady De’Lis. She alone remains unscathed.”

“But what is doing it?”

Muguet picked up Sweetie Belle’s food and shrugged. She crossed the room and set it down, then returned to her own spot next to Sweetie Belle. “I wish I knew,” she said. “They do not hurt, though?”

“No.”

“Then it is the same bruising. You may also find some blood when you go to the toilet, if you have not already. Do not be alarmed, it is harmless.”

“Easier said than done,” muttered Sweetie Belle. Although she was happy that Muguet had at least warned her, her dismissal of the problem as a mundaine part of life was mildly infuriating. It was not normal, nor did it seem to have a logical reason. It concerned Sweetie Belle, as did her unusual hallucination the night before.

Despite being almost noon, however, it was still too early to think about such things. Sweetie Belle lifted one of the rolls on her plate and took a bite. It was actually quite good, but only because she was so hungry.

“Wow,” said Muguet. “I wish I could do that.”

Sweetie Belle pointed the remaining half of the pastry at Muguet’s plate. “You have two right there.”

“I know,” she said. “But it is not what I meant. I mean the magic. Just think of all the things I would be able to do!”

“Like what?”

“Well, I could prepare food much more quickly. And moving chairs would be easy. As would be cleaning.”

“But if you were a unicorn, Fleur wouldn’t hire you. She doesn’t hire unicorn servants.”

Muguet’s eyes widened, and she suddenly looked down at her plate. “I did not think of that.” She reached out with her mouth and took a small bite with of her food. Sweetie Belle noticed that Muguet had unusually long and sharp teeth.

“Well, I think it would be great to be able to fly,” said Sweetie Belle. “I can’t do that. Yet.”

Muguet smiled slightly. “It…is a nice ability. But I’m not very good at it.”

“Trust me. I’ve met ponies a lot worse at flying than you. If you just keep practicing, you’ll be fine.”

“Really?”

“How do you think I got to be this epic at using magic?”

Muguet giggled quietly, and then took a sip of milk. “You know…when Lady De’Lis said that she was having guests, this is not how I imagined you.”

“I don’t know if that is a good thing,” said Sweetie Belle, now trying the fruit. It was some manner of muskmelon, perhaps one of the earliest of the season or an import, and it tasted quite ripe despite having a badly scarred rind. “What did you expect me to be like?”

“Regal. Elegant, and mysterious. Like Lady De’Lis.”

“I see. So I’m not those things…”

Muguet stiffened. “No, no! That is not what I meant! Instead…here you are. Sitting with me, like this, eating the same food. Not above me, and not judging me for what I am.”

“What you are?” asked Sweetie Belle. “And what exactly are you? Apart from a thestral. I can see that. But that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Thestral? Oh, no. That is not it. It is that I am…” she paused, and then looked away.

“What?” said Sweetie Belle. Muguet shook her head, and Sweetie Belle raised an eybrow. “Well, then, I’ll just guess. It’s not…” Her eyes widened. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

Muguet looked shocked. “N- - no!” She squeaked. “Not at the moment, at least! That is not what I meant at all!”

“Then what?”

Muguet opened her mouth, but hesitated again. Sweetie Belle thought that she was going to have to make another guess, but Muguet lowered her head and spoke so softy that Sweetie Belle almost failed to hear her.

“I am blanco,” she said.

“Blanco?” said Sweetie Belle, suddenly realizing that she recognized the word. “I’ve heard that before. That’s what the people in the village were calling Rarity and me!”

Muguet looked up suddenly, her eyes widening but her vertical pupils narrowing. It was a strange sight that Sweetie Belle found more than a little disturbing. “They said that to your face?” she said. She appeared to be angry at the idea of it. “To- -to say that to you like that! It isn’t the same! Not with unicorns! And yet- -yet they still did…”

“What does it mean?” asked Sweetie Belle. “I don’t speak their language.”

“It means white,” said Muguet. “But there’s more to it than that. It is a very, very bad slur. Because they hate us. For our color.”

“That’s terrible!” cried Sweetie Belle, standing up so fast that she knocked over her plate and glass of milk. She immediately grasped the spilled liquid and glass in her magic and reassembled them before the liquid could reach the table. “I’ve never heard of that, though,” she said, sitting back down. “All the guides on Prance- -”

Muguet shook her head. “It is not all of Prance. Just this region. Here, the three villages, the neighboring counties, and even the towns in the mountains to the north. That is where I am from.”

“But they can’t do that! Just because you’re a white pony!”

Muguet’s eyes seemed to darken. “And yet, they do.” She looked up. “Did you not wonder why Silver has only one sighted eye?”

Sweetie Belle paused. “Um…no, I didn’t. I just sort of accepted it.”

“A fact that he no doubt very much appreciates it. That eye, he lost it because they beat him.”

“Beat him? Who beat him?” Sweetie Belle clasped her hooves to her mouth, and suddenly realized that she felt more sick than hungry.

“The ponies in his village. When they caught him trying to beg for a loaf of bread. He nearly died. His left eye was ruined in the attack.”

Now Sweetie Belle definitely felt sick. “And…and you?”

“And me,” sighed Muguet. She looked down at her food. “And me…It is even worse for my kind, sometimes. So few of us are born this defective. My family, they rejected me. They considered me cursed. I was left to die on the streets.”

“You’re not defective,” said Sweetie Belle. “But…how did you survive?”

Muguet looked up, and suddenly appeared far older than she had before. “There are not many jobs for a blanco mare, save one. And I…I had to do things that I am not proud of.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t have to,” said Sweetie Belle. She shivered. It was almost impossible for her to imagine what Muguet had gone through. Even worse was the fact that she was only a few years older than Sweetie Belle herself, but had never had any of the things that Sweetie Belle often just expected were standard things: a family, friends, a future. This made her as sick as it made her angry. “I’d…I’d actually rather not know. But you’re here now, aren’t you?”

Muguet’s eyes lit up at this, and she wiped away a tear to smile. “Yes!” she said, excitedly. “I am, and we are! The Baroness, she understands. As a unicorn like you, she is beyond reproach, but she took pity on us. She saved us. She gave us an occupation with dignity, a home.” She leaned forward. “I will be honest with you now, Ms. Belle. I love Lady De’Lis. With all of my heart. I would do anything for her. She is the most dear thing to me of this whole world.”

This changed Sweetie Belle’s opinion of Fleur slightly. Before, she had not known to much about the pony, apart from the fact that she was one of Rarity’s fashion friends and that she was of noble blood. Knowing that she had gone out of her way to hire white ponies, even though they were so badly hated by everypony else, made Sweetie Belle feel a bit warmer toward her. It confirmed that Rarity was very good at picking her friends.

Muguet continued. “Lady De’Lis has promised that, one day, she will take me to serve in her staff in Canterlot. She says that in that part of the world, ponies will not hate me because I am ugly.”

“You’re not ugly,” said Sweetie Belle. “I think you’re kind of cute, actually.”

“Thank you,” said Muguet, blushing slightly. “But the point still stands. Here, even with all the Baroness had given me, I have no hope of a full life. But there, no pony will care that I am white. I will be able to have friends, comrades, lovers. Perhaps a handsome lunar guard?” She giggled at her fantasy and blushed much harder than before.

“You and I are already friends, though, right?”

Muguet looked suddenly astounded. “We- -we are?”

“Well, if you want to be. I mean, we’re not enemies.”

“Oooh!” squealed Muguet. “I’ve never had a friend before!” She teared up slightly, and wiped her eyes. “This is so- -this is so excellent!”

“First? I thought Silver was your friend, right?”

“Oh, he doesn’t count. He is like a brother. In a sense, we are. That, and he is old.”

“He’s not older than Rarity,” remarked Sweetie Belle. “And besides, he’s actually pretty hot.”

“Attraction toward a white pony,” said Muguet, looking amazed. “So the stories of the West are true, then.”

“Indeed,” said a male voice. Sweetie Belle nearly jumped out of her seat as she turned around to see Silver standing behind her.

“Mr. Silver!” cried Sweetie Belle. “I didn’t- -I didn’t know you were there, and I didn’t- -I mean- -” She looked to Muguet, but Muguet only giggled, covering her mouth with one hoof. She apparently found this endlessly amusing.

Silver just smiled amicably and turned to Muguet. “Woke up a little late, Muguet?”

“Slightly,” she said. “I got to bed very late. Sweetie Belle had the water-sickness, and I needed to stay awake in case she needed me.”

Sweetie Belle turned sharply to Muguet. “You did that? For me?” Muguet just nodded.

“Well, I hope you’re ready for another big day,” he said, smiling mischievously. “Because Mistress Rarity would like to see you.”

Muguet suddenly appeared afraid. “Wh- -why? It wasn’t the towels, was it?”

Silver laughed. “No, no, the towels were fine. I guess, I didn’t ask her. She just needs you for a…ahem…special task.”

“Ha,” said Sweetie Belle. “You ARE going to have a busy day.”

“You too, Mistress Belle,” said Silver. “She sent me to find you both.”

The fate that Rarity had planned for them both was, indeed, quite horrible. Muguet could not have known the situation that awaited her, but as soon as Sweetie Belle walked into the large room that had been assembled as Rarity’s workshop, she felt her heart sink and then slowly fill up with fear. As much as she wanted to run, she knew that it was impossible, and her only consolation was that she would at least be able to share her misery with Muguet.

Due to the limitations of international shipping, Rarity had not been able to bring her ordinary mannequins with her. So, instead, she had found a different set of dummies.

“Rarity!” cried Sweetie Belle as Rarity pressed several swatches of fabric and an early draft dress against her, as well as wrapping her sensitive inseam with measuring tape. “STOP!”

“No, you stop,” said Rarity. “As in stop complaining. You’re doing an important job! But hold- -STILL!”

She wrenched the far too small prototype dress off of Sweetie Belle and brought it back to center where she was working and where Fleur was investigating several sketchbooks that Rarity seemed to have composed sometime within the last hour.

“Why am I even doing this?” cried Sweetie Belle, feeling as though she was on the verge of weeping from sheer boredom.

“Because, it is CRUCIAL that I understand how the fabric looks on white ponies. Blending colors with white is remarkably difficult! And I have to keep the thematic identity PERFECT for every bridesmaid and groomstallion!” She lifted a swatch from Sweetie Belle, and compared it to one that was a sample of extremely pure white silk with a complicated twining pattern. “This combination is simply divin! What do you think, Fleur?”

Fleur looked up from the sketches as Rarity held the white fabric against her. “Hmm,” she said. “I was hoping for something with more lace, perhaps!”

“Oh, YES!” cried Rarity. “I lace would be EXCELLENT! Especially if we go with something sheer…”

“Now, now,” laughed Fleur. “Remember, Fancy Pants will need to get through the ceremony without sweating himself into a fainting spell!”

Rarity and Fleur both blushed and laughed, and Sweetie Belle groaned loudly. “This is so DUMB,” she said.

“I don’t know,” said Muguet, who was wearing a prototype dress of her own and standing in for a Pegasus. “I feel so special! I’ve never worn clothing this fancy!”

“I agree,” said Silver, who was serving as a rather excellent model male model for Rarity’s suit designs meant for Fancy Pants’s entourage. “And the craftsmareship on this is exquisite!”

“Oh you,” said Rarity, disassembling part of his collar. “It isn’t even done yet!”

“Well, of course not, but I recognize quality when I see it.” He said this, of course, while looking at Rarity. Sweetie Belle pointed her hoof at her mouth and pretended to gag. Muguet saw this and stifled a giggle.

“You will of course be getting your own suit, dearie.”

Silver looked startled at this. “Me?”

“Of course, you! You and Miss Muguet are going to be working the wedding, aren’t you? It wouldn’t do to have you wearing just ANY uniform! You need to match! I’m thinking something in black…”

“Are you sure you can do all that?” asked Silver.

“Tut tut! Don’t doubt me!” said Rarity, returning to her sewing machine. “I most certainly can! Although it is going to take a prodigious effort…but for my friend, it is all worth it! I intend to do the very best I can to make sure this wedding goes off without a single hitch or misplaced cufflink!”

“Well,” said Silver, stepping down from the small platform that he had been standing on, “if you need help, I know how to sew.”

“It’s true!” said Muguet. “He is responsible for maintaining our uniforms! And I have several very nice maid outfits that he made for me!”

“A stallion that can sew?” said Rarity, seeming amazed. “And an earth-stallion , too?”

“I’m not a professional,” admitted Silver, “but I can take orders. If there’s anything I can do to help you, and to help with Lady De’Lis’s wedding, I would be glad to work beside you. Or under you, as the case may be.”

Rarity immediately turned a rather dark shade of red. “Well- -um- -if you- -if you could get Miss Muguet’s wing angles, that would- -um- -”

“If she doesn’t mind me touching them, sure.”

“I do not mind,” said Muguet, extending her somewhat grotesque leathery wings.

Silver started measuring her, but suddenly stopped. “Actually,” he said, dropping the tape onto Muguet’s face. “Don’t we have the prior Baroness’s dress in storage? Out in the old side of the castle?”

Fleur gasped. “Yes!” she cried. “I had forgotten!” She turned to Rarity. “If you could incorporate elements of her dress design into mine- -if that’s not too much to ask…”

“Oh, of course not! In fact, it might give me some insight into how in Equestria anypony manages the fit on somepony so tall.”

“I’ll go get it!” said Sweetie Belle, stripping almost immediately and stepping down from her platform.

“No you won’t!” said Silver. “The old section is no place for a filly!”

“They don’t even let me go there,” said Muguet. “It’s dangerous.”

“It is true,” said Fleur. “But if you require a break from this excitement,” she winked, “you could find Feathery Snipper. She is no doubt in the garden. She handles the old storage. I believe she has even assembled her own museum of sorts out in the old ballroom. She should be able to find it.”

“The garden?” For some reason, that made Sweetie Belle feel slightly apprehensive. “Right. I can do that.”

“Just hurry back!” called Rarity as Sweetie Belle escaped. “We’ll be doing hat-fitting in the afternoon!”

Sweetie Belle hurried away as quickly as she could, and soon found herself out in the castle again. Specifically, she was walking down a long arcade with high stone arches over it. Architecturally, it was impressive, and even with the gray light from outside it still looked far more pleasant than many of the other places in Fleur’s home.

Almost as soon as she started walking down it, though, Sweetie Belle began to feel strange. Her stomach hurt, and much to Sweetie Belle’s horror she realized that she was starting to feel a lot like she had the night before.

“The rolls,” she said, followed by a string of Scootaloo-quality swear words. “The gosh-darn crescent rolls!”

This realization that she had inadvertently poisoned herself drove Sweetie Belle into a panic, and she started running. As she did, though, the world seemed to grow hazy around her. She felt herself taking desperate turns and twists, growing increasingly lost as she moved through the hallways.

She could not breathe. The entire world was fading to silver, and Sweetie Belle was gagging on the taste of metal in her mouth. She needed to get out, to escape, to get to somewhere were somepony- -anypony- -could help her.

Instead, she struck an area of smooth tile in an unfamiliar part of the castle. Almost instantly, her hooves slid across the surface, and she felt herself falling. Lights flashed across her vision as she landed on her side. The wind was knocked out of her, and either the impact to her head or whatever was wrong with her left her passed out and unconscious.

She did not know how long she remained still and unable to move. To her, it felt like only seconds, but when she finally managed to open her eyelids, she saw that the area around her had grown dark. It was night, and standing over her were too ponies: a black-haired Pegasus, and beside her, a tall all-white unicorn, his eyes gray and empty as they stared down impassively at Sweetie Belle.

“Chert,” swore Feathery Snipper under her breath. “It’s happening again…”

Sweetie Belle tried to struggle to stand, but she was far too weak. She just fell back into the wet, sticky pool that had formed below her and lapsed back into a daze of semiconciousness. The last thing she felt before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep was the feeling of being picked up harshly and the feeling of wings poking into her belly as she was thrown over a pony’s back. (]>��{

Chapter 5: Relics

Sweetie Belle awoke with a start, confused and in pain. She looked around in a panic, not understanding why she was not in her bed in Ponyville and not knowing where she was at all- -until the memories slowly started to return. She realized that she was lying in bed, and that she was still in Fleur’s castle.

Time had passed. It was night now, and little light came through her window. To see, she ignited the glow of her horn, lighting the room around her and casting long, deep shadows from the various furniture. For just a moment, she had expected to see a pair of eyes staring back at her, but the light illuminted no other ponies. Just an empty room.

Slowly, Sweetie Belle sat up. She winced as she did, feeling a dull ache in her head. Using the light from her horn, she looked down and immediately gasped. An enormous bruise seemed to have engulfed her entire right side, darkening her otherwise perfect white coat. Even if it was only a bruise, its size was highly unnerving. Just seeing it made Sweetie Belle feel dizzy and lightheaded. Distantly, she recalled that she had fallen on that side, but something else had to have been done to her to create a mark so substantial.

In addition to the bruise, Sweetie Belle also noticed that her right shoulder and head had been bandaged. Whoever had moved her back to her bed had, apparently, taken care to apply what first aid they could. Based on the way the bandages were applied, whoever did it had hardly been sloppy, either. They had known what they were doing, as if they had done it many, many times before.

Confused and still bleary, Sweetie Belle did not bother to think further on this subject. Instead, she slowly and shakily got out of bed and, with some difficulty, processed a better illumination spell. The various candles throughout the room suddenly ignited with pale green fire, providing far more light. This increased illumination was enough for Sweetie Belle to slowly walk to a chair in the far side of the room near the old phonograph.

Just walking there took a great deal of effort, and although Sweetie Belle was slowly recovering she still flopped into the seat with a long sigh of relief. After sitting there for a moment, she looked at the phonograph. It was definitely an antique, but it was well made. Not just even well-made, she realized, but a factor of ten better in quality than the already high-grade one she possessed at home. At least from outer appearance, of course.

Deciding that some music would relax her, Sweetie Belle opened the fancy cabinet below the phonograph. There was only one record in it, unfortunately, but Sweetie Belle decided to risk the possibility of it being bad. With her head propped on one hoof, she levitated the disk out of its package and placed it on the phonograph. She then wound the device, engaged the turntable, and set the needle, all with expert precision. At the same time, she was sure to turn down the volume to its second lowest setting. She knew that Rarity’s room was near Fleur’s on the far side of the castle, but she was not sure where the servants stayed and she did not want to wake them up.

The phonograph immediately began playing, and Sweetie Belle was pleased to hear that it was not especially bad. Having a cutie mark that related to music, she was more discerning than most ponies when it came to that field. Although she preferred more experimental pieces, the light classical music that the phonograph began to emit had certainly been performed with great technical precision. The phonograph was, likewise, of extremely high quality. As far as Sweetie Belle could tell, the only defect came from an odd audio distortion that likely resulted from a defect in the disk itself, either from being pressed poorly or from having been damaged by time and temperature fluctuations.

The sound was calming, and Sweetie Belle began to feel herself falling back asleep. The world was fading again when she was suddenly startled awake by the needle inexplicably running across the record, producing a scratching sound. This caused Sweetie Belle to bolt upright. She looked at the phonograph, realizing that the needle had struck a substantial scratch and been driven all the way off. She had never seen anything like that happen before, though.

More strange, though, was something that she took a few moments to admit to herself. When the record had scratched, she thought she had heard something else. It could have been an illusion, a distortion of the audio from the turntable echoing through the large room. Sweetie Belle knew sound, though, and she was almost certainly sure that she had heard something else. Something outside her room. Something that sounded almost like a voice.

Her heart suddenly started beating quickly, and Sweetie Belle stood up. She looked to the door of the room, which was located so far from the magically lit candles that it was not entirely illuminated. Instead, it seemed to be an inky square in the middle of a wall whose floral patterned paper suddenly looked so very sinister.

No secondary sounds came. There was no sound of hoofsteps, or of breathing, or even more voices. The castle had suddenly gone eerily silent. Not even the wind outside seemed to be making noise. Sweetie Belle found herself wishing for the music back, even if it did have a mild defect- -but then realized that with the music on, she had no way of hearing what sounds had been lurking around her in the dark of the castle.

Slowly, though, she approached the door. Her mind began to rationalize what she had heard. It was not unreasonable that she could have, in fact, heard a pony speaking, or coughing. One of the servants could be awake, and Muguet most likely was. She might even be waiting outside the door in case Sweetie Belle needed anything. The sound was probably just her gasping at the sudden sound of the turntable scratching. Sweetie Belle herself had been jolted awake by it, and this was not an unreasonable conclusion.

Yet, somehow, she was still afraid. Not just a little afraid, but almost desperately so. This was made even worse because she knew how illogical it was. There was nothing dangerous in this castle; it was a castle, after all, and it had been DESIGNED to keep bad things out. Some deeper part of Sweetie Belle’s mind, though, was fixated on the idea that she would throw open the door to find the gray eyes of a tall unicorn staring back at her as he smiled with a grin that looked as though it had been posed in an expensive mortuary.

Despite this, Sweetie Belle could for some reason not stop herself. She grasped the heavy door with her magic, and, bracing herself, threw it open.

Of course there was nothing there. There was no REASON for anything to be there, after all. Just fears left over from the vestiges of the fillyhood that Sweetie Belle was on the verge of exiting. Even in a world of magic, the supernatural was just stories. Sweetie Belle had studied with Twilight long enough to know that there were no ghosts, demons, or any monsters unknown to the wizards who had cataloged and identified all of them in distant antiquity. For some reason, though, she still felt so very afraid.

For some reason, Sweetie Belle felt herself walking forward instead of backward. The hallway was clear and empty. Muguet was not there, nor were Silver or even Snipper. Neither was Rarity, or Fleur, or even the white unicorn who should not have existed. There was nothing at all except for darkness.

Then a loud boom echoed through the hallway, causing Sweetie Belle to cry out and jump. The door to her room had suddenly and spontaneously slammed shut behind her.

“It’s just the wind,” she said, trying to calm herself down. She knew that had to be the case. The window in her room was open, after all, as it normally was. A pressure difference had caused the door to shut, a result of the wind. The wind that she had not heard at all in the several minutes that she had spent in that room, listening with all of her concentration.

At the same time the door had slammed, though, Sweetie Belle thought she had heard a parallel sound. Something from far down the long hallway. She was not sure what it was, though. Perhaps an echo. Or something being dragged.

“Hello?” called Sweetie Belle, taking a step forward. “Is that you, Muguet?”

There was no response. Sweetie Belle turned slowly to go back to her room when she definitely heard a voice. It was distant, but she turned around suddenly, only to just barely catch a glimpse of something white passing out of sight at far end of the corridor.

“Muguet,” said Sweetie Belle. “This isn’t funny! I’m not a thestral, I can’t see in the dark like this!”

Sweetie Belle froze as she heard a response. It was not Muguet at all, though. Instead, it was a very distant whisper, barely audible but clearly identifiable as belonging to a pony. Who, exactly, was unclear, as was the content of the whisper. Sweetie Belle had heard words, but they were not in any language that she understood. It seemed to consist almost entirely of consonants, and was not at all consistent with Alicornic or any dialect of the local language.

Even after hearing this, though, Sweetie Belle found herself walking forward, now more quickly. Even she did not know what was motivating her. Curiosity, perhaps, or a paradoxical fear that she would never be able to go back to sleep without knowing where the whispering had been coming from.

Sweetie Belle did not know how long it took for her to reach the end of the hallway. Time seemed to flow poorly in the dark, or at least to have become imperceptible. It could have taken her hours, or seconds. She had no idea.

At the end, though, there was nothing. No sign at all that a pony had been there, save for an open window creaking almost inaudibly as the slight breeze from outside buffeted against it. Sweetie Belle approached it, thinking that the latch had been improperly secured and that it had been blown open. As she reached up to it with her magic, though, she stopped to look out. The moon was mostly obscured by the clouds above, and the forest-garden outside was dark- -save for the orange glow of a lantern.

Sweetie Belle stopped and squinted into the darkness. Her eyes had already adjusted from the darkness, and it only took her a few seconds to see that the lantern was sitting next to Feathery Snipper. Her body, being white, was highly visible even in the dim moonlight. It also became apparent that she was talking to another white pony.

For a brief moment, Sweetie Belle expected to see a long horn protruding from that pony’s head. Instead, though, she quickly realized that he was just Silver. This made her feel relieved, but only slightly. It still did not explain why the pair of them were standing outside in the middle of the night, talking.

Then, suddenly, Feathery Snipper turned her head sharply, looking up at the window where Sweetie Belle was standing. Sweetie Belle immediately ducked below the window, covering her mouth to prevent herself from crying out. She was not really sure why; she had done nothing wrong by watching them. Something told her, though, that it was best not to be seen.

She waited for what felt like several minutes before the curiosity became too much for Sweetie Belle to bear. She poked her head over the windowsill and looked out again. She only briefly caught a glimpse of the lantern, and of a white flank vanishing into the trees. They had both moved somewhere out of sight.

“What was that all about?” asked Sweetie Belle. No answer came, of course, which she was surprisingly pleased about. She stared out for a moment longer, looking at the gardens from above. Then she turned back to the long, dark hallway.

Once again, though, Sweetie Belle froze. She felt her heart seem to stop for a moment before resuming at top speed. At the far end of the distant hallway, illuminated by the moonlight through a window, she saw a flash of white and pink, and a pair of almost luminescent yellow eyes staring back at her.

Sweetie Belle almost panicked and ran, until she realized that the pony she was looking at had to be Fleur. No other pony she knew was that tall, and the pink mane was a dead giveaway.

“Fleur!” she sighed, having to raise her voice to ensure it would carry the almost sixty feet between them. “You scared me!”

There was no response, even after Sweetie Belle waited for several seconds. Fleur continued to stand there, perfectly still and impassive, save for her unblinking stare. A stare that seemed to hold Sweetie Belle and ONLY Sweetie Belle in its focus.

“Fleur?” asked Sweetie Belle. “Miss…Miss De’Lis?”

There was still no answer, and still no motion. Confused, Sweetie Belle suddenly felt an urge to run, but found that she could not. A second, more practical voice in her head told here that Fleur was not a scary pony, and that if she was standing there like that there could be something really wrong with her. She could be hurt, or be having some kind of seizure. Fleur was Rarity’s friend, and a nice mare, and Sweetie Belle could not just leave her there without being sure.

“Fleur?” she said again as she approached. “Is something wrong? Are you sick?”

Fleur still did not respond. She just continued to stare, blankly. As Sweetie Belle got closer, though, she realized that Fleur was not entirely impassive. Fleur’s eyes were moving, following her as she moved.

“Hello?”

When Sweetie Belle was no more than ten feet away, Fleur suddenly reacted. The shock of it was so great that Sweetie Belle nearly fainted, despite the mildness of her behavior. Fleur simply turned away and started walking silently down a parallel hallway.

“Pas encore, mère,” she said, her voice distant, as though she were still asleep. “Pas encore. Presque…”

Sweetie Belle, now in a state of shock, watched her go. She stared for a moment before hearing a voice again- -but this time not Fleurs.

“Mae hi'n gwaedu,” whispered a voice, speaking clearly and directly into Sweetie Belle’s ear. It was so close that she thought she could feel the sensation of breath across her coat. She also smelled a strange scent. Not the odd, almost musky scent that Fleur had, but something far more sickly, like lilies that had begun to decay.

Sweetie Belle turned sharply, but saw nothing beside her or behind her, save for the empty hallway.

“Fleur?” she said, now wanting to catch up with the older mare. She suddenly did not want to be alone. Even if Fleur was sleepwalking, being with her was better than being left alone in a place that Sweetie Belle was increasingly beginning to believe was haunted.

Fleur, though, seemed to have vanished. Sweetie Belle followed what she thought was the path that the mare had taken, but saw no sign of her. She would of course have left no tracks, but for her to have gotten out of sight so quickly in the long halls would have required her to be moving with almost impossible speed. Even the smell of her perfume was fading, as though she had passed through hours before instead of mere seconds ago.

It only took a few minutes for Sweetie Belle to lose the trail entirely. By this time, she had become completely lost. The castle was enormous, and the floorplan tended not to be consistent or regular like an institutional building of the same size. Within a few minutes of walking, Sweetie Belle found herself in a place that she had never been before. After a few more minutes of trying to find her way back, she realized that in the dark it was almost impossible to find consistent landmarks.

So, she kept moving forward. The house was big, but it was not infinite. Sweetie Belle assumed that by wandering enough, she would eventually come to a place that she recognized. At the very least, she would find a staircase to the ground level. If she could just get outside, it would not be hard to follow the edge of the castle back to its front door.

After nearly an hour of walking, though, she had found no such way out. Instead, the character of the castle had begun to change. The ornate, elegant, modern fixtures gave way to simple unadorned ones, and then finally to bare stone walls. These regions were far colder than the rest of the mansion, and distinctly more drafty. The only light came from small, high windows that lined some of the walls. The ground here was dirty, and in some places stained. In some places, various items- -usually those associated with construction, but in some cases old and decaying barrels or containers- -had been stacked against the walls or into small alcoves off from the main hallways. The whole place smelled as though it had not been occupied in decades.

This made Sweetie Belle even more nervous. In the back of her mind, she knew that if she got lost in this area, it would be a long time before any pony came to find her. Worse, the schematic of the castle became even more complicated in its much larger old section. When Sweetie Belle eventually managed to find a window that she could reach, she realized that her elevation had only increased. Now, instead of just the forest, she could see the top of the crumbling stone, and beyond that nothing but the inky blackness of the emptiness beyond.

She tried not to panic, but it was almost impossible. The wind pushing through the winding, curving stone walls had the effect of filling the darkness with what sounded like voices, and the presence of so much decaying clutter made it difficult for Sweetie Belle to light her path completely. The way the shadows moved was strange, and the feeling of being watched was almost impressive.

Just when Sweetie Belle was about to bolt, though, she instead stopped. Below her were several sets of hoofprints in the dust. Seeing this, she almost fainted, thinking that somepony was now following her. Her rational mind stopped her, though, and reminded her that hoofprints really meant that somepony had been there recently. With this in mind, Sweetie Belle felt a glimmer of hope and began to follow in the direction that the prints were going.

That venture did not last long. The trail was strangely short, and at one point just stopped, as though the pony who had made them had simply vanished. This made Sweetie Belle shiver, but she pressed forward. Just when it looked as though she was about to become lost again, she found herself standing next to a large wooden door standing slightly ajar off of the cavernous stone hallway.

Confused by this, Sweetie Belle stopped. Then, without warning or really considering why, she pushed the door the rest of the way open, causing it to screech and squeal on its rusted hinges. The room on the other side was devoid of windows entirely, and was completely pitch black. A new smell met Sweetie Belle from within: a strange, musty odor of old things in an old place.

Curious, Sweetie Belle stepped into the darkness. Her light only reached out a few feet from her horn, and she saw several objects near her but not clearly. Deciding that this was a room where she could at least wait for somepony to find her, Sweetie Belle sat down and deactivated her light. This left her in absolute darkness, and she could hear things moving in it. Mostly small things- -probably rats- -but also something much more quiet and much louder.

Doing her best to ignore those things, Sweetie Belle focused on composing a spell. Just as whatever the large thing was began to come toward her, nearing her slowly to a distant of mere feet, several blinding white spheres of light erupted from her horn. The room was suddenly bathed in pale green light as the orbs flew out at high speed, arcing and curving before slowing and finally taking their places floating in the high portions of the room.

There had been nothing approaching her, Sweetie Belle saw, as she had on some level expected. Still shaking, though, she stood up and looked into what had formerly been darkness. The spell had not been completely successful, and her lights were still somewhat dim. Adding to their apparent inadequacy was the fact that the room was far more enormous than she had expected. It stretched out to the sides of the door toward two rows of heavy columns, and then forward like a long hall. The walls themselves were made of unadorned stone, although in a few places tattered banners hung that showed what Sweetie Belle assumed was the De’Lis family insignia, the same one that Fleur had for a cutie mark. The floor consisted of rough, long-rotted wood over heavy stone, and the ceiling consisted of high arches that looked like they might once have supported chandeliers.

The room was not empty. Around the edges, construction supplies and equipment had been stacked, although from the look of them they had last been used sometime in the sixties and had since been abandoned and forgotten. Those, though, were only marginally interesting compared to what was in the middle.

Sweetie Belle instantly recalled what Fleur had said: that Feathery Snipper had been constructing a kind of personal museum in an unused hall of the castle’s old section. This was that old section, and this was that hall.

Carefully, Sweetie Belle approached the center. The area that once might have been used for hosting feasts- -or perhaps for extensive dancing back in the medieval period- -had been filled with various articles of various sizes in shape that appeared to have been partially categorized and organized to create several uneven paths through them.

Sweetie Belle entered, staring in mild awe at the diversity of the things that had been collected. Much of it was furniture of various ages and in various states of decay. Most of it was missing pieces, or had experienced severe water damage, but all of it was tremendously old. These wardrobes, dressers, and ornately carved pieces of things whose functions had been forgotten to all the most studied of historians sat amongst rotting and rusted equipment of various types. Sweetie Belle knew even less of what those things were for, save for the simple articles like shovels or the peculiar preponderance of shears and blades that sat propped up against the larger machinery. Some of it was clearly agricultural, although Sweetie Belle saw at least one loom and two spindles.

Sitting amongst these were other, far less mundane things. There were swords and halberds, and a few rusted suits of incomplete armor sitting amongst damaged paintings and stacks of dusty glass jars. Beside those were display cases of tarnished, broken jewelry or of neatly folded, ancient looking garments. Some of the more decayed garments had been placed on a small contingent of moth-eaten, skeletal mannequins. Rarity would have wept at the sight of those clothes; they had become dusty and drab in the long years since their creation, and they gave the rotting mannequins that they had been lovingly placed upon the unsettling impression of being things that had recently crawled free of their graves.

“Creepy,” muttered Sweetie Belle, shivering as she instead turned her attention to an uneven pile of old blueprints and books, and then toward, of all things, an enormous and unexploded Pegasus-borne incendiary bomb from the Second Equestrian War. It was not in good condition, either; its surface was rusted and warped, and in some spots the mud that it had been dug out of was still clinging to it. Sweetie Belle supposed that Feathery Snipper had probably found it in the course of her gardening duties, and then for some less-than-rational reason decided to keep it.

Passing the antique bomb, Sweetie Belle came to the far end of the exhibit. There, the end was demarked by a large and damaged statue. It appeared to be made of some substance that resembled plaster, except harder. Had the statue been complete, Sweetie Belle might even have suspected that it was made of an immense piece of alabaster. Instead, though, she could quite clearly see the rusting framework of rebar emerging from the damaged figures: a pair of life-sized unicorns, one of them reduced almost entirly to a pair of legs, and standing between them a far larger representation of a white alicorn. The alicorn was standing on her rear legs, making her seem hauntingly tall and narrow as she reared up. One of her wings was missing, and the top half of her horn had broken away, but her eyes remained intact. They were almost frighteningly lifelike.

Sweetie Belle’s eyes lingered on this statue for what felt like several minutes. Something about it just seemed so haunting, the way that it had been broken and forgotten- -as well as why anypony had wanted something like that even when it had been complete. Eventually, though, her attention was attracted to a large but very old looking cork board that had been propped against a drawerless dresser beside the statue. Sweetie Belle blinked for a moment, realizing that the board was covered in papers of varying ages. Many were old to the point of yellowing, but several looked almost recent. All of them were small, and had notes written on them in a language that Sweetie Belle was not able to read.

This drew Sweetie Belle’s attention even more than the statue, if only because it was out of place. This was not something historical or old, at least as far as she could tell. It was not a relic, nor had it apparently been found in the castle; instead, somepony had created it. From the look of it, somepony had been planning something extremely complex.

Leaning closer did not help Sweetie Belle to be able to understand the foreign alphabet. Instead, it just made her eyes hurt. When she finally leaned back and allowed her eyes to readjust, she cried out and jumped as she saw a pair of eyes staring at her from behind the cork board.

This shock faded, though, when Sweetie Belle realized that they were not actual eyes at all. Instead, they were the eyes of a painted pony drawn on a covered canvas that the board was leaning against. Confused as to why this would be covered, Sweetie Belle shifted the board out of the way and grasped the dirty cloth that was covering the painting. Then, with one quick motion, she levitated it away.

The painting underneath appeared quite old, although it was difficult to tell. The surface showed signs of having gathered a great deal of dust and oxidation, but that just could have been a matter of its storage. Even more noticeable than that, though, was the fact that it was quite clearly unfinished. The majority of the yellowed canvass consisted of dark sketching where the painter had drawn his subjects before filling in the blocked-out shapes with paint. Only a small portion had actually been painted successfully.

Even with what little had been finished, though, Sweetie Belle recognized at least one of the figures well enough to gasp. The painting was- -or had been intended to be- -a portrait of two ponies. The larger of the two was Fleur, her face painted to perfectly capture exactly how she appeared in life. She seemed to be staring out at Sweetie Belle, not quite smiling. Beside her was a pony that Sweetie Belle did not recognize. He was a colt, probably at least Sweetie Belle’s age but possibly a little younger. Less of him had been completed, but the painting was whole enough for Sweetie Belle to be able to see that he was a white Pegasus with inky black hair and equally black but still glad looking eyes. It had been him who Sweetie Belle had seen staring back at her.

“You shouldn’t be here!” hissed a voice from behind Sweetie Belle, causing her to cry out again and jump. She turned sharply, bringing her lights close to the pony behind her and seeing that it was Muguet. In the sudden bright light, her blue eyes narrowed to a pair of hideous vertical slits. In the harsh glow and sharp shadows, she looked much less genial and pleasant than she normally did. For a moment, Sweetie Belle actually felt afraid.

Muguet took a step forward, her blue eyes never leaving Sweetie Belle. “What do you think you are doing?” she said, continuing with the same aggressive tone as before. She sounded almost like a different pony.

“Muguet, what’s wrong?” asked Sweetie Belle, taking a step back.

“I asked you a question!” cried Muguet, suddenly. Her expression of anger broke, and Sweetie Belle realized that she had been misreading the girl. Muguet’s expression was not one of hatred, but of terror. “Why did you come to this place?”

“I- -I got lost!”

“That isn’t an excuse!” Muguet looked around the room, nearly panicking. Sweetie Belle wondered what her powerful thestral eyes were allowing her to see that she herself could not. “This is the old section! It is not safe! The floors are unstable, and it is very, VERY easy to get lost and…and to not come back.”

“I didn’t know- -”

“And of all the places to come to, THIS place! You had to come HERE! If she finds you- -”

“What’s wrong with here? What is this place?”

Muguet just shook her head, refusing to answer. One of her long, batlike ears suddenly pricked, and what little color she had drained from her face. “She’s coming!”

Now even Sweetie Belle was feeling frightened, in part because she did not understand what was going on and in part because of how afraid her friend clearly was. Before she could try to ask again, though, Muguet jumped at her. To Sweetie Belle, this was quite shocking, and she momentarily wondered if the thestral was attacking her. Instead of feeling Muguet’s teeth, though, she felt her hooves around her. Then she felt her own hooves leaving the ground.

“Turn out your lights!” whispered Muguet, even as she was quite clearly struggling to elevate the weight of two ponies.

Sweetie Belle trusted Muguet and did as she was told. The room once again went completely dark. Muguet, though, was apparently able to see quite well, and the pair of them only drifted through the dark for a moment longer before Sweetie Belle felt her hooves touching cold stone. Since she had not felt herself descend at any point, she assumed she was standing on a high ledge.

Muguet kept her hoof on Sweetie Belle’s shoulder, apparently quite aware that the unicorn was not able to see in the dark. Sweetie Belle resisted lighting her horn, even though the pure darkness of the room was almost crushing. She was not aware how she had ever managed to be alone in it.

The darkness did not last long, though. The silence of the room was broken by the sound of echoing hoofsteps, and then a dim, flickering light came through the door. Sweetie Belle realized that it was from a lantern. She and Muguet both ducked down, peering over the edge to see Feathery Snipper enter the room.

Upon entering, the Pegasus increased the output of her lantern, but it was still only enough to barely light the area in front of her, producing a tiny spot of orange that cast long shadows in every direction as it fell on her collection of relics and curios. Snipper paused, as if realizing that something was amiss. Her dark eyes scanned the area around her, and Sweetie Belle felt her breath catch in her throat as Snipper’s eyes seemed to linger on the high part of the room where she and Muguet were hiding.

That upper corner, though, was still far too dark for Snipper’s lantern light to penetrate. She did not see them, and continued on into the darkness. Sweetie Belle watched as she came to the statue of the two unicorns and alicorn, barely pausing before turning toward the painting. Even at a distance, Sweetie Belle could see Feathery Snipper’s eyes narrow. She knew that somepony had been there.

“This way!” whispered Muguet, tugging at Sweetie Belle. Sweetie Belle looked up, and realized that the extremely dim glow of Snipper’s lantern had revealed the fact that the ledge at the upper corner of the room was continuous with a small opening that seemed to lead elsewhere. Muguet was pulling Sweetie Belle toward it and gesturing for her to follow.

Sweetie Belle, of course, did. She tried to remain as quiet as possible, and only stopped to take one look back. Feathery Snipper was still staring at the painting. For some reason, though, Sweetie Belle though that she could hear the distant sound of quiet sobbing. H^>�?}i

Chapter 7: Violence

Muguet was extremely diligent. She did not deviate from Fleur’s orders, and she stayed with Sweetie Belle for most of the rest of the day. Sweetie Belle herself did not mind. Muguet and her did not have terribly much in common, but they got along reasonably well. That, and having somepony who actually understood the layout of Fleur’s castles and the customs of the wealthy really helped a lot of the time. Sweetie Belle found herself feeling a little more secure when somepony was with her. At the moment, she was not sure if she wanted to be alone.

Still, things were starting to bother her. Certain elements of the situation were not adding up, and although everything still seemed superficially fine- -at least during the day- -Sweetie Belle had a nagging suspicion that something was quite wrong.

This thought weighed heavy on her mind as she sat in her room, watching Muguet walk around and occasionally dust something.

“I can’t have been hallucinating,” muttered Sweetie Belle to herself.

“Hallucinating?” Muguet turned around, looking somewhat intrigued. “Which one of us is hallucinating?”

“I was, I think. Maybe.” Sweetie Belle groaned. “The thing I’m sick with. Is hallucination part of that?”

“I don’t think so,” said Muguet. “At least, I’ve never heard of it happening. But I’ve only been here for less than a year. I don’t think Silver would know either. We just know that it makes us sick.”

“Do you think Snipper would know?”

Muguet considered for a moment. “She has been here a long, long time,” she said. “So, she might. But do you want to ask her?”

“No.”

“I thought as much.” She paused. “I don’t want to either.” She leaned in close to Sweetie Belle. “I don’t like her very much,” she whispered.

“Yeah. I picked up on that.”

Muguet grinned. “This is so new to me! I’ve never had a friend before. Somepony to talk to. I mean, I can say some things to Silver, but not everything, of course. He actually bears great affection for Feathery Snipper. I don’t know why.”

“You’ve really never had friends?”

“I’m cursed, remember? The wrong color. So no. Not until now.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help.”

“So,” said Muguet, folding her legs beneath her as she sat down on the wooden floor. “While we’re talking like this…can you tell me about your home? In this…what was it called?”

“Ponyville.”

“Such a strange name.”

“I guess.” Sweetie Belle paused. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but Muguet was staring up at her wide-eyed. “Well…it’s a village. Maybe a hamlet.”

“A hamlet! I’ve never seen a real hamlet before!”

“It’s not that much different from the villages here. Except…neater. And everypony is happy, at least most of the time. But I guess it’s a little more…modern?”

“Modern?”

“We have a spa, a market area, bakery, library…oh, wait, no. No library. It blew up.”

“Blew up? How?” Muguet gasped. “Was it a gas leak? Because that’s something we need to be VERY careful about here. These walls have so many gas pipes in them…”

“No,” said Sweetie Belle. “It’s…complicated. But it’s okay. We have a castle now. That’s where Twilight lives.”

“Princess Twilight Sparkle!” gasped Muguet, as though she had been waiting for that part. She then looked somewhat confused. “Although…I would have thought that one of our dear immortal goddesses would live in…a city? Not a hamlet.”

“It’s new. There’s an adjustment phase.”

“Ah,” said Muguet. “And the Princess, is she as beautiful as they say?”

“She’s very…purple.”

“Purple!” sighed Muguet. “If only I had been born purple! I would probably be attending banquets with the Baroness as an equal…or as equal as a peasant can hope to be compared to hereditary purity, of course.” She paused. “Actually, come to think of it, I have heard that the Princess had a pureblood brother.”

“You mean Shining Armor?” Sweetie Belle was not sure what Muguet meant by “pureblood”, and she was actually still having a hard time grasping how a white unicorn was almost godlike to her people but any other white pony was considered an abomination. “Well…yes. He…exists.”

“Is he as handsome as ponies say?” said Muguet, standing up almost frighteningly fast.

“No. Not at all. I’ve seen him. Sure, he looks fine from a distance. But he has a weird shaped face. And his voice…” Sweetie Belle shivered.

“I would hardly care about his voice. It’s not the voice I would be interested in.”

“Ah. The horn, then?”

Muguet suddenly blushed profoundly. “I was going to say personality and kindness,” she squeaked. She then immediately tried to change the subject. “What about you, Sweetie Belle?”

“Mines still nubby because I’m still really young,” said Sweetie Belle defensively. “Rarity says it will grow out…eventually…”

“No. I mean, what are you interested in?”

“Me?” Sweetie Belle thought a moment. “Well, music, for one. And cutie marks. And I do like experimental theater sometimes.”

“No! I mean…well…fillies or colts?”

Now it was Sweetie Belle’s turn to blush. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I mean what do you think of them? You are a white unicorn! Surely you must have all of your hamlet’s colts at your beck and call!”

“I’m twelve!”

“I see,” said Muguet, smiling mischievously. “So your horn isn’t the ONLY thing about you that is nubby.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!” cried Sweetie Belle, causing Muguet to giggle.

The conversation was making Sweetie Belle just as uncomfortable as when Applebloom would occasionally bring that particular subject up, and she tried to change the subject. She reached out with her horn and picked up the record next to the phonograph. “Hey, do you like music.”

Muguet inhaled sharply and stared wide eyed at the disk. “I don’t know!” she said.

“You don’t know? Well, let’s find out.” Sweetie Belle quickly unwrapped the disk and set it down on the turntable, expertly setting up the assembly and gently setting the needle onto the record. It began to play, and Muguet gasped and jumped back as if she was not really sure how music worked.

It only took her a moment to realize that she liked it, though. “It’s so pretty!” she said, her body swaying back and forth. “Doesn’t it make you want to dance?”

“This isn’t a waltz,” said Sweetie Belle. “It’s a classical composition.” Yet, somehow, Muguet was still managing to sway in time with the music.

“Come dance with me!” Muguet laughed as she pranced gracefully around the room, her wings fluttering as she did. Sweetie Belle hardly noticed, though. Instead, she had directed her full attention to the player.

The last time she had played this record, she had been ill and tired. She had not really gotten a chance to listen to it clearly. Then, it had sounded like an ordinary song played on a damaged disk. Now that she was awake, alert, and healthy, though, Sweetie Belle was able to notice that the distortion was far more complicated than simply a bad press or a scratch.

Almost immediately, she stopped the turntable and removed the disk.

“Hey!” said Muguet. “I was enjoying that.”

“Something’s not right,” said Sweetie Belle. She turned the disk over and inspected it. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what? I heard the music. It was so pretty.”

“Hmm.” Sweetie Belle looked up at Muguet. “It’s probably because I have a music-based special talent. See?” She pointed to her flank, and the tri-color mark with an eighth note in the center. “I can hear things you can’t.”

She lifted the disk, and then closed her eyes, concentrating. The light from her horn darkened, and became more solid as it drifted over the disk, filling the sound grooves and the scratches alike.

“What are you doing?” asked Muguet.

“It’s a spell,” said Sweetie Belle, still concentrating with everything she had. “And…there!” The disk dropped into her hooves, although it was still glowing with the residue of her greenish-white magic. “It’s an audio enhancement spell. Here. Let’s listen to it now.”

Sweetie Belle set the disk back on the turntable, being careful not to damage the spell but also attempting to move quickly so that she would be able to listen to the record before the spell ran out of power and it went back to being an ordinary music disk.

She set the needle onto the disk and allowed it to play. The spell had not been absolutely perfect, and there was still a slight sound of the music, represented in a low and distorted way that made it seem distant and bizarre, as though it was being played in a far-off room using instruments that were not yet known to pony kind.

At first, there was nothing else. The distant, strange music simply played, and Sweetie Belle and Muguet both leaned in close to the phonograph. Then Sweetie Belle heard it, and Muguet seemed to as well. When the audio distortion that they had heard before began, it sounded just like hoofsteps crossing the wooden floor.

The hoofsteps were almost silent, but then they stopped and were gone for several bars. Then, all of a sudden, they were replaced by a different and far louder sound that caused Sweetie Belle and Muguet to both jump back in surprise.

It was the sound of a voice. A groggy, panicked voice that seemed to suddenly shout something indecipherable, followed by a rapid string of words in a language that Sweetie Belle could not understand. This suddenly devolved into screaming, and the sounds of a struggle. There were sounds of stomping hoofsteps, and of cries of terror and agonizing pain, as well as things being thrown or moved. Then there was more screaming, this time in words that Sweetie Belle did not need to understand. She could hear the panic in the voice, and she knew that its owner was pleading.

“Turn it off,” said Muguet. “Sweetie Belle, turn it off!”

Sweetie Belle reached for the revolution speed control, but not before there was one final, horrible scream, rendered almost like a whisper on the phonograph. This was followed by a sudden thump, and a sound even more horrible than the scream that had preceded it. It was a wet gurgling. Like wheezing or choking through a great deal of water, and several futile coughs before the needle suddenly jumped, following the long scratch down the side of the record and causing the phonograph to suddenly go silent.

Even without producing sound, the record continued to revolve for several seconds. Sweetie Belle and Muguet just stared at it, watching it spin in utter silence. Then they slowly turned to each other.

“It…it must not have been set properly,” said Sweetie Belle. “Instead of playing at low volume, it was partially stuck recording. The sounds in the room got overlaid into the music…” She stopped the record and looked at its surface. “And the scratch…whoever was making those sounds must have knocked down the phonograph.”

“This- -this isn’t something we should have heard,” said Muguet.

Sweetie Belle thought that was a strange response. “The words, though. I didn’t understand what they meant.”

“You’re better off….better off not knowing,” choked Muguet.

“So you could understand them?”

Muguet nodded solemnly. “I…did.”

“What did they say?”

Muguet looked at Sweetie Belle, but then just shook her head. “Sweetie Belle- -”

“I have to know!” cried Sweetie Belle, jumping off her chair with enough force to frighten Muguet. She was not sure where this sudden burst of passion had come from, but it now seemed maddeningly important “Please!”

Muguet’s eyes flitted about the room, but she finally closed them and sighed. “‘What are you doing’, followed by something else, then ‘no, please. Please, no, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean’. Then more pleading. Then…just screaming. No words.”

The two just stared at each other for what felt like a minute. Then they looked back at the disk. The magic had faded, and it was just a normal disk now with a pretty classical song. A song that masked what Sweetie Belle and Muguet now both understood to be the accidentally recorded sound of a pony being murdered.

Rarity, meanwhile, was hard at work. Dressmaking was one of the only things left in the world that she truly enjoyed, and there was nothing in Equestria similar to the way her mind raced and how creativity seemed to flow out of her as she built new and beautiful clothing. In those moments, she was no longer an aging soon-to-be has been. She was just as potent and powerful as she had been when she had first picked up a needle and thread so many years ago.

“Miss Rarity,” said Silver, approaching her from the side. “I have the linings prepared for the second version bridesmaid dresses.”

“Excellent,” said Rarity. She pointed toward a desk on the far side of the room. “Put them over there. I’ll start on the skirts next. Hmm…” She paused for a moment, considering how long exactly the skirts needed to be. She certainly did not want to make what the fashion community derogatively referred to as “butt-funnels”, but if she kept Fleur’s train short and modern she would need to size them appropriately, either with a contrast or with a proportional match. Then, of course, there was the possibility of creating a more old-fashioned design for Fleur, something that would definitely change the way the bridesmaid skirts needed to be in terms of both length and in shape.

As Rarity was thinking about this, she found herself watching Silver cross the room to the desk that she had pointed to. There was window directly over it- -a large, old fashioned one with a graceful arcing top- -and in the light, he almost seemed to glisten. Staring at a large, strong butler- -a butler who was reasonably competent at sewing- -made Rarity’s face suddenly feel warm.

“There we go,” he said, turning around and ruining Rarity’s view. “Now, did you want me to prep the lace lengths, or you going to wait until we can order the alternate pattern? I don’t know if- -” He paused, looking down at Rarity. He momentarily looked concerned. “Miss Rarity,” he said. “You look so red.”

“I- -I- -no I don’t!” said Rarity.

“No, you do.” He crossed the room gracefully and put one of his hooves against her head, being careful to be respectful and not touch her horn without permission. “I think you have a fever! I hope you’re not coming down with what your sister has!” He stepped back. “You need a rest.”

“I don’t need to rest. There’s so much work to do- -”

“The wedding is not for several weeks.”

“But I have to make so many dresses, not just the main one. The bridesmaids, the servant uniforms, the matching pieces for the groom’s side- -”

“And is rushing going to make them better?”

“Well…no…”

“Here,” he said, holding out his hoof. He had unusually long fetlocks- -at least unusual for Canterlot culture- -but they were well brushed, and Rarity had always had a slight predilection for hairier stallions. The only thing that would have made it better was if Silver had possessed a moustache.

Rarity took his hoof, and he led her to a couch in the rear of the room. He helped her up onto it. “I brought up some chilled green tea in case this happened. Just hold on for a moment.”

“Darling, you certainly are an attentive butler.”

Silver laughed softly. “I’m not actually a butler. At least not a classically trained one, although the Lady seems to think that I have some natural talent. I’m not so sure.”

“No so sure? Darling, I know several families in Canterlot who would pay their horns to have a butler like you!”

“Really?” he said, delivering the tea to Rarity in simple but elegant crystal glass. He had even taken the time to garnish it.

“Oh my,” she said, taking a sip. “Thank you.” She noticed that there was only one glass. “You aren’t having any?”

“I don’t think it would be appropriate.”

“Darling, on this, I simply MUST insist. Please. You’ve been working just as hard as I have been, if not harder. I know how difficult this can be for Earth ponies. Here.” She reached out with her magic to where Silver had stored the tea, and poured him a glass, even going so far as to garnish it. She then levitated it to him. “There. Now we’re even, aren’t we?”

He looked down at the glass, but then took it with a wide and gracious smile. “Thank you, Miss.”

“Tut tut, I simply couldn’t go on enjoying myself why you’re just sitting there thirsty and sweating…with it slowly dripping down…and…”

“Oh my,” said Silver. “I didn’t realize! Oh, I’m so sorry, you must think I’m disgusting!”

“No, no,” said Rarity. “No. Not at all. It’s disgusting when a MARE sweats. And you most certainly are not a mare.”

“Oh.” Silver looked at his rump. “Did I cut my tail too short again?”

“Not at all. In fact, I’ve never seen a stallion with such a long tail and mane. It’s very Old-World.”

“I don’t really know what that means,” laughed Silver. “But thank you anyway.”

“It must be very hard for you here,” said Rarity.

“If you mean because I work hard, yes. I am an earth-pony, and it is our way. That, and the Baroness deserves my very best. In any capacity she desires.”

“Any?”

“Yes. Cooking, cleaning, handywork. Even buttling. Unless that’s not a word.”

“It isn’t,” giggled Rarity. “But I knew what you meant.”

“I enjoy this life, though. It is quiet, and peaceful. And I have good friends here.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” said Rarity. “You are the only stallion here. That was the difficult part I was referring to.” She paused. “Especially with that younger one. Muguet, the maid?” She swirled her tea. “I would certainly understand if you had an interest in her.”

“Muguet?” Silver seemed confused and mildly disgusted by the thought. “Oh, no. Muguet is…fragile. Many stallions have treated her very, very poorly in her life. I love her, but only in that we are of very few who understand each other. I bear no attraction to her.” He smiled. “Actually, I tend to prefer…older mares.”

“Older?” Rarity’s eyes suddenly narrowed, and she felt her jaw clench. “What, exactly, do you mean by that?”

“Well,” he said, his eyes becoming somewhat wistful. “I mean a more that’s more worldly. More experienced with things. Who’s seen stuff I haven’t, or won’t.” He looked up at Rarity. “And as crude as it may be, I do appreciate the appearance of older mares. I actually think you are quite beautiful, Miss Rar- -EEK!” He cried out as his glass suddenly shattered in a surge of blue light.

Rarity stood up suddenly, barely able to control her seething anger. “Did you just call me old?”

“In- -in a relative sense!” said Silver. “I mean, you’re in your thirties, that’s not old but it’s older than me. And a lot older than Muguet- -”

“I’M NOT OLD!” shrieked Rarity. She drew up her glass in her magic and slammed it against Silver’s face. The force was so great that he was knocked sideways, and the glass was shattered. “I’M YOUNG and BEAUTIFUL! DON’T YOU DARE CALL ME OLD!”

Silver looked up at her, apparently terrified. To her horror, Rarity realized that a significant portion of the glass had been imbedded in his face. He was bleeding quite profusely. The blow had also listened his eyepatch, and Rarity could now see the pale sightless eye beneath.

“Oh my Celestia!” she cried, her anger immediately cooling. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean- -we need to get something to stop the bleeding- -”

“No, no,” said Silver, stepping back. He did not sound in pain, but he sounded terribly hurt. “I’m fine. It’s just a flesh wound. You missed my eye. By an inch or so.”

“I didn’t mean- -”

“I can see you have some issues to work out, and I was insensitive. I provoked you to anger.” He headed quickly toward the door. “I will go find Feathery, and give you a chance to cool down, if you don’t mind. Again, I’m sorry, Miss. None of this is your fault.”

With that, he quickly left the room, and Rarity was left alone. He hung her head and found herself staring at the droplets of bright red blood that now ran across the wooden floor. He had been trying to be nice, and she had nearly blinded him, and possibly permanently scarred his face as well. She had no idea what had come over her, and she felt tears welling in her eyes, both because she had ruined what could have been a very nice moment and because she was afraid of whatever it was that had made her act so uncouth.

She stood like this for several minutes, watching the blood, before she finally sighed and decided to get something to wipe it up before it left stains.

ght. I woke_>�i|i

Chapter 8: Secrets

“Sweetie Belle, why are we in the kitchen?” asked Muguet. She was slightly out of breath from having chased Sweetie Belle most of the way through the castle down to the food preparation area. This was not the small servant kitchen, but rather the much larger kitchen used to prepare large quantities of food meant for banquets or for large meals. It was a truly cavernous facility, filled mostly with equipment that looked as though it had been highly modern about a half-century earlier and had not been used in at least three decades. Much of it was dusty and neatly stacked, having been put into storage long ago. Only a small area was active, as well as a pantry.

“I’m looking for something,” muttered Sweetie Belle, looking through the extremely well-stocked pantry. Most of the food was unlabeled, and the small amount that was had its labels written in a language that Sweetie Belle was not able to read apart from a few words like “sel” or “alun”.

“If you’re hungry, I can prepare something…”

“I’m not hungry,” lied Sweetie Belle. She was, of course, but she was not looking for something to eat. “Muguet,” she said. “Is there any place in this house that has a history of it? Like a library, or an archive?”

“In the pantry? No, definitely not.”

“Not in the pantry! I mean somewhere. Anywhere!”

“There is one in the old-section, but it would not be much use to you. The books have long since rotted away. Besides, they are in the aristocratic dialect, and I doubt most of them concern such mundane things.”

“It’s not mundane. I need to know.”

“Well…I am aware of some of the legends surrounding this place.”

“Legends?” Sweetie Belle pulled her head out of a large sack of rather lumpy looking potatoes. “What do you mean ‘legends’?”

“I can’t say exactly,” admitted Muguet, “because my own family did not teach them to me. They never spoke to me, except to yell or call me bad things.”

“Well, what do you know?”

“I know that this place is considered cursed. It’s…” She paused, thinking. “Somewhat like how white ponies are cursed, but stronger. I think the two may be related.”

“Because the De’Lis are white unicorns?”

“A little…but not exactly. Supposedly, they have employed exclusively white ponies as staff for centuries. I think it has more to do that. Nobility is expected to be odd and eccentric, like how they marry siblings. Ponies do not care about that. But a white staff? It frightens them badly.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“I’m not finished. The De’Lis have not always been as kind and as wonderful as our current Lady. Many have been cruel, and many strange. The rumors may be overblown, but there are accusations of Satin worship.”

“Again, not helping.” Sweetie Belle went back to digging through the potatoes. “Satin is a myth made up to pass the blame when ponies do bad things. Like how I used to blame Rarity for eating all the cake when I was a filly.”

“You’re not religious, are you?”

“Gods are just ponies with immense power. Literally, I’ve met several.”

“Then you are lucky. But my point is that this place is secretive, and isolated. There are many less believable stories than a Satin-worshipping cult. Some of them are true.”

“Like what?”

“Like how there are no funerals.”

Sweetie Belle paused again. “What do you mean ‘no funerals’?”

“Exactly what I said. I have had to live in a cemetery. There are four in this region. No De’Lis is buried there, and there is no cemetery or crypt on the property here. Nor has any funeral for a servant been recorded. It is as though they just…ceased to exist.”

Sweetie Belle shivered. She may not have believed in obsolete mythology, but she did not know what to make of what Muguet had just described. “And you still work here?”

“That story is not terribly threatening,” said Muguet, shrugging. “In fact, I believe it is simply because most servants depart for other properties in the Canterlot region. What? Do you think because I worship Celestia and fear Satin that I think some manner of ghost caused them all to vanish?”

“No,” sighed Sweetie Belle, feeling foolish for have thought exactly that. She was now searching a deep condiment shelf. “But it is weird.”

“What is it that you’re looking for, anyway?” asked Muguet.

“I’m not sure.” That was, actually, true. Something bad had happened here at some point and somepony knew what was going on. After hearing the phonograph and the sounds that had been hidden on it, Sweetie Belle remembered what Feathery Snipper had warned her, that she should not eat anything that Muguet gave her. At first, she had dismissed it as Snipper being strange or vindictive, but now she was not so sure.

“Wait,” she said, pushing back a large can of pepper to find something that did not match the rest of the condiments. Sweetie Belle reached in with her magic and withdrew a large brown bottle with a yellowed label. The text, though faded, was written in standard Equestrian. “Flocoumafen,” read Sweetie Belle, slowly. She looked up at Muguet. “What the hay is that?”

“Is that what it is called?” she said, taking the bottle. “A strange name. But I’ve been putting it in all the food.”

“You what?” Sweetie Belle looked down at the bottle. It definitely did not look like food, or even a spice of any kind. It looked like a dusty bottle of laboratory-grade chemical. That, and Sweetie Belle did not recognize the name at all.

“I put it in the food,” said Muguet. “All of the food.”

“Why?”

“Because it is Lady De’Lis’s orders. Or at least, that is what Feathery told me. She said that I was to put a small amount in everything we cook, that it was oil of lemongrass and that it was one of the Lady’s favorite flavors.”

“Does this say ‘lemongrass’?” asked Sweetie Belle, holding up the bottle.

“I cannot say,” said Muguet, looking down at it.

“Because you can’t read standard Equestrian…”

“No. Because I can’t read at all. Blancos are not allowed to attend school, or to own books.”

“So you didn’t even know what it was…” Sweetie Belle opened the container and very carefully smelled it. There was no scent, but Sweetie Belle immediately began to feel ill and felt the inside of her nose begin to smell like metal. “It’s not lemon,” she said, passing it to Muguet.

Muguet took a sniff. “No. It isn’t.” She turned the bottle up. “Perhaps a taste?”

“No!” cried Sweetie Belle, taking the bottle away before she could take a sip. “I don’t know what this is, but…”

An idea suddenly occurred to her. She set the bottle back on the shelf and looked around. On the wall was a rack of butcher paper, and she pulled down a piece. Near the door to the pantry was a clipboard hung on the wall. She approached it, noticing that the writing- -most likely the inventory- -was written in the same hoofwriting and with the same foreign lettering that covered the board in Feathery Snipper’s makeshift museum. It seemed that Feathery was in charge of keeping the inventory, and that she was quite possibly the only servant capable of reading and writing.

Ignoring the clipboard, Sweetie Belle pulled out the pencil from the back and began to scribble a note on the scrap of brown paper.

“What are you doing?” asked Muguet.

“I’m writing a letter,” replied Sweetie Belle. “I have a friend in Ponyville. He’s good with this sort of thing. He’ll be able to look up what that flocis- -f luca- -whatever that stuff is really fast.”

“Perhaps,” said Muguet, sounding unconvinced, “but the mail ponies only come out this far once a month, and it takes at least two weeks to cross the Atflanktic Ocean.”

“Not for me. Watch this.” Sweetie Belle set the now fully written note on the floor and charged her horn. She stared intently at the note and concentrated, charging the spell. She then engaged it suddenly, and the piece of paper lifted gently off the ground before igniting in a blast of magic that was so bright that Muguet covered her eyes.

“You burned it!” she cried.

“No. I sent it. He should be burping it out any minute. Then it’s just a matter of waiting until he gets time to look it up in the library.”

“How long will that take?”

“I’m not sure. Hopefully not long. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I have a bad feeling. Like something really, really bad is going to happen.”

“Bad? Like what?”

Sweetie Belle shook her head. “I don’t know.”

The prototype wedding dress was coming along nicely, and yet Rarity did not feel remotely good about it. In fact, she had barely been able to work on it since what had happened to Silver Sight. He had not come back for several hours, and when he finally had, he spoke to her little and mostly focused on his work. Rarity tried to apologize, and he accepted it graciously with standard, generic statements that lacked the sincerity that he had used before. All the good will that he had possessed toward her before was gone, and Rarity was not sure if that state was permanent.

When the day finally did end, Rarity immediately poured herself several glasses of pony wine. She drank them faster than she should have, and was barely able to taste them even though they were of far higher quality than anything she could get in Ponyville. In that process, she also buried herself in a large plate of pastries that Silver had brought up before retiring to bed. They were thick, juicy, and delicious, although she did notice a strange metallic taste in her mouth by the seventeenth one.

Filled with wine and sweets, Rarity felt somewhat better. Not physically- -she felt terrible- -but because she was able to forget the embarrassment and shame of having injured and nearly maimed a servant just because she had overreacted to what were essentially compliments.

This was the state Rarity found herself in when she finally exited the workshop that had been assigned to her. She looked around, swaying on her hooves and giving a loud hiccup. The castle around her was dark again, which meant it must be night. The gas lights had been left on for her, but they had been set to their lowest safe setting. This made the corridors of the castle seem unusually dark, even though Rarity could technically still see.

“Oh,” said Rarity. “I…missed dinner.” She scolded herself for leaving Fleur to eat alone, and then wobbled down the hallway. She, like most ponies of Ponyville, had a high tolerance for drinks of various types, especially cider. As a unicorn, though, Rarity’s body was far more ladylike in its sensitivity. In other words, she was no Rainbow Dash.

Rarity’s luck did not improve, though. After only a few minutes , the lights suddenly faded from dim to pale blue, and then went out entirely, leaving Rarity in the dark.

In accordance with the surprise of this unexpected occurrence, Rarity swore with great vigor, speaking several choice phrases that would have made even Applejack blush. She then almost immediately slipped and fell to the floor.

“How in the name of all that is tulle am I supposed to SEE?!” cried Rarity.

Then she remembered that she was a unicorn, and, feeling like a fool, engaged a simple light spell. Her horn ignited, and then brightened, filling the hallway with a bright blue glow.

When she finally managed to stand, Rarity brushed herself off and looked around. Without the lights on, it was harder to see landmarks. The castle around her suddenly seemed so much larger. As amazing as it was, Rarity was beginning to see the downsides of living in a place like this. It still seemed so strange to her that Fleur, a socialite and tenant of a small but especially fabulous Canterlot flat, would want to live in this cavernous and isolated place.

As she started walking, Rarity suddenly winced. “Ow…what did I…” She trailed off as she looked down at her side. The places where she had landed were now filled with hideous, expanding bruises.

“Noooo!” she cried softly, trying to rub them away. “My coat color is RUINED! I- -I can’t be bruised! Not like this!” She looked down at the floor. “I didn’t think I fell that hard…but…BRUISES!” She burst into tears. “Now I’m old AND ugly! Fleur will never let me go to the wedding now! Unless…unless I used a lot of powder.” Her mind was now racing. “Or…sleeves! I can put sleaves on it and- -” She suddenly stopped, and put her hoof against her head. As bad as the bruises looked now, by the time the wedding happened they would surely be long gone. She was still angry that her perfect white color had been ruined, but she knew that there was no danger of it affecting her future when the time came to be fabulous.

Knowing this, she continued down the hall, trying not to think about the bruises or to fall over again. Doing both was surprisingly difficult, and it was becoming more difficult with every step. Rarity realized that she must have drank far too much pony wine, as she was beginning to feel deeply ill. The world around her seemed to be graying, and her stomach felt as though she were about to spill her oats. Perhaps more annoying though was the metallic taste and smell that filled her mouth and nose.

She paused for a moment, trying to fight back her nausea. When she did, something down one of the long hallways suddenly moved. It did not pass quickly, but Rarity looked up to see a white pony stepping through one of the corridor intersections and passing down another long hall.

Initially, Rarity felt extremely shocked to see somepony else walking around this late at night. After the visceral reaction of being startled, though, she started walking toward where she had seen the other pony.

“Silver?” she called, “Silver, is that you?”

There was no response, and Rarity rounded the corner just barely in time to see the flank of the pony rounding the next corner. This particular hallway was quite long, and Rarity did not realize how he could have gotten to the other side so quickly without breaking into an all-out gallop. The floor was tile, though. She would have heard that.

Still, she continued to follow. She had seen his tail, and recognized the length. Only, she had not remembered Silver Sight’s tail looking so white, or his body being so tall and grotesquely thin. Something about that made Rarity unduly nervous, even though she dismissed it as an optical illusion created by the focal point of light that she was projecting from her forehead.

“Silver?” she called again. “Or Fleur? Is that you?”

There was still no response, and Rarity began to feel annoyed. Of course, she understood if Silver wanted to ignore her. She had beaten him. Still, she sped up, trying to catch him. She was full of wine, and she wanted to apologize. There would probably be crying involved, but she was sure that they would be friends again after they were done. She might even be able to get a date, even if the idea of a night out with a butler was completely scandalous.

At every turn, though, she never managed to catch up to her quarry. Every time, he would always appear just out of reach, but still visible. She would catch a glimpse of a tail, or a strangely high flank, or even a momentary reflection of gray light from a pair of eyes. After a few minutes of pursuit, Rarity suddenly found herself exiting the castle by a side door and entering the dark garden outside.

“Oh,” she said, looking around, surprised. “How did…how did I get here?”

The situation was not entirely unpleasant. The outdoors was certainly chilly, and Rarity wished that she had brought a scarf with her, but it was not strictly cold. In fact, the cool, fresh air made her feel a little better, and she felt her nausea fading to a far more tolerable level.

It was also quite beautiful. Despite the distance from Canterlot, Luna’s moon was still high in the sky, and without the any city lights whatsoever the sky itself seemed profoundly bright with stars and constellations. The effect was stunning, but it also made Rarity feel alone. Staring at the beautiful sky was inspiring, but also such a very lonely proposition without somepony to share it with.

Looking up, Rarity suddenly winced as a sharp pain shot through her head. The nausea she had felt before immediately returned in full force, and for just a moment she had though that she heard a voice. It said something, but it was not in a language that she could understand, nor any language that she had heard in her life.

“I deserve this,” she sighed. “It’s what I get for wasting so much good wine.” She sighed, and after the pain in her head dulled, she stated walking into the garden. She needed more time outdoors to clear her head. If she went to bed in this state, she would no doubt never be able to perform her duties properly the next day.

This was a mistake. The garden that was so beautiful in the day was far more sinister at night. The gnarled, dark trees seemed to press in from all sides, and the only sound was that of their leaves being slowly turned by the breeze. Within minutes, Rarity was completely lost.

This concerned her, but she did not exactly panic. Even in the dark, it was still apparent that she was in a garden. This was not some dark forest with strange creatures roaming about; it was a manicured example of traditional horticulture, a thing of beauty and culture that represented a pony’s control over nature. Still, the trees did look so strange in the dark, and Rarity could not help but have the feeling that she was being watched.

Then, as she followed the pavestone path, a shadow suddenly passed over the ground. Rarity cried out, and looked up behind her. There was nothing but the moon and stars, and the high trees that seemed to be attempting to block it out. She tried to stare into the trees, but saw nothing. Whatever had cast the shadow- -it if had been anything at all- -had been perfectly silent.

Rarity sped up as she walked away, all the while trying to dismiss what she had seen. It could have been a bird, or a branch, or possibly just an anomaly in her spell that made it LOOK like something had passed between her and the moon. As much as she tried to rationalize, though, the feeling of being watched was now undeniably stronger. There was something out there, in the garden, watching.

It took everything Rarity had not to break out into a full gallop. She knew that if she did, she would not be able to stop until she either passed out or expelled her entire pastry dinner from her stomach. Neither of those were things she wanted to do, so she tried to control herself. All the while, every sound of leaves or branches moving sounded like something jumping through the canopy of the ancient trees or lurking in the ferns and flowers beneath them. It was almost unbearable.

Then, suddenly, Rarity came to a clearing. The trees and shrubs stopped, and, of all things, Rarity found herself standing at the edge of a rocky cliff overlooking a large and decorative pond. Beside her was a small stream that came from somewhere on her left, apparently built into the woods to provide a version of a woodland creek and to generate the small waterfall that was now pleasantly cascading over the moss-covered cliff into the water below.

Even as nervous and paranoid as Rarity was, she had to take pause to admire the pond. She was less than ten feet above it, but that vantage gave her a chance to see that it was quite astounding. This was not a small, stagnant, unkempt affair. It was wide, deep, and surrounded by a number of exotic but hardy reeds and flowers. Rarity actually recognized it; one of the pictures of Fleur’s mother had shown her posing partially submerged in a reed-filled section near the northern edge. Rarity had thought it strange at the time, but with the level of artistry that had gone into creating this water feature, she understood why Couleur De’Lis had wanted to pose in it.

Although Rarity would not have personally posed IN the pond, she was beginning to wonder if she could get Fleur to work it into the wedding plans so that she could incorporate some of the thematic elements of the aquatic plants into her design. If not, she would certainly be able to use them in her next fashion line. She only wished that she had remembered to bring her notepad to do some sketches.

Rarity was so engrossed in this fit of creativity that she very nearly missed the fact that she was not alone. She jumped suddenly when she looked across the water and saw another pony staring back at her. There, on the far bank, was a completely white unicorn. He was tall and thin, as Fleur was, except whereas Fleur was beautiful he seemed sickly and strange. Rarity gasped, confused, not knowing who he was or why his strange gray eyes never seemed to blink. That was when she felt the hooves pushing on her back.

There was not time for her to compensate for the sudden force, and with a cry she tumbled forward, slipping off the wet surface of the cliff and dropping into the water below. She struck it with a splash and was immediately submerged. This in itself was starling, but a far deeper fear suddenly filled her as the cold of the water struck her. Rarity’s chest tightened, and she took a sudden deep breath, inhaling a breath of water in the process.

She rose to the surface coughing and spitting, but quickly found herself falling back under. Something was wrong. She was not a good swimmer, but she knew how to if the situation called for it. For some reason, though, her legs felt like the strength had gone out of them. The water was just so cold, and every second it was touching her it was agonizing. She could not breathe, and began to flail in panic- -at first. It only took seconds for her legs to grow too weak to do even that.

There was no way out of the water. She had fallen in close to the cliff, where the water was deep but where there was no bank to climb out on. In her current state, there was no hope of getting to the far edge. Her splashing was getting weaker as she grew more numb, and she was starting to slip beneath the surface. She was still coughing from the water she had inhaled, and even that was all she could manage from. Making a cry for help was impossible.

Then she slipped under. Rarity finally managed to let out a cry, but it was too late. All she succeeded in doing was letting the last bit of air out of her lungs and losing whatever buoyancy she had left. The world began to fade, and the view of the moon through the surface of the water began to darken as Rarity began to drown.

Before she passed out entirely, though, Rarity heard a distant splash, distorted by her depth. There was a pause that seemed like it lasted years, and she felt a hoof around her. Then she felt herself rising.

She was brought up to the surface, and she coughed weakly. There was still water in her lungs, and she was too tired to expel it all. She looked around, and she saw that she was being held by Silver Sight.

“Rarity? Rarity?!” he cried.

Rarity could only respond by looking at him, and he seemed terrified. He began to paddle toward the shore, but doing so quickly became almost impossible for him. Despite being larger and more athletic than Rarity, he was still succumbing to the same cold-water shock that she had.

“Don’t give up on me,” he said, forcing himself forward as best as he could. “Please! Not like this!”

Rarity tried to respond, but she only felt herself growing more and more tired. The water no longer felt cold. If anything, it felt comfortable. She did not know why Silver was pulling her along; she just wanted to drift, even if that meant sinking to the bottom. As she contemplated this and began to fall asleep, she felt herself drifting out of Silver’s weakening grasp. He increased his grip, but all that meant was that Rarity was now pulling him under along with her.

Then the world around her erupted with blue light. Rarity suddenly felt herself and Silver rising through the now roiling water. At first she thought that Silver was pulling her, but then she felt the water pass across her body as she was lifted into the air completely. Confused, she looked down at the now gray and quickly fading world to find the source of the light. There, on the bank of the pond, she saw Fleur, her long horn alight with blue fire as she levitated the pair free of the water.

Despite the effort of lifting two ponies simultaneously, Fleur maintained her normal poise as she slowly drew Rarity and Silver Sight to the shore before lowering them down softly. Silver immediately shot up and grabbed Rarity, turning her over.

“Rarity!” he cried. “Cough! COUGH!”

Rarity was now nearly unconscious, and all she could manage was the slightest and daintiest of coughs. This seemed to trigger a torrent of much louder, violent coughs that were not even remotely ladylike as she expelled the water in her lungs. This was profoundly painful, and it seemed to take hours before she was able to breath properly and found herself shivering and wet on the bank.

“You’re alive! You’re alive!” cried Silver. “Thank the Yellow Goddess!” He hugged her, and Rarity felt that he was shivering just as hard as she was.

Fleur stepped toward them, clearly tired from the magical exertion she had just performed, but still with a look of grave concern on her face. Feathery Snipper, looking oddly alert for a pony awake so late at night, followed her closely.

“Rarity? Silver Sight?” she said. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” lied Silver. “But Miss Rarity took on a lot of water. She’s dangerously cold. I need to get her inside, to a fire.”

“Right,” said Fleur. She turned to Snipper. “Go prepare a fire in the ground floor tea room, and fetch some blankets.”

“Yes, My Lady.”

“I will help carry her,” said Fleur.

“No need,” said Silver, standing up and throwing Rarity across his back. “You’ve already saved her life, and mine. I was already in your eternal debt, but now I am even more so. Please allow me to do this.”

Fleur just nodded, but still stayed close to him as Rarity was brought back toward the castle. Rarity was still cold, mildly drunk, and in a lot of pain. She was shivering desperately and wet, but having a warm stallion beneath her made her feel at least marginally warmer, and she found herself wrapping her forelegs weakly around Silver’s neck.

As they approached the castle, she began shaking not just from cold but from relief and the realization that she had almost met her end in one of the most undignified and pointless ways possible. As this thought occurred to her, she looked up to the looming gray stone towers of the old section of the castle- -and for just a moment, she thought she saw a pair of gray eyes watching her from one of the high windows. r�_>[}i

Chapter 9: Recovery

Sweetie Belle burst into the fire-lit room and immediately looked around in a panic. She was not sure what she expected to see- -or not see- -but her eyes immediately fell on Rarity, who was wrapped in blankets, sitting near the fire, and leaning against Silver Sight’s shoulder.

“Rarity!” she cried, causing Rarity to turn and nearly burst into tears. Sweetie Belle could not control herself at the sight of her sister crying, and she burst into tears too. She ran to Rarity and wrapped her in a tight hug.

Muguet had entered with her, and when she saw Silver her eyes lit up. “Frère!” she cried, racing to him. He seemed extremely happy to see her, and although he did not cry they hugged as well.

“I thought I would never see you again!” cried Rarity. Her whole body was shaking, and her mane was still slightly damp and smelled of pond.

“What the buck happened?” said Sweetie Belle as her and her sister released each other. Muguet also turned toward them, curious, although she pressed herself into Silver’s chest rather than disconnecting from him completely. He put one hoof around her, holding her tight.

Rarity hardly seemed to mind Sweetie Belle’s severe language. “I…I had too much to drink,” admitted Rarity. “I went outside, and…I fell into the pond.”

“You fell in?” Sweetie Belle had seen the pond on the way to the castle; it was not big, or even that much deeper than a pony. “Why didn’t you just, you know, swim out?”

Rarity looked insulted by this, but Silver spoke. “It is not that easy,” he said. “Winter has only recently passed, and the water there is still terribly cold. One cannot swim in cold water. Your sister nearly drowned.” He paused. “We both did.”

“I would have,” said Rarity. “Had you not been there. You saved my life.”

“No. I prolonged it, slightly. But we both would have been lost had the Baroness not intervened.”

“But if you had not been there in time,” said Rarity. “I…I…” she burst out into sudden sobbing. “I was so afraid!”

“It’s okay,” said Sweetie Belle. “You’re safe now.”

It took Rarity a moment, but she seemed to calm down. As sad as she seemed, Sweetie Belle got the impression that Rarity was actually experiencing a rather unstable form of joy at not being cold and deceased in the bottom of a pond.

Rarity turned to Silver. “But you saved me,” she said. “And after I was so horrible to you.”

Silver’s hoof instinctively went to the deep cuts on his face, some of which had been stitched closed. It was at this time that Sweetie Belle realized that he was not wearing his eye patch. The eye underneath was white, and it did not move in unison with his other eye. It just stared blankly, and when Silver saw Sweetie Belle staring his expression changed to one of shame and he turned his head to hide it.

“I couldn’t just leave you,” he said. “You’re too young to go so soon. No pony should have to face a death like that…”

“But how did you find me?” asked Rarity. “I couldn’t scream, or cry out. It was like…”

“Like the water had taken your voice,” said Silver, knowingly. “I had been sleeping in the groundskeepers hut when I awoke from a curious dream. I was lying there when I heard a splash. I went to investigate, and got there just as you had stopped struggling.”

“Stopped struggling?” gasped Sweetie Belle, putting her hooves to her mouth. She felt a chill go down her spine as she realized how close her sister had been to death. At the same time, though, a second through occurred to her. “Wait,” she said. “Why were you sleeping in the groundskeeper’s hut?”

“Because I was tired,” said Silver, averting his eye and trying to dismiss the question.

“Well, I’m glad you were,” said Rarity, leaning over and hugging him, much to Muguet’s chagrin. “If not, I would have…”

She did not finish the sentence, but Sweetie Belle was still confused. She knew that her sister was tired and just wanted to be left alone with Silver to warm herself, but something did not feel right.

“How did you fall in?” she asked. “What were you even doing out there at night?”

“I was looking for Silver,” said Rarity. “I saw him walking out there, and I tried to follow.”

Silver looked confused at this. “You saw me?”

“Yes. When you went out to the garden.”

“But I just told you. I was asleep. I had been in the hut since sunset. I never left.”

“Sleeping?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Sure…sleeping…”

“But then who was I following?” asked Rarity. Her eyes widened. “Actually, I remember…” She looked to Silver. “Before I fell in, I saw a white unicorn.”

Sweetie Belle gasped, but this time less audiably, because she knew what Rarity was talking about. She had seen him too, on more than one occasion. She also was careful to take note of Silver and Muguet’s reaction. While Muguet just looked confused- -as seemed normal for her- -Silver’s eye showed a hint of recognition. Sweetie Belle realized that he knew.

“I’ve seen him too,” she admitted. “Who is he?”

“No one,” said Silver. “In the most literal sense. No white unicorn has lived in this castle since the death of the late Master De’Lis, and that was long before my time.”

“And he was a white unicorn?”

“Of course. All nobility are. Quite stately, I believe. His daughter inherited his pink mane. In all honesty, it is far more fetching on a mare.” He paused, and looked directly into Sweetie Belle’s eyes. “But I assure you. There are only three white unicorns here.” He looked up to Rarity. “What you saw, I do not know what it was, but it was not one of us.”

“But…I saw him. He was right there.” Rarity shivered, and this time not because she was cold. “White body, white hair, and…those eyes…” Rarity then looked up for a moment. “He was the last thing I saw before I was pushed into the water…”

The three other ponies looked at her in shock. “Pushed?” said Sweetie Belle and Silver simultaneously.

“At least, that is what it felt like, but…” Rarity shook her head. “I’m not sure. I had too much pony wine. If I was seeing unicorns that don’t exist, I certainly could have imagined that. Never mind. I’ve met all of you, none of you would have done it. I simply must have lost my footing on the mossy edge.”

With that, Rarity laid down in front of the crackling fire. “I’m just so glad,” she said. “That I’m still here…”

Within seconds, she was asleep. Silver smiled and adjusted her blankets. “She is very tired,” he said. “As am I, I think. I am very glad to see both of you, and it warms my heart to see how concerned you were for your sister, Miss Sweetie Belle. But I think we both need to rest now.”

“I can stay with you,” said Muguet.

“No,” said Silver. “You need to rest too, as does Miss Belle. Both of you ought to go back to her room. I will stay here and watch over Rarity.” He paused, and his expression darkened. “And if you see Feathery, tell her that I need to see her. Immediately.”

Chapter 10: Watched

The weather had begun to change. When Sweetie Belle and Rarity had arrived, the sky had few clouds and the air smelled strongly of spring. Now, though, the sky had become dark. The sun did not shine through the fast-moving stratus clouds that rolled overhead, casting everything in threatening gray darkness.

A cold gust of wind came from the north, and Sweetie Belle pulled her scarf up to her mouth in an attempt to block out the chill. The wind was harsh and cutting, and Sweetie Belle had a feeling that it would soon be followed by cold rain, or perhaps even a late snowfall.

“Sweetie Belle!” cried Muguet, landing beside her from above. “We have to turn back! Please!”

“No,” said Sweetie Belle. “It’s not a long walk. And we’re already almost there.”

Muguet looked around, surprised by that revelation, even though she almost surely knew. All around them were the fields and windbreaks of the farmland that surrounded Castle De’Lis. It had taken some time, but the walk back down from the castle was not nearly as difficult as the walk up it.

“But we’re not supposed to stray from the castle!”

“Nobody told me that,” said Sweetie Belle.

“It’s supposed to be implicit!”

“Look,” said Sweetie Belle, stopping. Several houses were visible in the distance, including one near a dilapidated windmill that looked like it had not been operational in decades. One of the three local villages was just barely visible over a nearby hill. “Somepony just tried to kill my sister.”

“She fell it,” said Muguet, hurriedly. “It was an accident!”

“No,” said Sweetie Belle. “It wasn’t. I’m sure of it.”

“How? How could you possibly know that?”

“I just do.” She sighed. “Muguet, something is going on here. Something bad is happening in that house. Spike still hasn’t gotten back to me, so we’re on our own.”

“On our own? For what? We have your sister, and Lady De’Lis, and Silver- -”

“And do you think they’re going to believe us? That the castle is haunted, that I keep seeing a ghost walking through the halls at night? I just need to know a little bit more. About the castle, the De’Lis, something. And the village seems like a good place to ask.”

“It’s not,” said Muguet, now sounding quite serious. “Please, Sweetie Belle, you have to listen. You have to understand. It is not safe there. Not for me, and even for you. We are white ponies.”

“Rarity and I got through fine before.”

“You were lucky. Had you not been unicorns, you would have been beaten, or tarred and feathered, or…worse.”

“But I AM a unicorn.”

“But I’m not.” Muguet looked around nervously. She was shivering, but not completely because it was cold. She looked deeply anxious. “And please, trust me. Bad things can happen to us. Bad things have happened to me. Let’s just go back. I can make you hot cocoa.”

Sweetie Belle looked up, and then sighed. She levitated her scarf off and tied it around Muguet’s neck. “You can go back if you want to. But I won’t.”

“I can’t go without you.”

“Because of Fleur’s orders?”

“No. Because you are my friend, and I could not do that to you. You do not even speak the language.”

Sweetie Belle paused for a moment. “Okay,” she said. “How about this, then? If anypony asks, I’m Sweetie Belle De’Lis.”

Muguet, despite her fear, snorted as she laughed and covered her mouth with her hoof. “You’re not a De’Lis!”

“I know that, but they don’t. Just tell them I’m Fleur’s cousin, and I don’t think they’d dare touch me.”

“But they are likely as not to refuse to speak, then. They will fear you greatly.”

“I can tolerate that. And you’re my maidservant, okay?”

“Like, pretend, then?” said Muguet. She smiled slightly, even though she tried to hide it. “I never had a chance to play pretend before. Except to pretend that I was born normal.”

“Don’t get gloomy on me. The weather’s already bad enough. Are you coming or not? I can’t do this without you.”

Muguet paused for a long minute, but then nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I will try my best. But we need to get back before it starts to rain. You are already ill, and dampness could sicken you greatly.”

“I only need an hour, tops.”

“I hope we have that much time, then.”

Now in agreement, the pair approached the last hill toward the village. When it was finally in sight, Sweetie Belle realized that it looked even worse than she had remembered. In the gray light of the darkening sky, it looked as though it had aged ten years at least since she had last seen it. The buildings seemed darker, and the repairs and peeling paint that covered them was even more noticeable.

“This is Ouest,” said Muguet, slowing as she started to descent the hill. Her anxiety seemed to be returned.

“Is this the one you are from?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“No,” she said. “My village was not one of these three, but farther North. But I know this place. And many here know me, much to my shame.”

“Then stay close. If I have to, I know a spell that can turn a pony inside-out.”

“Inside-out?” said Muguet, aghast.

“Well, upside-down, but it’s almost the same thing.”

As the descended into the village, the response was almost immediate. There were few ponies outside, but those that were immediately stepped back into the shadows as though Sweetie Belle and Muguet were infected with some horrible disease.

“Blancos,” whispered one red-brown earth pony as he passed, making sure he was just loud enough for Sweetie Belle and Muguet to hear the insult. This was immediately followed by a call from a group of similarly drab earth-stallions. “Oi! Chauve-souris blanco! Skolko de soulever cette queue?”

“Putain! Skolko?”

“Non, ona es la pute de licorne!”

“Das lesbienne sale, alors?”

They immediately laughed amongst each other.

“What are they saying?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Nothing of importance,” said Muguet, wiping tears from her eyes.

“If you say so.” Sweetie Belle looked around the town. “Where do you think we can go to find some information?”

“Ouest has a tavern,” said Muguet.

“Do you know where it is?”

“Of course I know where it is,” she said, darkly. She started to lead Sweetie Belle through the narrow stone and dirt streets. As she did, Sweetie Belle began to notice a small group following them. Its nucleus consisted of the ponies who had yelled at Muguet before, but more had joined them. They all had strange expressions on their face, and they were looking at Muguet in a way that Sweetie Belle had never seen a pony look at another pony before. Occasionally, their glances would turn to her, and it made her feel extremely uncomfortable. She began to wonder if coming to the village was a bad idea.

“Excuse me,” said Sweetie Bell, walking up to a random gray-colored thestral. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

The thestral just glared at her, and then at Muguet with a look of absolute disgust. “Putain blanco souillée,” she said, her accent more closely mimicking Feathery Snipper’s than Muguet or Silver Sight’s. she then spread her leathery wings and fluttered away.

“Sweetie Belle,” hissed Muguet, pulling her away. “Don’t do that!”
“Do what? I just wanted to ask her!”

“Don’t talk to the thestrals. Don’t even look at them! The others might tolerate you, but many of the Eastern thestrals would just as soon kick you in the horn than talk to you.”

The thought of being struck in the horn made Sweetie Belle shiver. The idea of an injury befalling her most sensitive organ made her realize just how much danger she was in, and how naïve she had been.

“Muguet,” she said. “I’m starting to think you were right.”

“And what was your first clue?” Muguet sighed. “Well, at least you can admit it.”

“I think we should go.”

“Right.”

The two of them stopped and turned around, only see the now much larger crowd behind them slowly block the narrow street. When this happened, Muguet almost seemed to faint from terror.

“Oi,” said one of them, stepping forward. She was a rather large and surprisingly masculine thestral, and she seemed to be leering at Sweetie Belle. “Ou…should not be here.” She turned to Muguet and smiled, showing her long fangs. “Ou, though. Us…glad ou am here. Le Gwaedu not want?”

“What did you just say?” asked Sweetie Belle. The thestral’s alicornic was bad, but she recognized that word from somewhere.

The thestral looked down at Sweetie Belle. “This, daughter?”

Muguet responded with something in her own language, and several of the crowd stepped back wide-eyed. The thestral held her ground, but looked visibly more shaken. “Le Gwaedu?” she said, looking at Sweetie Belle. Her eyes narrowed. “No. Is only the one!”

“Well I’m here, aren’t I?” said Sweetie Belle. Then, trying to do her best Rarity impression: “I was only trying to take a tour of my cousin’s holdings, and I do NOT appreciate you peasants blocking my way. I’m cold, and would like to go home! Servant girl!” She clapped her hooves. “Make them get out of my way!”

Muguet responded in her own language, now smiling even as she covered her face with Sweetie Belle’s scarf. A few of the older stallions in the crowd almost immediately left, and quickly. Others saw them doing this, and although they stayed, they seemed to be getting more and more nervous.

The thestral glared at them for a moment. Sweetie Belle felt a sudden surge of nervousness, but finally the thestral relented. “Da,” she said, stepping aside. “But back, and not matters that Gwaedu.” She then spit on Sweetie Belle before punching Muguet hard in the face.

“Hey!” cried Sweetie Belle, suddenly angered by both insults. “You can’t- -”

“No,” said Muguet in a tone that made Sweetie Belle immediately stop. “Don’t do anything! They’re letting us leave!”

It was almost impossible, but Sweetie Belle suppressed her urge to fight back. She joined Muguet as they walked through the crowd. They were mostly unhindered, except for a stallion occasionally slapping Muguet’s flank or pulling her tail. This was making her cry, and Sweetie Belle began to really wish that she knew an inside-out spell.

They were halfway through the group when Sweetie Belle looked up to see something flutter down from the sky and land at the edge of the village. She was confused, because it was larger than a bird and perfectly white.

That was when she realized what- -and who- -it was. Feathery Snipper had just descended on the far end of the crowd.

Muguet suddenly gasped, and then grabbed Sweetie Belle. Without warning, she pulled her backward from where they had come.

“Move! Go!” she cried.

The crowd looked on confused, but by now most of their attentions had turned to Snipper, who was walking toward the group without any signs of fear or apprehension. From the look on her face, Sweetie Belle imagined that the only emotion she was feeling at the moment was pure hatred. When she finally understood what was happening, she turned around and joined Muguet as they both ran.

They left the now disorganized group and ducked down a narrow, filthy alley. Before they did, Sweetie Belle stopped to see the crowd retreating from Snipper. Most of the thestrals had immediately taken flight, and the ponies who had looked nervous now sprinted away with strange cries of curses or prayers. As nervous as the idea of a De’Lis had made them, they seemed to be absolutely terrified of Snipper.

As Sweetie Belle watched, only one stallion- -a young brown-colored thestral- -approached Snipper. She ignored him completely, and he became annoyed. He reached out to tough her wings, and was immediately felled by a punch to the face that sent several teeth flying. She said something in her own language, which was harsh and filled with consonants. That was when Sweetie Belle was pulled into the alley by Muguet, and only distantly heard the sound of pained screams.

“What is she doing here?” whispered Sweetie Belle, even though Snipper was at a substantial distance.

“I told you we should never have come!”

“Why is she here? To bring us back? Or…” Sweetie Belle’s eyes widened as she realized that there might be more to Feathery Snipper’s appearance than that. She had followed them, and no doubt waited until they had gotten far enough from the castle that there would be no oversight for her actions. She had not been following them. She had been HUNTING them.

“We need to get back to the castle,” said Sweetie Belle.

“She didn’t see us,” said Muguet, forcing Sweetie Belle down the alley. “I’m was supposed to protect you! If she finds us, I’ll be- -I could lose my job!”

Sweetie Belle’s eyes widened. She had not realized the significance of what she was doing because she had not listened. Muguet’s service to Fleur was her entire world, and now Sweetie Belle realized that she had risked it to stay with her. She was both touched and ashamed at herself for having put Muguet in this position.

There was a sound behind them, and Sweetie Belle turned just in time to see a flash of white feathers. Sweetie Belle shoved Muguet down another side-street, and the pair of them raced toward the tall grass at the end of the village. As they ducked into the crops, Sweetie Belle looked behind her to see Feathery Snipper standing on one of the houses, her black eyes glaring down at her. They had been seen, and Sweetie Belle’s heart- -which had already been racing- -felt as though it was about to exit her chest.

“She’s coming!” she said, running through the high grass. By this time, they had gone a surprising distance in a short amount of time. It was the fastest Sweetie Belle had ever run, but unfortunately, it was in the wrong direction. They were heading toward a dilapidated farmhouse instead of toward the castle. At this rate, there was no way they could make it back before Snipper caught up and did Celestia knows what to them.

“Only one option,” said Muguet. She looked at Sweetie Belle, and then spread her wings, taking flight and rising above the grass.

“Muguet! Don’t leave me!”

“I’ll lead her away! She can’t follow us both! Just run!”

With that, Muguet took to the air. Sweetie Belle did as she was told, but she was not sure which one of them Snipper was following. She saw no shadow in the sky, and slowed, trying to listen. The north wind was continuing to blow, moving through the grass and making a sound that normally would have been almost silent but now sounded nearly deafening.

Sweetie Belle tilted her head, trying to listen. A normal pony probably would have heard nothing but silence ,but her more sensitive hearing picked up on something moving almost silently toward her. Muguet had tried to lead Snipper away, knowing that she was not faster than a Pegasus pony, but Snipper had not taken the bait. Her target had always been Sweetie Belle, who was now alone with no way back to safety.

Now she panicked. She did not know where she was going, nor did she care. She simply ran, trying to get away, to somewhere that was safe. The sound continued to follow her, and Sweetie Belle could have sworn that she saw a pair of black eyes watching through the blades of grass.

Then in was over. She felt a hoof on her shoulder, and she cried out, struggling wildly to escape. It was surprisingly easy, and the pony who had grabbed her was thrown back. That gave Sweetie Belle pause; Snipper, despite being well passed middle aged, was quite muscular.

She looked up and saw that the pony who had grabbed her was not Feathery Snipper at all. Instead, he was a pale green Pegasus stallion of extremely advanced age. His face was covered by an enormous white beard, and Sweetie Belle realized that he had been so easy to push away because he only had one foreleg.

He put his remaining hoof to his lips, though, signaling for Sweetie Belle to stay silent. He then motioned for her to follow him, and then moved with almost perfect silence through the grass. Sweetie Belle paused, but she was so afraid and so confused that she eventually obeyed without question.

Despite his age and lack of a limb, the stallion was swift, and Sweetie Belle barely managed to keep up. She quickly realized, though, that she was being led to the house in the center of the field, one that stood in the unkempt crops and next to a collapsed barn.

“In here,” said the stallion, leaping up the crumbling stone steps and pushing open the door. He had the same accent as Snipper, and it gave Sweetie Belle pause. When she saw his eyes scanning the grass, though, she knew that he was trying to help her get to safety, and she entered his house.

He immediately entered and bolted the door. He then motioned for Sweetie Belle to stay low, and himself moved toward one of the windows. He was not much larger than Sweetie Belle, and had to stand awkwardly to see out the window, but he did so without any complaint and watched for what felt like hours.

Then, finally, he turned away from the window.

“Is she gone?” asked Sweetie Belle, realizing that she was not even sure if this stallion spoke any Alicornic.

“It is impossible to know,” he sighed. His accent was almost impossibly thick, but he appeared to have a grasp of the language. “Her kind, they hide very well.” He turned to Sweetie Belle. “You are indeed great much lucky. And you also indeed clearly not know the danger you put yourself in.”

“Why?” Sweetie Belle shivered. She had not understood, at least not consciously. “Do you know her?”

“Not personally,” admitted the old stallion, “but there are few of us here from the Vostok that do not recognize the face of Whiteshade.”

“Whiteshade?” Sweetie Belle was confused, but grasped that he was talking about Feathery Snipper. “Why? What did she do?” She paused, realizing the question she wanted to ask. “Why is everypony afraid of her?”

The stallion stared at Sweetie Belle for a moment, seeming deep in thought. He ran his hoof through his beard, and then instead of answering walked across the room. As he went, Sweetie Belle realized the nature of the house she was in. It was rustic, if not downright simple: it only had one, or perhaps two rooms. The floor was made of smooth compacted dirt, and there was no ceiling save for the rafters above and the thatching beyond them. The furniture was simple and old, and it looked as though the stallion might have made it himself. There were few possessions, save for some earth ware bowls or cups or farm tools, but the woodstove on the far end had been lit and was crackling quietly, filling the room with warmth.

The stallion walked with some difficulty, motioning for Sweetie Belle to sit at his table. Sweetie Belle hesitated for a moment, but then did. After she was situated, the stallion lifted a kettle from the stove and poured tea, taking his time.

Then, after what felt like minutes, he brought two cups of tea to the table. Sweetie Belle could smell it at a distance, and it smelled very different from any tea she had ever smelled before.

“It may not be what you are used to,” said the stallion, pushing one cup to Sweetie Belle. “And the herbs may taste harsher. But true tea is beyond what a simple stallion can be affording.”

“Thank you,” said Sweetie Belle, taking the cup but hesitating to drink any until she saw the stallion take a sip himself. Then she took a sip herself. It was bitter and frankly disgusting, but she hid her reaction.

“My name is being, in your language, Springgreen,” said the Stallion after a moment. “And what is yours, perhaps?”

“Sweetie Belle De’Lis,” lied Sweetie Belle.

Springgreen stared at her for a long moment, and then shook his head. “No,” he said. “You are certainly no commoner, but you are not a De’Lis. I know the De’Lis. I first was coming here when I was a colt, not much older than you. To escape the war in the east. Couleur De’Lis was being Baroness then. It was still not three years before her disappearance. I saw her once, and never again shall I see a mare of such terrible beauty. I hope I never do.”

“Why?” asked Sweetie Belle. The way this old stallion talked intrigued her, as did the fact that being from the east he was apparently not adverse to speaking to a white pony. He seemed almost wistful as he remembered the past, but also strangely hesitant with his long pauses and longer consideration.

This time, he did not answer, at least not directly. “I have a granddaughter who is a lot like you. A unicorn, but green. She lives in Maris now. Away from this place.” He paused. “It is good she left. This place…I am alone now, but it is better. I am too old to leave. Too late, alas.”

“I am sorry,” said Sweetie Belle. “But you’re not that old.”

The stallion smiled. “Kind, yes? But I am. And more, I owe a debt to the De’Lis, for allowing me to remain when I had nothing save my mother and child sister. I cannot tend my farm anymore.” He looked to the stump where his leg had been long ago. “But I still stand beside them, and the cursed castle.”

“Cursed?” Sweetie Belle was suddenly interested. “What do you mean cursed?”

“That is not a question I can answer, child. I am the wrong color to be able to freely approach the sanctum. Nor do I desire to. Even in youth, my resolve was not as strong as yours.”

“You know I’ve been staying there.”

Springgreen nodded. “Word moves quickly here, even to these old ears.”

“They don’t like me very much,” admitted Sweetie Belle. “Or poor Muguet. Because we’re different.”

“Or because you’re the same.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Just an old stallion thinking, while he still can be.”

He took another sip of his “tea”, and Sweetie Belle- -despite nearly gagging on hers- -took a sip as well. They sat in silence for a moment, and this time Sweetie Belle spoke.

“I think you’re right,” she said at last.

“It took my son twenty seven years to learn that,” said the old stallion, smiling. “But right about what, I am the wondering?”

“Weird stuff has been going on at the castle. I keep…seeing things. And I’m getting sicker the longer I stay there. And something tried to hurt my sister, and it almost…” She could not finish the thought. “It was okay when it was just me, but I can’t let whatever it is mess with Rarity.” She looked up at Springgreen. “You said you knew why ponies are afraid of Snipper, or ‘Whiteshade’, or whatever her name is?”

“I do,” he said. “But, a warning: it is something that may be hard for one like yourself to comprehend.”

“I’m stronger than I look.”

“That may be, but strength can be two things, can’t it? The poor thestral girl, or the boy from the southern village, they would understand better.” His eyes suddenly became dark, and he rubbed the stump of his limb with his free hoof. “They would know more well…”

“But I need to know,” said Sweetie Belle. “She chased me through the grass, and I think she might be trying to hurt me, or my sister. I have to know. Is she dangerous?”

“Yes,” rasped the old stallion suddenly. “By Celestia, yes.”

“Why?”

Springgreen paused, and looked into his tea for a long moment. He then looked up and spoke. “Your accent. You are from the West. I doubt you know of the Long War in the East. A revolution, against the three noble houses that rule…or ruled.”

“Because the revolution was successful, wasn’t it?”

Springgreen nodded, seeming a bit surprised that Sweetie Belle discern that reason so easily. “Yes. Those nobles lie dead, their bloodlines left extinct by the peasants they so badly mistreated. And yet the war continues. The pony I call Whiteshade and you call Snipper, she was a soldier in that war.”

Sweetie Belle raised an eyebrow. “How long ago was that?”

“In her youth. Perhaps forty years prior? I will never speak to her, so I know not.”

“She never said anything about it. Fleur didn’t either.”

“It is likely something that would not be spoken of. Whiteshade, she was not an ordinary soldier. She was what we call ‘Cherni Viter’, the black wind. The worst of them, and most feared. Assassins, murderers, destroyers of ponies.”

“Her?”

“Do you need proof?” Springreen pointed at where his leg would have been. “Find her foreleg. There will be a brand, a symbol like a triangle. They branded the children. I only escaped because of the landmine. They did not want a cripple.”

“Landmine…” Sweetie Belle shivered again, more powerfully than before. She knew the word, and what it was, but the idea was incomprehensible. That things like that could even exist in Equestria in a place so different from her own home. She looked up at Springgreen, though, and continued. “Then why is she here?”

“I do not know. I only know that she is feared desperately here, even by me.”

“So are Muguet and Silver Sight. Because they are white.”

“No,” said Springgreen, shaking his head. “There are two kinds of fear. That poor girl and the boy, the fear for them is not true. It is disgust, and hatred at deviance. But the soldier? Her fear is true, the same fear as of Fwarnes Gwaedu.”

“Gwaedu?” Sweetie Belle shot up suddenly, nearly spilling her tea and causing Springgreen to look quite surprised. “That word? What does it mean?”

“Gwaedu?” Springgreen looked both confused and mildly intrigued. “It…is an epithet, a saying in the Forgotten Language. It means ‘bleeding’. Here, she is called the ‘Bleeding Baroness’.”

“Bleeding?”

“Because of the hemophilia. All the nobles have it.” He paused. “Don’t you?”

“No. My blood is fine.”

“Hmm. You are special, then. But still not free of risk. Not from Cherni Viter.”

“I don’t understand.”

Springgreen leaned forward. “You are a white unicorn. To her, and to them, the symbol of oppression. After what the nobles did, who could be blaming them, for their hatred? The families, they are dead now. Mares, stallions. Children. She was there.”

Sweetie Belle gasped. “But that means…” She stood up from the bench, stepping toward the door. “It means Rarity’s in danger! And Fleur! What if- -” She looked up at Springgreen. “What if Fleur doesn’t know? What if- -I have to get back to the castle! I have to tell her!”

“Wait,” ordered Springgreen. He did not say it sternly, or even loudly, but Sweetie Belle obeyed without question. “Listen,” he said, softly.

Sweetie Belle did, and she realized that she could hear birds. They did not sound pretty- -like everything else here, they were course and strange- -but they sounded beautiful in their own right.

“Somewhere, perhaps, there is a pony who can share in the wisdom of the birds,” he said. “Their singing, it means she has passed us by. No doubt whatever her goal was being, a witness was not desired.”

“So she’s gone now?”

“Yes. And you need to be soon, too.” Springgreen stood up with some effort. “Here,” he said, giving her a course scarf. “Take this, and go back to the castle. The storms, they are coming. As dangerous as it is, in your health, getting caught in the cold rain would be worse. Please hurry, and please be careful.”

“I will,” said Sweetie Belle, taking the scarf.

Sweetie Belle fled quickly through the tall grass, racing against time and the approaching storm. She was so focused on her goal and on pushing past her sickness that she did not look behind her. If she had, and had happened to look at the top of the collapsed barn that stood beside Springgreen’s house, she would have seen the face of a pale white unicorn, his gray eyes slowly following the young filly as she fled.

He did not speak, and he did not call out. He simply watched, knowing that the time had almost come.

Chapter 11: Baroness

Rarity paused to look out one of the large windows, and sighed at the gloomy sight of the clouds. She had heard that the spring weather throughout Steurope could get like this, sometimes, but Prance was supposed to have fine and warm weather. The lack of cheer was not conducive to inspiration.

The primary wedding dress, though, was almost complete. Rarity believed that it was some of her finest work, but it had to be. It was the keystone of the entire wedding, or at least the part that she was responsible for. Fleur’s dress would determine how the bridesmare’s dresses were made, as well as influence the decoration and overall thematic nature of the wedding. It had to be perfect, and Rarity understood the responsibility that had been placed on her.

It would still take several more days of tuning to get that dress perfect, and then perhaps another week to assemble the rest of the dresses including hers and Sweetie Belle’s. The work was monumental, but Rarity kept finding herself growing more and more tired. The bruises on her body were fading, but she still felt nauseous sometimes and she got tired easily. In her youth, Rarity had occasionally suffered from anemia, and this felt surprisingly similar. She had attempted to compensate by eating more, but that only seemed to make it worse.

Silver did not seem to be affected, though. He was the only source of cheer under the overcast sky, and after their joint experience in the pond and in front of the fire after, Rarity had come to value him and their teamwork much more. He also seemed more happy than before, and Rarity even caught him returning her flank-staring with some of his own.

Rarity quickly went back to some of the lace preparation on the dress. After several minutes of painstaking sewing with the finest of silk threads, she hardly noticed that Fleur had entered the room.

“Ah!” she said, looking up with a bit of surprise. “Fleur! I’m so glad you’re here. I need to fit the waist, and then we need to finalize the train attatchment points. We wouldn’t want you to chafe on your wedding day, now would we!”

“Rarity,” said Fleur, sounding quite serious. “Are you feeling well?”

“I’m feeling fine, darling. Why?”

“Because you look…unwell. Are you sure you don’t need to rest?”

Rarity felt herself grinding her teeth. “I look fine. And I’m not getting tired. This is my job, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I do not want to be the mare who works you into your grave. Not over this, it is not worth it. We all have physical limitations. Our bodies, they grow weaker as our wisdom and insight increases.”

“Thank you for your concern,” said Rarity, trying- -and failing- -to not sound curt. “Now, if you could, lift your leg and let me affix the lower- -”

“Rarity. I need to talk to you. May I?””

“Oh?” Rarity set down her thread and the lower part of Fleur’s dress. “About what?”

“About what? About what happened yesterday!”

“Oh,” repeated Rarity. “Do we have to?”

“Yes! I cannot bear the level of shame I feel for having allowed such a thing to befall you!”

“It was an accident,” dismissed Rarity. “And you DID save my life.”

“But is that enough? Rarity, I am not sure what happened- -”

“I am. I let myself get too tipsy, and I slipped into the pond like a fool. It is quite embarrassing, but it is over now.”

“I would understand if you wanted to leave,” said Fleur, bluntly.

Rarity had been picking up a pair of scissors and a sketch pad, and both dropped from her magic when Fleur spoke. “What?”

For a moment, she thought she saw a thin smile flicker over Fleur’s lips. “I just mean that after what occurred, I understand that you must not want to stay. And as much as I value you and your beautiful work, I can tolerate your departure from this project.”

“Tolerate? D- -departure?”

“Of course,” sighed Fleur. “Who is to say? Perhaps this task could fall to a different designer? You have been established in this field for so long. I could give the opportunity to a new designer. A younger one, up and coming, with different ideas and a need for such a hoofhold in the industry. Things may be different from when you first entered, but these days it can be hard for young designers.”

“Nonsense!” cried Rarity, her voice becoming unusually high. “At the risk of sounding prideful, no pony is better for this than me!”

“Because you have so many years of experience?”

“I don’t have THAT many years of experience,” corrected Rarity. “But yes. And because I know you, and what you want. I’ve already started this, and I am darn well going to finish it!” She cupped her hooves over her mouth. “Please excuse me!” she cried. “My language!”

“Oh, no worries,” said Fleur, now smiling much more widely. “It’s just that I am counting on you so very much for this! Not to mention what this could mean for you!”

“For me? You mean attending the wedding?”

“That, and that your work will be showcased to all the nobles of Equestria! Or at least all those willing to attend. Which is most, there are so few of us left these days.”

“Most…of the nobility?” Rarity gulped. She had not consciously realized that aspect of this event, even if she had understood it intuitively.

“And they can be…picky? Is that the word?”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“In fact…do you recall the name Finé Velour?”

Rarity’s eyes lit up. “Of course I know that name! What student of haute couture wouldn’t recognize his name, let alone his work!” Rarity paused. “But…he vanished from public appearances years ago, when I was just a filly. He never even grants interviews. Nobody has seen him in…” Rarity’s eyes suddenly widened, and she gasped so loudly that Silver almost dropped the accessories he was fitting. “You don’t mean!”

“I’m afraid so,” sighed Fleur with a knowing nod. “His last work is not public knowledge, but I have seen it. It was the wedding dress of the matron of House Sabethes. I have a picture.” She produced a small photograph and levitated it to Rarity. Rarity took it in her own magic and was immediately glad that she could hold the picture without using her hooves, as she needed to use them both to keep herself from vomiting on her friend.

“Sweet Celestia’s divine solar rump!” squeaked Rarity.

“I know,” said Fleur, taking the photograph back. “And the Sabethes are known for being remarkably traditional, if…odd. That dress ruined his career. Everypony who was anypony in Society claimed that he had grown too old, too out of touch. That he was, how do you say, a ‘has-been’, that his days of success had been replaced with a complete inability to read modern trends, and a stagnation of creativity.”

“That’s- -that’s terrible!” Rarity was now breathing hard with fear. She remembered Finé Velour from the magazines she used to read as a girl: he had been a short but stately white earth-pony with an exquisite long mane, always appearing in fine suits. In those days, he had been one of Rarity’s fashion heros. To know that he had gone out like that was terrifying, but what made it worse was that his last public show had been when he was no older than Rarity was now.

“I won’t fail,” said Rarity. “And I won’t give up. I would even so far to as to give you a Pinkie Promise: I will not leave until you have the very best wedding conceivable!”

Fleur looked confused. “Pinkie…promise?”

“Ah. Never mind,” said Rarity. She started going back to her work, her resolve reinforced and her fear at least quadrupled in comparison to what it had been before Fleur had talked to her. As encouraged as she was, she still felt oddly bad. “You just need to know that this dress WILL be completed.”

“Indeed it will,” said Fleur, smiling. Since Rarity was facing away from Fleur, she did not see Fleur’s eyes slowly fall to her flank.

She only stared for a moment, though, before turning to Silver Sight.

“Silver,” she said. “As much I know you like working with Rarity, can you help me with something, just for a moment? I require assistance moving something.”

“Oh,” said Silver, putting down his work. “Of course, Lady De’Lis! I would be happy to help!”

Fleur smiled again, and the two of them exited, leaving Rarity all alone with nothing but her work before her.

Sweetie Belle burst into the castle, and by then she was already soaking wet. The rain had begun just as she had reached the castle walls, and it had increased quickly. It was late afternoon, but the thick clouds in the sky made it nearly as dark as night outside.

Almost immediately, she started coughing. The process was painful, and she felt as though something inside her was being torn as she did. She felt a large amount of something wet hitting her hoof, and tasted metal, although she did not look down to see what had happened. She did not want confirmation of the fact that her illness was getting worse.

Despite this, her resolve remained firm. She ascended the staircases in the foyer, barely noticing that she was dripping water behind her. After reaching the top, she headed into the inside of the castle, searching for somepony else- -and, critically, somepony who was not Feathery Snipper.

She almost jumped when she actually did encounter a pony. After only a few seconds of searching, Sweetie Belle saw Fleur approaching through one of the darkened corridors that led to the old section of the castle. The gas lamps had been lit, but lightning flashed suddenly and illuminated the entire arcade with a sudden burst of white light, and for just a moment Sweetie Belle realized just how similar Fleur looked to the mysterious pale stallion that she had seen previously.

“Fleur!” cried Sweetie Belle, running toward the tall unicorn. “Fleur! I need to talk to you! I think you’re in danger! I think we all are!”

“Danger?” Fleur looked genuinely concerned. “Danger from what? Wait.” A smile slowly crossed her face, and Sweetie Belle’s already fast heartrate suddenly picked up again. Something was not quite right about that smile. “Please, let us not talk of it here. Come with me.”

Sweetie Belle did not understand why Fleur wanted to go somewhere else, but she justified it as being because Fleur did not want to be overheard. Which meant that she might have already known, at least partially, what was going on.

They did not go far. Fleur led Sweetie Belle down a dark and unlit hallway into a large room. As Fleur ignited the lamp, Sweetie Belle saw that it was an unused guest bedroom. It was not unlike the one she had been assigned, complete with fine furniture and an almost preposterously large bed, except for the fact that its geometry in the castle left it without windows.

“Here,” said Fleur, opening a closet and pulling out some extra towels from the top shelf. “You are soaking wet. That can be alluring, of course, but you still look as though you are about to have the pneumonia. Also, something to drink?”

“Thank you.” Sweetie Belle took the towels as well as a small bottle that Fleur had produced from one of the cabinets in the room. Sweetie Belle dried herself, and took a sip from the bottle. Whatever it was had a bizarre taste, but it was sweet and good and made her feel a little better.

“Now,” said Fleur. “What is it that you came in such a hurry to explain to me?”

“It’s Feathery Snipper,” said Sweetie Belle, quickly. “I was in the village when I found out- -”

“The village! Oh my! Little Sweetie Belle, that is not a place for you to go alone! Nor should you have a need to! Those common ponies can be…simple.”

“But I was there,” said Sweetie Belle, trying to gloss over that part of her journey while making sure not to point out that Muguet had been with her. “And I found out something about Feathery Snipper!”

“Well, yes. I’m sure you did. She has a strong rapport with the villagers.”

“If by ‘rapport’ you mean they’re terrified of her! Because she used to be some kind of radical in the east- -Vostok, whatever that is, but I think it just means ‘East’- -and that she hates white unicorns. There was a revolution there, and they killed the nobility!”

“I am familiar with the revolution,” said Fleur. “House Roman and House De’Lis are close cousins. Well, all noble houses are cousins, but they were closer. They were also weak. If the peasantry could overtake them, then they are not worthy of ruling, no?” She paused. “This may seem harsh, but it is our way. Being nobility is sometimes taxing, and sometimes fatal.”

“But Snipper was one of the soldiers that took them down! And I think she’s going to try something against us too!”

“Feathery?” Fleur laughed. “Oh, no! Feathery would not do that! I have known her for many years. Her elder brother was my favorite, my very best servant. And she is as effective in some respects. I hired her years ago to protect my mother’s gardens while I lived in Canterlot. As with Silver and Muguet, I trust her dearly. Perhaps even more than the younger two.”

“But she was chasing me in the village! And I think she pushed Rarity into the pond, and there’s something in the food- -”

“Sweetie Belle,” said Fleur, putting her hoof against Sweetie Belle’s cheek. For some reason that made Sweetie Belle feel unusually uncomfortable. “Don’t worry. I have this under control. Everything is going to be all right.”

“But it isn’t! Fleur, we have to do something! We have to- -”

Suddenly, Fleur bent her neck low and pressed her lips against Sweetie Belle’s. Sweetie Belle’s eyes widened in shock, because she had no idea what was going on or what to do. Really, she more or less froze, and she could feel Fleur’s tongue push past her teeth and rub against her own.

Terrified and disgusted, Sweetie Belle shot backward, gasping.

“Aw,” said Fleur, sounding disappointed. “You did not like? Fancy Pants tells me that I am an excellent kisser.”

“Why- -why the buck did you just do that?!”

“Why would I not? You are just so adorable!” The strange smile crossed her face again, and she took a step toward Sweetie Belle, causing Sweetie Belle to take a step back. Then Fleur gasped. “That was not your first, was it?”

“No,” lied Sweetie Belle. “It’s just- -you can’t do that! I’m only twelve! And- -and you’re a mare!”

“You’re almost thirteen. And how old would you say I appear? Nineteen? That is only a six year age difference, it is nothing at all. And such discourse between two white unicorns is never wrong.”

It felt wrong, though. Sweetie Belle felt horrible. She was both strangely frightened, as well as disgusted. Not at Fleur herself, exactly; she was still just as beautiful as ever. It was more like she felt dirty, and betrayed. Fleur was supposed to be her friend, and now she was doing things that Sweetie Belle knew were wrong. She just wanted to cry.

“It was only a kiss,” said Fleur, suddenly a bit defensive. “And we can kiss more, if you want.” She stepped to the side and gestured toward the bed with her horn. “Lay down with me, won’t you? You are so young, and so pure. We can kiss more.”

“No!” Sweetie Belle had tried to shout, but it had only come out as a high cracking squeak. She turned and raced toward the door, reaching for the knob with her magic. Almost immediately, though, the door was surrounded in blue light as Fleur’s own horn ignited. Sweetie Belle pushed, but it did not open.

Almost on instinct, Sweetie Belle began running counterspells to break Fleur’s grip. To her astonishment, though, the door remained sealed, even as she moved up the list that Twilight had taught her to the most powerful one she knew. It was obvious that Fleur was not even attempting to adjust her spell to resist Sweetie Belle’s breaking attempts; her hold on the door was just ridiculously strong, far stronger than a normal unicorn’s magic would have been.

“Well, then,” said Fleur, silently padding toward the door where Sweetie Belle was becoming increasingly paniced. “I guess this makes my decision much easier, doesn’t it?”

Sweetie Belle turned around. With the door behind her, there was nowhere to escape, and she did not have time to summon a defensive spell before Fleur reached down and licked the very tip of Sweetie Belle’s horn. Sweetie Belle immediately burst into tears. Having her horn violated like that was just too traumatic.

Then Fleur’s spell broke. Not because Sweetie Belle was especially strong, but because Fleur allowed it to collapse. The feedback should have been quite painful, but Fleur did not even flinch, nor did she do anything to reduce the impact of wave to her brain. The fact that she did not have to was terrifying in its own right.

Sweetie Belle did not take time to contemplate it, though. She ran, doing everything she could to get away from Fleur. Fleur did not pursue, apart from to step out of her door and watch Sweetie Belle leave.

As Sweetie Belle ran, she immediately began to feel sick. At first, she thought it was because of what had just happened to her. Then she started to taste metal, and the edges of her vision began to fade to silver. She realized that she was having another attack of illness.

This only made her panic more as the world around her seemed to swirl and distort. Time did not flow properly, and it felt as though Sweetie Belle spent an hour lapsing in and out of consciousness but still never leaving the hallway just outside Fleur’s guest room. Then, suddenly, she found herself outside in the garden.

It was raining hard, and even with the heavy canopy of strange dark trees overhead, Sweetie Belle felt herself getting soaked. She was frightened, and she did not understand why the rain had suddenly seemed to turn silver.

Then she saw him, and she froze. Standing across a small bed of naturalized carnations stood the all-white unicorn. Sweetie Belle immediately began panting, and she felt rage growing inside of her. She did not know why.

“Sweetie Belle,” he said in a deep but almost whisper-like voice.

“What do you want from me?!” screamed Sweetie Belle.

The unicorn’s face did not change, nor did his eyes move. The scent of flowers became almost overwhelming, but it was not the scent of the carnations. Instead, it was that of lilies. “Sweetie Belle,” he repeated.

With a sudden cry of fury, Sweetie Belle rushed through the carnations, trampling them and not even caring. She rushed toward the white unicorn and tackled him to the ground.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!” she cried as she put her hooves around his neck and began to strangle him.

“Sweetie Belle….Sweetie Belle….Sweetie Belle…”

Sweetie Belle screamed wordlessly and tightened her grasp, throwing his head around as she did and trying to slam it into the rocky soil below.

“WHY ARE YOU- -” Sweetie Belle suddenly gasped when she looked down at his face and instead of seeing a pair of gray, dead eyes looking back saw a pair of large blue ones.

Sweetie Belle immediately let go, and Muguet dropped to the ground limply. For a few horrible moments, she just lay here, perfectly still and not breathing. Then she choked and gasped, and rolled over. She, like Sweetie Belle, was soaking wet, but Sweetie Belle saw the tears in her eyes.

“Sweetie Belle,” she croaked through her now quite sore throat. “Why?”

The rain continued to fall, but now Sweetie Belle and Muguet sat side underneath the shelter of a long outdoor architectural arcade, its long arches stretching against the wall of the castle’s old section in both directions for a great distance. The sound of the rain on the leaves was almost threateningly loud, but not so great in volume that Sweetie Belle and Muguet would not have been able to hear each other if they had been speaking. They were not, though. Both sat in silence.

Sweetie Belle was still in the process of overcoming her sudden attack of illness, and Muguet now had an enormous bruise forming around her neck to complement the black eye that she had been given in the village. Although the two sat together, neither looked at each other.

“I’m sorry,” said Sweetie Belle at last.

“It is not the first time I have been choked,” said Muguet, “and it will not be the last. At least I did not have to be paid for it this time.”

“I just…” Sweetie Belle put her hoof against her now aching head. “I got sick again. I saw the white unicorn…no. I thought YOU were the white unicorn.” Sweetie Belle looked out at the gardens and the rain. “But it was a hallucination…I think it was this whole time.”

“I should have been more careful,” said Muguet. “I saw the look in your eyes. You were terrified. And terrifying.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong! You tried to help me, and I attacked you!”

The two finally looked at each other, and then went silent again.

Sweetie Belle almost spoke up, wanting to tell Muguet about what Fleur had done to her. She stopped herself, though. Muguet loved Fleur, perhaps more than anything. She did not want to interfere with that. Nor, she realized, could she tell Rarity, who was Fleur’s friend. This realization suddenly made Sweetie Belle feel profoundly alone, so she did her best to change the subject in her mind.

“I learned more about Feathery Snipper,” said Sweetie Belle. “After she chased us, I ended up in an old farmhouse. It turns out she really is dangerous. She’s the one whose been doing all this.”

“She is persistant as well. She very nearly caught me several times as I flew back to the castle. Fortunately, Pegasi tend to be less maneuverable than thestrals even if they are faster. And she is surprisingly quick.”

Sweetie Belle’s eyes widened. “Wait,” she said. “Sniper chased you?”

“And nearly caught me, yes. I was so afraid.”

“But then who was chasing me through the grass?”

Muguet and Sweetie Belle stared at each other for a moment in confusion and growing apprehension as their minds searched for the implications of what Sweetie Belle had just said.

Then, suddenly, Sweetie Belle’s horn began to glow. A small ball of green energy erupted in front of her, closely resembling fire. From it, the fire produced smoke that reassembled into ash and within seconds paper, forming a complete scroll that Muguet then caught.

“What is this?” she asked.

“It’s Spike’s reply!” said Sweetie Bell, picking up the scroll in her magic. “It took him long enough!”

She opened the scroll and began to read. As soon as she did, she wished that she had not.

“Holy Luna’s bony rump,” she swore, her eyes widening.

“What? What is it?” asked Muguet, craning her neck to see even though she could not read.

“Spike looked it up,” said Sweetie Belle, finishing reading Spike’s impeccable handwriting and various well-organized footnotes. “Flocoumafen…its rat poison!”

“Rat poison?” said Muguet, her expression twisting in horror as she remembered that she had been putting it in all the food that she served. “But- -but it can’t be!”

“No,” said Sweetie Belle, scanning the scroll again just to make sure. “It’s a rodenticide, banned in most of Equestria…Spike says it’s an anticoagulant.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means it stops your blood from clotting. Symptoms include…” Sweetie Belle read through the list, “symptoms are weakness, nausea, bruising, bleeding gums…” Sweetie Belle’s eyes widened and she looked up at Muguet. “My symptoms…”

Muguet gasped. “You…you’ve been poisoned!”

“I think we all have,” said Sweetie Belle. “I’m just more sensitive to it. But you have it too.” She pointed to Muguet’s neck, where she had developed a far larger and darker bruise than any normal pony would have from Sweetie Belle’s attack.

“Is…is it fatal?”

“We’re not dead,” said Sweetie Belle. “So…no? Not immediately, anyway. But if any of us got injured, even a little bit, it would be like we had…hemophilia…”

“Sweetie Belle?”

Sweetie Belle looked at the scroll, and then closed it. “This proves it,” she said.

“Proves what?”

“Who told you to put that stuff in the food?”

“Well, Feathery Snipper, but- -” Muguet gasped and clasped her hooves over her mouth. “She- -she made me poison all of you! Even- -even Lady De’Lis!” Tears welled in Muguet’s eyes.

“Fleur probably wouldn’t have noticed. She’s a hemophiliac anyway.” Sweetie Belle paused for a moment. Something did not make sense about that. “Never mind, though. I have to take care of this.”

“Why you? We have to tell Lady De’Lis- -”

“NO!” cried Sweetie Belle. “I- -I already tried. It didn’t go well.”

“She did not believe you?”

“N…no…”

“Well,” said Muguet, looking back out at the trees. “I can see why. She trusts her servants far more than any noble would normally. We are like family to her. You might as well have accused her sister. But now with this proof- -”

“Do you have the bottle?”

“Um…no?”

“And she likely moved it. No. I have to do this. But I need your help.”

“M- -me? Sweetie Belle, I’m not a fighter! And she is so scary!”

“I just need you to find her, and deliver a message. Can you do that?”

Muguet considered for a moment, and then hesitantly nodded.

Muguet did as she was told. It went surprisingly well. She had informed Feathery Snipper, who had then proceeded to berate her with a number of insults, some that she did not understand. Instead of attacking her, though, Snipper had immediately gone to meet Sweetie Belle. Muguet just hoped that Sweetie Belle knew what she was doing.

On the way back, though, Muguet heard a beautiful voice call from behind her.

“Muguet!” called Lady De’Lis.

“Baroness,” said Muguet, turning around and bowing. “I did not hear you approach!”

“I can move a little silently, can’t I?” laughed the Baroness. “Are you busy, Muguet?”

“Not at the moment, My Lady.”

“Then could you please come with me? I need to talk to you. It’s about Sweetie Belle.”

“Sweetie Belle?”

“Yes. It is of the utmost importance.”

“Oh, well, yes My Lady! Certainly! It would be an honor to speak with you at length!”

Lady De’Lis smiled, and the two of them walked together toward the old section of the castle. , �]>6{

Chapter 12: A Murderer

Feathery Snipper did, indeed, come; and when she did, Sweetie Belle was waiting for her. She had chosen the one place where she knew Snipper would find her, and where she was sure that she would come. It had taken some effort to find it again, but now Sweetie Belle stood surrounded by green candles, looking up at the unfinished portrait of Fleur and the black-haired colt beside her.

There was a slight creak from across the room: Feathery Snipper’s way of announcing her presence. She entered the room, and although she chose to walk rather than fly her motion made no sound. Even with her silence, though, she made no effort to hide, or, really, to hurry. She simply walked toward the center of the decaying ballroom and into the corridors she had created in the things she had collected over her years of working for Fleur.

“I thought I told you not to come here,” she said.

“I know,” said Sweetie Belle. She turned away from the painting and faced Feathery Snipper, who had positioned herself near an incomplete suit of pony armor and the decrepit statue of one alicorn and two white unicorns. “I wouldn’t try anything, either. I’ve been here for a while, setting up spells in case something goes poorly for me.”

“I noticed. And the quality is good, even though you’re an arrogant little filly. Trust me, I know how to deal with magic.”

“That you learned from the war, right? When you fought ponies like me?”

Feathery Snipper’s eyes narrowed. “I see you spoke to the ponies in the village.”

“I did. And I know who you are, Whiteshade.”

Snipper’s expression remained consistent, but her eyes glimmered slightly, and not in a positive way. “It has been many years since I heard that name.”

“It’s your real name, isn’t it?”

“No. Of course not. It’s the name they gave me when they took mine.”

“What is your real name, then?”

“It does not matter.”

Sweetie Belle turned around completely. “You’ve been trying to kill us.”

“And you are an idiot speaking of things you do not- -no, that you CANNOT- -comprehend.”

“You pushed Rarity into the pond.”

“Yes.” That was all she said, a simple affirmative. She did not even offer an explanation, and for some reason that made Sweetie Belle irrationally angry.

“You could have killed her!”

“I know.”

“Because she’s a white unicorn?”

“What? No. Of course not. Because of what she did to Silver.”

“Silver?” Sweetie Belle was taken aback. This was not the direction she had intended this conversation to take. “What does he have to do with this?”

“What does- -what does he have to do with this?”

“Are you joking? Are you really that thick? Of course you are. You’re a unicorn. Did you not wonder why his face was bandaged, or the stitches? It’s because your sisters smashed a glass over his face.”

“Rarity wouldn’t do that!”

“Well, then, who did it?” she said, leaning forward. “Hmm?” Sweetie Belle did not have an answer. “He came to me shaking so badly he could barely stand. She came within less than an inch of leaving him completely blind. But that’s okay, isn’t it? He’s just a servant. It’s acceptable to abuse him, isn’t it? Even if it leaves him a weeping mess having flashbacks to the beatings that took his other eye?”

“That explains why he was in the groundskeeper’s shed…in your home.”

“No. He was in there because we had just made love.”

Sweetie Belle suddenly gaped. She was not sure if she should feel disgusted or not.

“Don’t give me that,” sneered Snipper. “Just because I am old and he is young, does that make it wrong? I may be aged, but I’m not geriatric.”

“But- -but- -”

“And I’m not going to lie. Yes. I pushed your sister, because she hurt a pony I love deeply. I was also the one who found Lady De’Lis when Silver- -the idiot- -jumped in after her.”

“But then what about the poison?” Sweetie Belle was trying to change the subject. Her response had been severe, but on some level, Sweetie Belle understood why Feathery Snipper had attacked Rarity. “The rat poison you tricked Muguet into putting into all the food?”

Snipper’s eyes narrowed, and the corners of her mouth turned down into a frown. “This kind of question, you should not be asking it,” she said. “Those are things you are not meant to know.”

“But you admit it! You were trying to poison us, and Fleur!”

“Tell me,” said Snipper, slowly. “Do you think a unicorn with her disease would even notice a drug like that? Believe me. They don’t.”

“You know about the hemophila?”

“Of course I know. I have the shame of having been responsible for the death of the last heir of House Roman. I watched him bleed there in front of me, into the snow. A wound that would have meant nothing to a normal pony, but to him…” She shook her head. “I still…I can’t forget his face. I can’t. It will never leave me.”

“But you hate white unicorns.”

“Because I fought against them? Are you really so simple, or just naïve?” She sighed, and stepped forward. Sweetie Belle raised her horn, preparing a defensive spell. Instead of attacking, though, Snipper drew close and turned over her left foreleg. Sweetie Belle gasped when she saw that what Springgreen had said was true, in part. There was indeed a mark, but it was far larger than Sweetie Belle had thought. It had faded in time, but up close, Sweetie Belle could see the scarring that made it up.

“Do you think I wanted this?” asked Snipper, her tone deadly serious. “They came to our villages. They took the children. They branded us, and made us fight in their war. I do hate you, but only because hatred is all I had for so very long.”

“I…I didn’t know…”

“Of course you didn’t.” Feathery Snipper took a few more steps forward and stood beside Sweetie Belle. She stared up at the unfinished portrait, and Sweetie Belle saw tears welling in her eyes. It was only then that Sweetie Belle realized how similar the sketched and partially painted colt in the painting looked to her.

“He’s your son,” she gasped.

“No,” said Snipper. “My nephew. Son to my beloved brother. He left our village when I was younger than you are now. He went west, to work for a beautiful white mare.”

Something about that did not make sense, but Sweetie Belle did not know what, exactly, even though it seemed so very close to the surface of her mind. “But then why is he here, in this picture with…”

“His mother.”

Sweetie Belle froze and looked up at the painting, and then at Snipper, and then at the painting again. Snipper was not smiling, nor was she joking in any way.

“But that means- -”

“That Lady De’Lis had a bastard son? Yes. And…” She sniffled suddenly. “He looks just like my brother.” She lifted her hoof and gently touched the canvass, as though she could caress the cheek of her nephew instead of just his incomplete image. “This is the only picture of him that exists. His birthday was two months ago. He would have been forty three this year.”

It suddenly hit Sweetie Belle, a realization that felt like an electrical force through her brain. “Feathery,” she said, turning toward the Pegasus. “How old is Fleur?”

Snipper did not answer, but it was apparent that she was now crying openly. Her tears were falling to the dusty floor below. “I just went along with it,” she said. “The war, the way it left me, I didn’t care. I didn’t ask the questions. I didn’t want to know. But now…” She turned to Sweetie Belle. “I tried. Too late for my brother, but for them…I tried, Sweetie Belle, I tried! I thought if I was cruel, I could make her leave…or if I could beg him to come with me…”

“Feathery, slow down, you’re not making any sense!”

“I begged him! To run away with me, to go even farther west! To marry me…I’m too old to bear foals, but we could have adopted. There are so many children in my home country that have no parents. But he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t leave her side, though.” She stopped, breathing hard and suppressing the sobbing. “And now…it’s too late.”

Chapter 13: Bath

Rarity stepped back, and could no longer contain her entertainment. She squealed with delight, stamping her hooves on the carpeted floor below.

“Oh Fleur!” she said. “You look so beautiful!”

Fleur looked down at herself, and at the now complete dress she was wearing. It fit her torso tightly, with a combination of a corset-like top made primarily in shades of gold with black highlights that stood in contrast to the long white skirt that had been built in a modernized tribute to the one that her mother had worn so many years prior. The effect was as seductive as it was fetching, a mixture of contrasts and shapes that Rarity had initially worried might be too bold- -and on any other pony, they surely would have been. No pony other than Fleur would be capable of wearing this dress.

“Rarity,” said Fleur, looking at herself in a mirror as she began to shed tears of joy. “It…it is so beautiful!”

“It is,” admitted Rarity. “But it would not be without you in it. I think only you could pull it off.”

“No,” said Fleur, smiling mischievously. “Only Fancy Pants will be able to pull it off!”

They both laughed, and Fleur stepped down from the platform on which she was standing and hugged Rarity. She smelled like new fabric, and her body felt like the silk and lace that was covered in. “Although I’ll make sure he is gentle. I intend to keep this dress as long as I live. Perhaps I can have Feathery build me a display?”

Fleur seemed to think about it for a moment. Rarity was incredibly relieved. In part, she had worried that the dress diverged too much from tradition, mainly in that it did not include as much white as she expected Fleur would need. Too much white on a white pony was excessive, though, which made making the dress far more difficult than Rarity imagined. She made a note of that for if her own wedding ever came, and for Sweetie Belle’s far in the future.

“Let us celebrate?” said Fleur, lifting a bottle of very fine pony wine from a cabinet.

“Oh, there’s no need! I’m only doing my job.”

“Nonsense! This dress is a masterpiece!” She opened the bottle a great distance away from herself- -both to protect the dress and her white body- -and poured them both glasses, giving one to Rarity. Rarity took hers and swirled it, and then clinked it against Fleur’s. They both drank.

The wine was indeed fine, perhaps the finest Rarity had ever tasted, but there was a strange undernote in its flavor. Something almost chemical.

“Fleur,” said Rarity, looking at the glass. “I think this wine has a fault.”

“Indeed it does, Rarity.”

The world around Rarity suddenly seemed to blur, and she had no idea why her knees had suddenly gone so wobbly. She felt sleepy, and then felt nothing. The world went gray, and then black, and she suddenly fell.

“Ow,” she said, opening her eyes and blinking several times. She did not understand what had just happened. She seemed to have fainted for a moment, which in her mind was probably from the excitement of completing a perfect wedding dress and from the overexertion of the past few days.

Slowly, she lifted herself off the cold tile floor. She blinked, wondering why everything seemed so blurry. Then, as her eyes came into focus and she saw the room around her, she let out an ear-piercing scream. It only lasted a moment, though, before it faded, stifled by the horror at what she beheld.

The room was unfamiliar, with a floor of hard white marble and rows of similarly colored columns on either side that led to a ceiling with high arches- -and every inch of it seemed to be decorated with bones. They were not scattered about, or piled in any way, but rather wrought with exacting precision into the scenery as a kind of macabre motif. White skulls stared back from the base and tops of the columns, or sat on the extended mantle around the end of the room, sometimes holding candles. Garlands of skulls and various pony bones were strung across the ceiling, all symmetrical and perfectly maintained and all surrounding the most equisite chandelier that Rarity had ever seen, which was itself made from thousands upon thousands of bones. The light came from bluish-white candles in that chandelier, or from four poles that were arranged at the corner of the room, each held by an articulated and posed pony skeleton, two of which had their wings stretched toward the sky, supported by wire and bolts.

Those surroundings were what had made Rarity scream. What had made her stop, though, were the two objects hanging on the other side of the room. There, in the light, Rarity saw two white ponies that had been hung from the ceiling by hooks through their ankles. Both of their throats had been slit. Silver had long since bled dry, and his blank face was stained red from the wound in his neck. Muguet was still dripping slowly, though, and her blood was falling into a metal pail that had been placed below her. Rarity could see her face, and how even though her dead eyes were no longer staring at anything at all her face was still contorted with one last expression of pure and absolute betrayal.

“S…Silver,” said Rarity, “Muguet?” She had only whispered, though. There was no chance of them ever responding again. Both had been dead for some time.

It was then that Rarity’s eyes fell onto what sat between her and the corpses of the servants. It was a pool, much like the one that she had taken several baths in since she had arrived. This one was much smaller, though, and most terribly, it had not been filled with water. Instead, the fluid inside it was deep red.

“B…blood,” said Rarity, standing up and backing away. She could not take her eyes off the placid, still surface. There were no distortions, and no ripples. Muguet and Silver sight’s blood sat there in that pool, perfectly smooth, like perfect red mirror.

Then, suddenly, the surface was no longer still. Rarity watched, frozen in fear, as a single ripple formed in the center, followed by something thin and narrow emerging from the pool of blood. It continued to move forward consistently, and as it did, Rarity saw a horn rise from the water, followed by a head, and the pony attatched to it.

Rarity tried to scream, but could not produce more than a choked squeak. A pony emerged before her from the blood, covered completely from head to hoof in red. The only part of this pony that was visible were the eyes, both of which sat above a wide and toothy grin and both of which were staring directly and unblinkingly at Rarity.

The tip of the pony’s horn ignited with blue light that quickly begame tinged with deep red, and a spell formed over her body. The blood seemed to retreat as the spell moved over her, and seemed to dive back into the pool below, leaving her body white, crisp, and young.

With one final step, Fleur exited the blood, now perfectly clean and more beautiful than Rarity had ever seen her before. Her formerly toothy smile had now been reduced to a much more socially acceptable smile, and Fleur flipped back her long, perfect pink mane.

“Hello Rarity,” she said.

“Fleur….Fleur, they’re dead!”

“Yes, they are,” said Fleur, looking over her shoulder. “They are quite dead indeed. I should know. I killed them. And bled them. It was not hard. Both of them trusted me oh so much. Neither resisted. It was quick for Silver, although poor Muguet choked for some time I’m afraid.” She shrugged. “I cannot be completely perfect, I suppose.”

“But- -but Fleur! Why, Fleur, why?!”

“Why?” Fleur suddenly moved much closer, putting her face directly near Rarity’s. Her horrible grin returned, but only for a moment. “Why do you think, Rarity? Because I needed their blood, of course!”

“Bl…blood,” Rarity was now crying, but she could not run. She did not know what was going on. She had never seen a dead pony before. This did not happen in Ponyville, or in Canterlot. Ponies never died, or at least were never killed like this. The idea of a pony killing another pony was inconceivable to her, and she could feel her mind beginning to collapse under the strain of being forced to witness not just two ponies she had known- -and one who she had been attracted to- -dead, but the implication of the skulls and bones that lined this room. Many- -oh so many- -had died in this room.

“Yes, blood.” Fleur began to walk around Rarity in a circle. “Rarity. My friend. My dear, dear friend. I think you can understand.”

“I don’t. I don’t!”

“Tell me,” said Fleur, stopping beside Rarity. “How old am I?”

Rarity opened her mouth to answer, but found that she could not. It was not because her mind had frozen- -although it had. She realized that she had never known.

“Twenty,” she said.

Fleur laughed. It was a horrible sound. Not the laugh itself, but the fact that laughter could exist in a place like this, with Muguet and Silver staring blankly at the pair of them as they dangled and slowly turned and as Muguet dripped. “Such flattery! But, no. I am seventy one years old.”

Rarity looked at Fleur, and then started shaking her head.

“No?” said Fleur. “I would think I should know my own age.” She put a hoof around Rarity, who was now shivering and audibly sobbing. “I assure you. I am. I am old enough to remember when the bombs fell here in the last Great War.”

“But- -but you can’t be!” choked out Rarity. “You’re so young!”

The grin crossed Fleur’s face again. “I know!” she rasped, as though she was on the verge of laughter again. She stood up and gestured to her perfect body. Rarity suddenly felt a strong desire to embrace her. It sounded absurd, but the extreme stress of the situation was amplifying her attraction toward Fleur greatly. “This is the nature of nobility,” said Fleur, striking a seductive pose. “Of all of us. For every house, for thousands of years. This is our secret, and our gift. That by bathing in the blood of lesser beings, we are able to maintain our youth indefinitely.” She looked at Silver and Muguet and sighed. “Of course, not just any pony will do. Only the blood of a pure white pony is adequate. And white ponies are oh so rare…” She turned to Rarity and giggled. “As I’m sure you’ve realized?”

“You’re- -you’re going to bleed me too!” cried Rarity. This realization was enough for her to finally break out of her stupor. She stood up and ran toward the door, only to slip suddenly on the tile. She cried out again as she fell to the floor, but she never struck it. Instead, Fleur had moved to her side with almost impossible speed.

Rarity felt herself fall into a pair of strong forelegs, and she was suddenly being pulled close to Fleur, cradled and held firmly. She should have resisted- -she wanted to resist- -but she did not. She allowed Fleur to pull her close in an embrace.

“Oh Rarity,” said Fleur, stroking Rarity’s mane and staring into her eyes. “Please, please don’t fear me. I know this must seem strange, but I also know you can understand me, and why I have to do this. You know what it feels like.”

“Fleur, you’re scaring me.”

“You’re starting. Right now, you sit upon the edge. Your youth has almost run out. You feel it, no?” She lifted several of Rarity’s gray hairs with her magic. “Every day, a new gray hair. Every day, a new wrinkle, a new pain, a little bit more pudge and a little bit less chance of catching the eye of a stallion.”

Rarity still wanted to leave, but now she felt transfixed, because she did understand. It was how she had felt for so long, and it had been her greatest fear. Fleur seemed to realize that Rarity had become a captive audience, and she smiled gently and moved one of her hooves down Rarity’s spine, causing her to shiver.

“You are so beautiful,” moaned Fleur. “So pure, and so talented. To see you fade to old age…it would make me weep.” She paused, and then sighed. “But I need to be honest with you. I did not invite you here to make my dress. You were correct. I did intend to bleed you.”

“But why?”

“Why?” Fleur lifted Rarity’s right hoof in her own, turning it over and stroking it gently. “Because it is our one sacred rule. The blood of lesser beings sustains us, but never has one of us taken the blood of an equal. The blood of a white unicorn. We do not feed on our own, and it has been so long since one of us has been born to commoners.”

“But you had servants,” said Rarity. “Why- -why do you need my blood?”

Fleur smiled. “Because of something I found. A secret that belongs only to House De’Lis. Call it my own research. I once consumed the blood of a Pegasus born to a noble mother, and my youth was extended by nearly ten years. But it still wasn’t enough. His blood was still RED.”

Her horn suddenly ignited, and Rarity cried out as she felt something cold on her wrist. A thin gash suddenly opened up, and Rarity watched as the silver fluid within slowly spilled out, running down her foreleg like thin mercury.

Fleur suddenly shook and moaned. She held Rarity’s wrist close and put her muzzle close to it, taking a deep breath and shaking with pleasure at the smell. Then she leaned in, extending a shaking tongue toward the wound, but just before she reached it she forced herself to pull away.

“So beautiful, isn’t it? Our blood. The blood of unicorns. So much more beautiful than theirs.” She slowly pushed Rarity’s hoof. “Here,” she said. “Taste it. Please.”

Rarity hesitated for a moment, but she looked into Fleur’s deep yellow eyes and felt so at peace. She was not in the embrace of a pony that wanted to hurt her, but a pony who cared for her and understood her. Rarity trusted Fleur, and she obeyed.

Like most ponies, of course, Rarity had tasted her own blood before. Not intentionally, but on occasion: when she would sometimes suck on a wound received from a sewing needle or scissors, or the one time she had inadvertently swallowed a pin, or from a punch she had received on the night of the Pony Prom that had knocked out three of her rear molars. Now, as she put her mouth against the wound and felt the warm fluid flow into her mouth, she realized that it tasted so much better than she had imagined. It tasted metallic, but it had undertones of something far greater. It was sweet and aromatic and bold, better than any pony wine in all of Equestria. The blood kept flowing, and Rarity kept sucking and licking at the wound, feeling the flow if it down her throat.

“It tastes…it tastes so good,” she said.

“I had hoped it would,” said Fleur. She leaned forward and kissed Rarity. Rarity allowed it to happen, and allowed herself to be lowered onto her back. In fact, she wanted it. She realized that she had always wanted it, and she embraced Fleur in return and allowed their lounges to meet.

Fleur then tilted her head, and the horns of the two unicorns touched. Rarity’s back arched in sudden pleasure as Fleur slowly rubbed their horns together. This of course was something unicorns could do, but Rarity had never performed it in real life before, and she had no idea that it would be so pleasurable- -or that the first time she shared this intimate activity with a pony she would be sharing it with a mare.

It felt so good, though, and so right. Rarity felt her legs instinctively spread, and Fleur occupied the space, holding their bodies close. This went on for several minutes before Fleur pulled away, much to Rarity’s disappointment.

Fleur was panting, but still managed to speak. “The vital blood of a white unicorn,” she said. “If it is consumed, I will not just gain an extension of youth. I will become youthful forever. I had wanted you to make me beautiful for eternity, but now I do not have to.”

“Why?” asked Rarity, now in awe of Fleur.

“Because of something I did not anticipate. I received not one, but TWO white unicorns.”

Rarity gasped, and the spell between her and Fleur broke, but only for a moment. Instead of getting up and trying to flee, though, she found herself willing to listen. “My…my sister. You mean Sweetie Belle?”

Fleur nodded. “Yes. Rarity, I desire you. No. You are so like me, I think I have fallen in love. Please. Share Sweetie Belle with me. If we consume her blood, we will both stay young together forever.”

“But- -but Fleur- -”

“Don’t worry,” said Fleur, stroking Rarity’s hair and just barely rubbing the tip of her hoof against Rarity’s horn, causing Rarity to go into yet another spasm of welcome pleasure. “I will still marry Fancy Pants, and you will still be my head bridesmare. But there is nothing to say that I cannot have a mistress, is there? It is the way here in Prance. Fancy Pants will not mind.” She smiled. “And once you join our order? You will be able to select from so many pure noble stallions, whether for pleasure or to bear as many foals as you desire. To raise them alongside mine, if you like. I may even allow you to borrow Fancy Pants for that purpose, if he is willing.”

“But Fleur, she’s my sister. I can’t do that to her…”

Fleur put her lips against Rarity’s neck, and Rarity’s argument immediately dissolved into moans, if only for a moment. “Fleur, please. Please don’t. She’s Sweetie Belle, I can’t…”

“Her youth will fade on its own, as yours has. As mine would had I not been forced to kill hundreds upon hundreds of ponies, just as my mother did for two centuries before me. Would you rather I keep killing, as I have? Or would you rather we share one? Wouldn’t you want Sweetie Belle to be generous, like you have so many times?”

“Fleur…”

Fleur stood up, and then helped Rarity to her feet. “Come with me,” she said. “Come with me, and live forever.”

She led Rarity toward the door. Rarity paused for only a moment, and then found herself following. tab-count:1'>��af

Chapter 14: Unicorn

Feathery sat up from her work and wiped her forehead. Sweetie Belle watched as she stood and very carefully started an ancient-looking phonograph at its lowest RPM and clumsily set the needle. This phonograph, though the twin of the one in Sweetie Belle’s room, had not aged well. It had been used continuously for many years, and it had been damaged and dented while its sibling remained unnaturally perfect.

The record began to play. It was a waltz in a style that had not been popular in decades, and it was apparent that the record had been badly damaged by many seasons of frost and heat in the uncontrolled environment of the castle’s old section. It was scratchy and distorted, and made even more strange by the odd slowness of the record.

“We have about thirty minutes,” said Feathery as she checked the wires leading away from the phonograph. She then picked up a crossbow from below her and set a bolt. Sweetie Belle took a step back.

“I’m not going to hurt you, idiot,” said Snipper. “If I wanted to do that, you would be dead by now.”

“But then why are you doing this?” said Sweetie Belle.

Snipper seemed to glare at her, and then pointed at the large corkboard not far from her, the one covered in notes written in an indecipherable language. “Do you know what that is?” she asked.

“No.”

“Of course not. Because you never bothered to learn other languages, did you? They’re names.”

Sweetie Belle looked at the board. “Names?”

“Servants. Sometimes guests. All of them white ponies, none of them unicorns. They’re all gone now. All of them…”

Sweetie Belle shivered. “Where?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to. I didn’t ask. But…” She paused, and then looked at Sweetie Belle with far more fearful eyes than she had shown before, “there are bones. In the garden. I’ve found so many skeletons. Hundreds. Thousands, even, going back centuries I think. Some were children. They were all dead.” She shook her head and hefted her crossbow, and then began walking toward the door. Sweetie Belle- -although she was not sure why- -began to follow.

“And I still didn’t ask,” muttered Feathery. “I just wanted to do my job, and not get involved. So I kept quiet and let it continue. But now she took him…”

“Then we have to save him!” cried Sweetie Belle. “We have to save all of them! Silver, Muguet, my sister- -”

Feathery turned suddenly. “It’s too late,” she said. “She took them to the Tower. I don’t know what she does up there, but no pony who has gone up there has ever come back.”

Sweetie Belle’s eyes widened. “N- -no!” she protested, “my sister, Muguet- -”

“I couldn’t save them. I’m sorry. But I can save you.”

Sweetie Belle paused. “But why me? You hate me?”

Feathery seemed to think for a moment. Not about her response, but if she wanted to reveal her motivation. “Because you look like him,” she said at last. She turned toward the exit, holding her crossbow under one wing. “Maybe if you survive this, I won’t see his face in my dreams. Then I’ll be able to finally rest in peace.”

Slowly, Rarity descended the wide spiraling stone staircase, walking in step with Fleur. She was in a strange daze, as though none of this was real. Logically, she knew that this was real, but somehow she still felt as though it were a dream. The world seemed to have the same sense that she was not really there, but somehow watching herself from elsewhere.

In this state of confusion, Rarity directed her attention toward the walls. The staircase descended around between two walls, and the faceted inner column was decorated by a number of paintings. Each one showed images of Fleur and her mother, although they were different and far more disturbing than the images that Fleur maintained in the newer part of her home.

In these paintings and photographs, Fleur and her mother were often locked in close embraces that no mother and daughter should ever share, posing as though they were lovers in strange scenes of nature and of noble splendor. In each one, their perfect white bodies were displayed- -sometimes quite intimately- -and Rarity could not help but feel her heart beat faster when she saw them. Two perfect, ageless mares. She thought that they were both so beautiful.

“You like them, I see,” said Fleur, smiling. She paused too, looking at a painting of her as a young mare holding her mother in the most suggestive possible way while they seemed to be sitting in water in an otherwise dark scene. She sighed. “I loved my mother. More dearly than any pony, save for Fancy Pants and, eventually, you. Had she been a stallion, I would have borne our heirs as a child. But that is not the way these things worth. It only passes from mare to mare, as does our secret. From my mother from me, from me to you, and from us to our children in time.”

“Our children…” Rarity stared at the painting for a moment longer, then turned to Fleur, feeling as though she was moving in slow motion. “But…where is she? The blood, it keeps you young forever. Why is she not still with us?”

Fleur frowned, but did not look away from the painting. “The blood makes us ageless, but it comes at a high price. We are not undying. The moment we first perform the ritual, we seal our fate.” She turned toward Rarity. “But your sister will set us free. My mother was young for two hundred years, but died. You and I never will.”

They started walking again, and Rarity began to feel a pang of some sort of deeply negative but also profoundly distant emotion.

“So,” she said, “we just need to take some of her blood? Just a little? It won’t be any different from going to the doctor, then. I’m sure she’ll be happy to help us.”

“No,” said Fleur. “It does not work like that. It has to be vital blood, that which escapes a pony in her last moments before death. Lifeblood. Anything else is worthless.”

“You mean…”

Fleur, still looking only ahead, nodded. “The process is by definition fatal. Sweetie Belle will not survive. She can’t.”

“I…I can’t do that,” said Rarity, stopping. “Fleur, I can’t! She’s my sister!”

Fleur stopped as well, and then put her hoof around Rarity’s shoulder. She leaned forward and kissed Rarity softly. “I know it will be hard,” she said. “And if there was another way...if only it were possible for us to simply trade ours, and live forever that way…but it’s not. This is the only way for us to survive, and be beautiful and young forever.”

“Forever,” repeated Rarity, her mind still struggling to grasp the concept of never having to age. Somehow, she felt herself start walking again, being pulled by her intense admiration and infatuation for Fleur. She followed, and tried her best not to question what was going on.

“Slow down!” cried Sweetie Belle, trying to keep up with Feathery but doing extremely poorly. Feathery was in her fifties, but somehow more physically fit than Sweetie Belle had been in her entire life. Sweetie Belle supposed it was a Pegasus thing, as she had empirically observed that Scootaloo was quite firm.

“Seventeen minutes,” said Feathery, refusing to aquiese to Sweetie Belle’s demand. “That’s how much time we have. Do you want to be in her when time runs out?”

“Well- -there has to be a shorter way!”

“There is. We can jump five stories out the windows. You can fly, right?”

“No, but you can!”

“I’d have to leave you behind. I’m not strong enough to carry you down.”

“Why the hay not?!”

“Because unicorn guards like to target spells on your wings, if they can, and those wounds don’t heal properly ever. The only way to get you out of here is the long way.”

“But why does it have to be so- -long?!”

“It’s why I tried to keep you out of the old-section. Half of it is collapsing, and the rest is purposefully designed like a maze!”

“Why would anypony purposefully make a MAZE?!”

“For contingencies like this,” said a perfect, aristocratically accented voice.

Sweetie Belle froze, and, luckily, Feathery stopped as well. Sweetie Belle did not think she could have run if she had tried. Something about the way that voice sounded had trapped her by fear. She did not know why, but she understood that something very bad was about to happen.

Fleur rounded the corner of the long, curving hallway, and her eyes immediately shot to Sweetie Belle. Sweetie Belle felt her breath catch; she had never before seen eyes so hungry, and so cold.

What Sweetie Belle noticed more than Fleur’s eyes, though, was that Rarity was beside her.

“Rarity!” cried Sweetie Belle, rushing forward. Rarity, though, did not turn her head to look at Sweetie Belle. She just kept looking away, a pained expression on her face.

Feathery reached out and stopped Sweetie Belle, holding her back. She also drew the crossbow and pointed it at Fleur’s chest. Fleur immediately stopped walking, but seemed far more amused than afraid. “Feathery,” she said, calmly. “Step out of my way.”

“No,” said Feathery. She turned her head toward Sweetie Belle, but did not take her eyes off Fleur. “Sweetie Belle! Run!”

“I…I can’t…I can’t leave Rarity! She’s still alive!”

“Why would I hurt Rarity?” asked Fleur, sounding offended. “I love Rarity dearly. And I intend to give her the greatest gift I can bestow. But to do that I need you, Sweetie Belle.” She looked down at Feathery, and taking her eyes off of Sweetie Belle seemed to be almost painful. “Now. Feathery. I will not repeat myself. Step. ASIDE.”

“Silver,” she said, her crossbow suddenly shaking. “You…you…”

“Killed him, yes,” sighed Fleur, sounding board. “As I had intended to since the moment I hired him.”

Feathery had already known, but the confirmation was almost too much for her. Her face contorted in rage, but tears fell down her face and onto her weapon. “You monster!”

“Monster? How dare you, Feathery. After everything I have done for you? Look at me. I am so very beautiful. Could this be the face of a monster? What cost is too great to maintain this?” Her expression changed to a more sinister smile. “Besides. He’s far better off this way. Now he won’t have to gag every time he has to lay a hoof on a hideous hag like yourself.” She paused, as if pretending to consider. “My only regret is that I did not take him when I had the chance, like I did your brother.” She shrugged. “But I am due to be married soon, so that would be inappropriate. You would not understand.”

For a moment, Sweetie Belle thought that Feathery was going to pull the trigger, but Feathery hesitated. She instead turned to Rarity. “Traitor!” she cried. “She’s your own sister! Don’t let this monster do this to her! Don’t listen!”

Rarity looked as though she was about to cry, and almost looked at Sweetie Belle. “Eternal beauty,” she said, softly. “Sweetie Belle, I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”

“Rarity is in agreement with me,” said Fleur. “As I’m sure you would be, and Sweetie Belle would be too, had I time to explain this to her. But I don’t. She’s just so beautiful. So young, so innocent. I need her. I need her NOW.”

“If you want her, you have to go through me.”

Fleur raised one pink eyebrow. “Really? Of all the times to grow a spine, you do it now? Feathery, don’t do this. Put down the bow. Step away. Go tend your garden. I do not want to fight you.”

“Because you know you would lose.”

“No. Because in my absence you have become far too overripe. Your blood would give me at best minutes of youth. I have no need for it.”

“And if I shoot? You’re an inbred abomination. Mothers and sons, brothers and sisters…one blow, and you will bleed to death.”

Fleur smiled. “Bleeding is what I do.”

Feathery was done hesitating. She pulled the trigger of the crossbow. The bolt shot forward- -but stopped after just an inch as the entire assembly was frozen in a plume of blue-red light that matched the glow that had appeared around Fleur’s horn.

“You will find,” said Fleur, suddenly frowning, “that I am much more difficult to slay than a wounded, outbred child.”

Sweetie Belle felt the air suddenly ionize, and she saw a thin thread of red magic emerge from Fleur’s horn. It was almost imperceptible, but Sweetie Belle instantly understood the nature of the spell. Before she could warn Feathery, though, the thread swept across the room. Feathery screamed in agony, and the crossbow dropped to the floor- -along with her forelegs.

Arterial blood sprayed out from the wound, drenching both Fleur and Rarity. Rarity screamed in disgust, but Fleur tilted her head back, moaning in pleasure as her white coat was stained red. “I suppose it is for the best,” she said, the thread suddenly hardening into a long red spike. “You are so old, and you disgust me.”

Before Feathery could react, the magical spike shot forward, penetrating through her chest and out her back. Feathery’s eyes widened in shock and pain as her aorta ruptured, and then she slowly closed her eyes. “Silver,” she said.

Fleur shifted her horn and jerked the spell out, bringing it up through Feathery’s neck and skull, slicing them in half. A torrent of blood rushed out, and what was left of Feathery slumped forward into the rapidly growing pool

Rarity was now moaning and shaking in horror, but Fleur seemed barely to have noticed that she had just murdered a mare. In fact, she looked rather disappointed.

“Just as I suspected,” she sighed. “She was too old. Perhaps if I had bought her a stallion earlier, I could have bred her. Children work so much better.” She shrugged. “Not that it matters now. I won’t need inferior ponies like her anymore.”

She leaned forward, and Sweetie Belle tried to take a step back, only to find herself paralyzed with fear. Fleur’s magic surrounded herself and Rarity, driving away the stains of blood and returning both of their coats to brilliant white.

“It won’t hurt,” said Fleur, speaking as calmly and gently as she had when Sweetie Belle and Rarity had first arrived in her home. “Some of us hold the ancient belief that suffering improves the quality of the blood, but I have never bothered. And to inflict that on such a beautiful little girl…it would not do. You will just feel a little cut, and then you will start to get sleepy.” Fleur paused. “Perhaps I will have paintings commissioned of you? Yes. You will be given a place of honor, I think. Through your death, the De’Lis will reign eternal.”

Sweetie Belle looked up at Fleur, and realized that there was no escape. Her end had come. Instead, she leaned to one side, looking past Fleur and toward her sister. For the first time, Rarity looked back and their eyes met.

“Rarity,” said Sweetie Belle. She did not say anything else. From the look on Rarity’s face, the tone and emotion of that one word had conveyed exactly what Sweetie Belle needed it to. It had been meant as a goodbye to the pony she loved most in the world.

Fleur lowered her horn, charging it with light that had now become almost entirely red. Her yellow eyes glistened, and she smiled a toothy grin as a thread of magic descended from the tip of her horn, writing in the air as it moved.

Then there was a mechanical thud, and Fleur was knocked to the side, her spell failing in the process. She let out a ladylike cry, and then looked down. When she saw the crossbow bolt imbedded in her shoulder, her eyes widened in horror and betrayal. She then looked up at the crossbow, which was hovering in Rarity’s blue-colored magic.

“Rarity,” she gasped. “W…why?”

“I can’t let you hurt my Sweetie Belle,” said Rarity. “I’m sorry Fleur. I love you too…but I just can’t.”

Rarity threw the crossbow down in disgust and then stood, running and jumping over Feathery Snipper’s body. She grabbed Sweetie Bell and started pushing her. Sweetie Belle began to feel the trance of fear breaking, and she felt her legs finally moving.

“We have to go,” said Rarity. “Sweetie Belle, we have to- -”

“Rarity!” called Fleur, causing the two smaller unicorns to suddenly stop. Rarity turned toward Fleur, who appeared to barely notice the bolt in her leg or the silver that was beginning to trickle from the wound. “If you do this, you are killing the entire De’Lis bloodline. Their blood keeps me young externally, but I’m still seventy years old inside. I waited too long. Without Sweetie Belle’s blood, I will not be able to bear foals. The De’Lis bloodline will end with me. Please, Rarity, please! Don’t let me be the last!”

“Fleur,” said Rarity, suddenly regretting her decision.

“Don’t listen!” said Sweetie Belle, pulling on Rarity with her magic. Fleur’s expression of pleading suddenly turned to one of absolute hatred, and she struck out at Sweetie Belle. Sweetie Belle barely managed to summon a shield spell in time, and it shattered audibly in response to the attack. This snapped Rarity out of her indecision, and she pushed Sweetie Belle forward. Within seconds, they were both fleeing.

Fleur watched them go, and then attempted to take a step forward. Her front leg locked; the crossbow bolt had penetrated her shoulder joint. She ignited her magic and tore out the bolt, causing a torrent of silver fluid to follow it. Then she started walking.

It would not be hard to track them. Every bit of food that Rarity had eaten and every drop of pony wine she had been given had been laced with anticoagulants. All Fleur had to do was follow the ever-expanding trail of silver fluid that was still dripping uncontrollably from the cut in Rarity’s front leg.

Sweetie Belle tried to run, but without Feathery Snipper, it was impossible to navigate the old section of the castle. The structure really was like a maze, and she got lost quickly, finding herself going in circles, all the while thinking that she could hear Fleur’s slow, evenly paced hoofsteps behind her. Except that was impossible. Fleur moved in complete silence- -and she knew every inch of this place. As the minutes began to tick down and as Sweetie Belle still found herself only getting deeper and deeper into the convoluted structure, she started to panic, wondering if she would find her way out in time.

As it turned out, she was not able to. After several minutes of running, she found herself back in Feathery’s museum. Not knowing what else to do, she threw the doors open in a panic and nearly threw Rarity in. She then tried to barricade the door with whatever she could reach quickly, which was not much at all.

The phonograph was still playing, if slowly. The sound quality had not improved, but the song had begun to accelerate. The tune was nearing its end, and Sweetie Belle knew that if she and Rarity did not get out before it did, they would both end up like Feathery Snipper had- -if not worse.

Rarity almost immediately collapsed onto the floor, gasping. She looked extremely pale, and to Sweetie Belle’s horror she realized that her sister’s hoof had been sliced. Normally, it would have been a wound requiring immediate attention, but now it was bleeding profusely. Running through the dark corridors, Sweetie Belle had not noticed the trail of silver that Rarity was leaving behind, the same one that now led to the door of the old ballroom.

“Oh crap, oh crap,” she said, trying to turn her sister over. “Rarity, you’re bleeding!”

“They’re dead,” said Rarity, hurriedly but in a seemingly delirious state. “Oh Celestia, they’re all dead! She killed them! The blood…the blood!” She lifted her bleeding hoof to Sweetie Belle’s face. “I’m- -I’m sorry! Please forgive me, I- -I’m sorry…” Rarity then collapsed back to the dirty floor, getting her coat dusty and stained in a way that she never would if she had been healthy. She was still conscious, but Sweetie Belle could tell that she had lost a great deal of blood.

“Hold on,” said Sweetie Belle, trying to stay calm even though she was on the verge of panicking. “Rarity, I’m going to try something, but it’s going to hurt a lot. Okay?”

Rarity did not respond, and Sweetie Belle took that as a ‘yes’. She charged her horn, concentrating all of her magic into it and then into a single point. She then lifted Rarity’s hoof and, with all of her strength, directed a beam at the wound.

The spell was not unlike the one that Fleur had used to murder Feathery, but unlike Fleur, Sweetie Belle was barely above a novice at using magic. Instead of a complicated cutting spell, she got one that only produced extreme heat. The blood on Rarity’s skin hissed and popped as Sweetie Belle cauterized the wound.

Rarity moaned and weakly tried to pull her hoof away. That was a bad sign. Sweetie Belle had just burned her with an injury that would leave her with a permanent scar. It should have at least sent her into screams of pain- -much weaker versions of the spell often had that effect on Scootaloo- -and then caused her to fret about the potential effect on her physical perfection. Instead, she could barely manage more than a mutter.

“There,” said Sweetie Belle, breathing hard from the exertion of the spell. “That should work for now, but we have to get out of here! Can you stand?”

Rarity looked up at Sweetie Belle and nodded weakly. She stood, wobbling as she did, and Sweetie Belle supported her.

“But where,” said Rarity. “Where do we go?”

Sweetie Belle did not know. She looked back at the door, knowing that Fleur would not be far behind, and that she had neither the advantage of time nor of understanding the castle’s layout. They could not go that way.

Then Sweetie Belle’s heart felt as though it nearly stopped. Her head darted to one side, where she had thought she had seen a tall white shape. Instead of Fleur, though, she saw an empty corner of the room that seemed to have been under construction many decades ago. A rickety scaffold had been left behind, leading up to high ledge and the unfinished carvings that somepony had been assembling there. Sweetie Belle suddenly broke into nervous laughter as she realized what she was seeing: it was the ledge that Muguet had flown her two when they had been pursued by Feathery Snipper. It was not obvious from the lower floor, but there was a small passage out up there.

Sweetie Belle and Rarity immediately began to make their way toward the scaffold. Rarity could not move quickly, and this only made Sweetie Belle more apprehensive. For a moment, she considered stopping the phonograph, and taking the needle off, but now she knew what Feathery had always understood. It needed to play. If they had any hope of making it out, the song had to reach its completion.

Fleur was not capable of moving quickly. Her shoulder joint had been destroyed. Worse, she could not stop the bleeding. A substantial part of it was spilling out of the wound and dripping down her leg, joining the pools and smears of Rarity’s blood on the floor as she followed it toward its owner.

The only thing that kept Fleur standing was the aftereffects of the blood ritual, and pure willpower. The former was beginning to fail, but the latter was growing stronger as she felt herself growing closer and closer to her ultimate goal. The scent of Rarity’s blood mixing with her own was intoxicating, but there was another smell beneath it. It was the smell of Sweetie Belle. The scent of her and her pure, innocent white-unicorn blood was almost maddening. Fleur wanted to cut her so badly, to take what rightfully should belong to her. She was the most beautiful pony in Equestria, after all, and it was her right to maintain that state for all eternity.

“Sweetie Belle,” she called, feeling shocked at how weak her voice sounded. “Rarity? Please, come out. I can’t run. I’m bleeding, Rarity. I’m hurt. Badly. I need your help. Please help me?”

There was no response, and Fleur felt an odd pang of sadness. She had truly thought that her best friend would understand, and the betrayal of being abandoned in her time of need was cutting. As much as it hurt, though, she knew that she would forgive Rarity. She had to; she had not been lying when she had proclaimed her love to the younger pony.

In a way, she supposed it made sense. All of her own sisters had been stillborn, but having to harvest another pony close to her- -like her mother, or Fancy Pants- -would be so difficult to her. Rarity just needed help to understand. It would be so much easier for her to take the blood once Sweetie Belle’s head had been removed. She would understand when Sweetie Belle was dead.

The blood-trail led to a closed door. Fleur did not even bother to open it. She just tore through it with her magic. This process was violent, but not without elegance. There was no sound as the pieces were torn free of their hinges with ease, and although they were thrown backward Fleur was careful to set them down gracefully. This was still her house, after all, and she did expect to renovate this section for her children’s sake.

“Rarity? Sweetie Belle?” Fleur stepped in, following the blood only to find that it suddenly stopped. There was a slight smell in the air as well: burned pony hair and cooked blood. Fleur frowned. “Clever girl,” she said, knowing fully well that she could not attempt the same spell without risking a hideous permanent scar.

It was then that Fleur noticed a strange tune wafting through the air. The music was slow and earie, but she did recall the tune. She had danced to it many times at various functions and parties just after the Great War, back when her youth was still true instead of maintained by bloodshed. The song was by no means fashionable anymore, of course, and the record had clearly decayed in fifty years, but Fleur still had strong feelings for that song. It had been to that song so long ago that she had first danced with Fancy Pants, although at the time she had not at all known that their meeting would lead to marriage half a century later.

Curious, Fleur walked through the various junk that she had allowed Feathery Snipper to accumulate. Some of it was useful, and some of it carried strong memories, but all of it made Fleur feel terrible. She had remembered when most of these things were still new, and seeing them so old and decrepit reminded her of her advanced age.

The phonograph had been set up beside a large, unfinished portrait. Fleur looked at it, for a moment not recalling why she was in it, but then smiled. She remembered when it had been started, and she remembered the son she had given birth to so long ago, even if she could not recall his name. It did not matter, though. He had been born the correct color, but the wrong race.

Fleur then turned to the phonograph itself. The song was coming to its conclusion, and Fleur looked down at the machine, momentarily confused as to why it had been connected to so many wires and to a pair of old batteries. Her eyes slowly followed the wires, and then widened as she realized what they led to: they led into an open panel into the hull of a decayed eighty-pound Pegasus-borne incendiary bomb, the same time that had nearly destroyed this castle and the surrounding villages when Fleur had just been a little filly.

The final notes of the song came, and it suddenly ended. The music stopped, and there was only the sudden scratch of the needle sliding across the record. Fleur watched it as it passed over the edge of the record, falling against a metal plate that had been haphazardly placed to the side of the turntable. There was a spark from the needle as it struck the plate and completed the circuit.

Fleur’s horn immediately ignited with crimson light as she put all of her remaining magical energy into a shield spell, encasing herself in scarlet bubble as the bomb detonated mere feet away from her.

The blast was intense, to the point where Sweetie Belle was knocked to her knees even at a considerable distance. Feathery Snipper’s device had worked, and if Sweetie Belle and Rarity were lucky, Fleur had been killed in the blast, as Feathery had likely intended. What Feathery had not anticipated, though, was the sudden secondary blast that rumbled low through the castle.

From the end of one of the halls, Sweetie Belle suddenly saw a flash of orange light, and as the house shook she smelled something unpleasant that she quickly realized was gas. The bomb itself had been powerful enough to devastate the old section, but it had also had the alternative effect of damaging the largely unmaintained gas lines that ran throughout both sections of the castle to provide light.

“Rarity, we have to go,” said Sweetie Belle, pulling her sister forward.

“What was that explosion?” said Rarity. Her eyes widened. “Fleur? Where- -where is Fleur?”

“She’s gone,” said Sweetie Belle.

“And the others…”

“We can’t go back for them.” Sweetie Belle felt her eyes watering. In all the fear and panic, she had not had a chance to think about what had happened to Muguet. She did not know exactly what had occurred, but inside, she was sure that she would never see her friend again. Now, it was only her and Rarity.

They rushed forward, only to be interrupted as the weak ceaing in front of them gave way. There was a blast of heat as burning debris fell through, and Sweetie Belle barely managed to avoid a sudden plume of ignited gas from a broken line above.

Rarity screamed and pulled her sister back, saving her from being burned alive. Sweetie Belle, though singed, immediately turned the other way. “This way!” she cried. “I think I know a way around!”

“You THINK?!”

Sweetie Belle ignored her sister’s protest- -and her own doubts- -and forged ahead. The area around them was beginning to feel extremely warm, and now instead of gas Sweetie Belle could smell smoke. A few side pathways were already burning, and several floors had given way, knocked free from their decaying attachment points by the blast.

Even then, though, Sweetie Belle quickly begame lost. She stopped at an intersection, choking on smoke. One side of the hall was completely engulfed in flames, and Sweetie Belle had no idea where she was or if she was even going in the right direction.

“Which way?!” cried Rarity.

“I don’t- -I don’t- -”

“This way,” said a voice. Sweetie Belle turned sharply toward a smaller side-hall. The voice had been clear, and as she stared she found herself looking into a pair of gray, dead eyes belonging to a tall and gaunt unicorn. He only returned her stare for a moment before continuing down the path ahead of them.

Sweetie Belle paused for a moment, not sure about the correct course of action. There was no other choice, though. “This way!” she said, pulling Rarity along with her.

They quickly reached the end of the hall, but the unicorn was not there. Sweetie Belle did, however, see his flank as he passed down an almost unnoticeable stone intersection nearly forty feet away. Sweetie Belle pulled Rarity forward, with both of them choking on the smoke as they went.

Sweetie Belle suddenly stopped, and found that the white stallion had gone down a set of stairs. She descended, finding that the air was clearer.

“Sweetie Belle, this isn’t the way!” said Rarity. “It’s a dead end!”

“No it isn’t!”

Sweetie Belle immediately doubted herself, though, when the staircase did indeed lead to nothing more than a stone wall.

“To your left,” said the white unicorn, suddenly appearing beside Rarity. Sweetie Belle looked up at him, and saw the look on Rarity’s face, not at his presence but at her behavior. She could not see him.

Sweetie Belle did turn to her left, and suddenly realized that he was correct. A door had been placed there, and it had been built with a façade of stone that made it difficult to see in the low light.

“Help me push this!” said Sweetie Belle, throwing herself against the door.

“Sweetie Belle…I can’t…” Rarity suddenly dropped to her knees.

“Rarity!”

“I’m just so…tired. I need to sleep. Just…just for a few minutes. The air is clear…here…”

She suddenly collapsed, unconscious.

“No! Rarity, not now!”

With a sudden surge of adrenaline, Sweetie Belle was able to push open the door. Smoky, hot air rushed in, but the path was clear, and Sweetie Belle recognized it as one of the ones that led back to the new section of the castle.

Summoning all her strength, the pushed herself under Rarity and picked her sister up. It was not easy; her body had become floppy and limp, and she was much heavier than Sweetie Belle had expected.

“Sweet Celestia, Rarity,” swore Sweetie Belle. “No wonder none of your dresses fit!”

With great difficulty, she pushed forward. The distance to safety was far, though, and she was not sure she could make it.

By the time Sweetie Belle had reached the new section, it had already ignited. Much of it was burning as well, and a great deal of it seemed to have been badly damaged in the gas explosion as the pipes had ruptured. A great deal of the area was impasible, but Sweetie Belle knew the layout a little better.

Unfortunately, she was beginning to weaken. A combination of the smoke inhalation and her anticoagulant poisoning was driving her ever closer to unconsciousness. She tried to fight it, knowing that if she passed out, both her and her sister would die, but her vision began to fade, and her legs began to grow weak. Eventually, she just collapsed.

The floor felt cold, and it really did feel comfortable. Sweetie Belle understood why Rarity had wanted to sleep, because she did too. It would not be hard to, and she only needed to close her eyes for a few minutes.

“No,” said a voice. Sweetie Belle looked up into the flames before her. The white unicorn was standing within them, but he did not burn. In fact, they only seemed to make his white coat glow brighter. “It is not your destiny to die here, Sweetie Belle. Not here, and not now.”

“But I can’t,” she said. “Why won’t you help me!”

He did not answer, but his dead eyes drifted to Rarity. “Leave her,” he said.

“Leave her- -NO! I can’t do that!”

“If you take her through this building, you will be killed. This element of fate is not in dispute.”

“I don’t care!” Sweetie Belle stood up, and put Rarity on her back. Her legs were shaking, and blood was now pouring from her mouth and nose. “She’s my sister, I’m not going to leave her!”

The pale horse stared at her for a moment. “So be it,” he said.

He stepped backward into the flames and seemed to vanish, as though he were consumed by them. His smell lingered, though. Even though the smoke and fire, Sweetie Belle could smell the scent of lilies.

The house suddenly shifted, and part of it collapsed. As one floor fell into the lower, though, Sweetie Belle saw the path to a long set of windows as it cleared. That was the way out, and with a surge of hope, she pushed forward toward them.

The urge to sleep was strong, and Sweetie Belle felt her vision fading out long before she reached the windows. Still, she persisted, and somehow made it to them. They did not open, and she was forced to smash one with her magic. Then, with the last of her strength, she threw both herself and Rarity out the window, not caring how far the drop was to safety below.

Sweetie Belle did not even realize that she became unconscious, either as she fell or from the impact below. When she awoke, she was shivering and soaked and she did not know where she was.

“Sweetie Belle?” said Rarity, her face appearing against the black sky. Her tears had created long lines through the ash that covered her face, and her makup had been running as she cried. She immediately gasped as she saw Sweetie Belle moved, and wrapped her sister in a crushing hug. “Sweetie Belle!” she wept.

“Rarity!” gasped Sweetie Belle. She was unable to breathe, but she was so glad to see that her sister was alive.

When Rarity finally released her, Sweetie Belle looked around and realized that she had been moved. The castle now stood in the distance, consumed entirely by fire, with the upper portion of the old stone section collapsed and the mansion now mostly rubble. The gardens surrounding it were alight as well, the trees and flowers burning to death with no one to save them as they followed their castle and their master to the grave.

“Fleur,” said Sweetie Belle, looking up at Rarity.

Rarity shook her head. “I…I don’t think she made it out.”

Sweetie Belle sighed, not knowing if it was a sigh of relief or one of profound sadness. Rarity, she could tell, was on the verge of tears, and not just those of happiness that her sister was okay. She had just lost two friends, as had Sweetie Belle. The effect on Rarity was obvious as she stared at the castle: her eyes were blank, as though she was staring far beyond it.

The air was cold, and as Sweetie Belle watched the dark sky, what had been rain began to turn into snow. The night became silent, save for the cracking of the fire in the distance.

That was when Sweetie Belle saw them. They stood just outside of the dying garden: three white ponies. One was the white stallion, his body solid and real. The other two, though, were translucent and almost ghostly. Sweetie Belle rubbed her eyes, sure that she was hallucinating, but the vision did not fade. She saw the stallion look to her, and then slowly turn back to the castle. The shades that stood with him- -one an earth-pony, and one a thestral- -turned slowly as well. The thestral seemed to give one last look over her shoulder before the pair of them returned to the fire, vanishing within as they went.

“They’re all gone,” said Rarity. Sweetie Belle was not sure if she had seen the same vision or not, or if she even could. “All of them.”

“But we’re still here,” said Sweetie Belle. “We made it!”

Rarity turned toward her sister, staring at her with the same horrible distant expression she had while looking at the castle. “Yes,” she said, absently, putting her foreleg around Sweetie Belle and wrapping her in a tight hug against the cold of the snow and night. “We did.”

Chapter 15: The White Queen

The room was completely dark. It had been completely insulated from any source of light, and the blackness was absolute. That was until a small flicker of blue light ignited in the center. In the darkness, Fleur raised her horn. The blue light only illuminated her, and a small circle around her. The rest remained dark- -save for the pair of reflective yellow eyes that stared back at her from the void. The eyes of the White Queen.

“Fleur De’Lis,” said the White Queen, her tone oddly neutral despite the strange strength of her voice. “Daughter of Couleur De’Lis, who was herself daughter of Aleur De’Lis, whose bloodline began with Joan De’Lis in ancient times.”

“My Queen,” said Fleur, wincing as she felt her voice waver. She bowed, causing the shadows of her light to change. The eyes remained illuminated and unblinking, though, as they watched her.

“Did you think I would not find out?”

“My Queen?”

“Am I a fool, Fleur of House De’Lis? Or do you think I have become unobservant? That I have grown…old?”

Fleur’s eyes widened, and her breath accelerated. She tried to maintain her composure. The White Queen’s voice was perfectly measured, and that was the most frightening part of all. Fleur had no idea what she was feeling, or what she would do.

“I’m sure you understand the gravity of what you have done,” continued the Queen. “You attacked an Element of Harmony, as well as her sister, a student of Princess Twilight Sparkle.”

“I had no intention of harming Rarity!”

The White Queen’s pupils narrowed, and Fleur squeaked. “Please- -please forgive my tone!” stuttered Fleur. “I only speak so vehemently because I care so deeply for her, as a dear friend.”

“And yet, given the chance, you would have blatantly murdered her.”

“I have slain many,” said Fleur.

“But not like those two. The friends of the Immortal of House Twilight are protected.” She paused, and Fleur thought she heard a rattling sigh. “And had they been any other race of ponies…”

Fleur’s eyes widened. The White Queen really did know. “My Queen, your majesty!” she protested. “Please! I can explain!”

“Silence,” said the Queen, calmly, her eyes flickering. Fleur immediately choked from fear alone, but still bowed as a gesture of apology. “Thank you. I know what you were trying to do. You were attempting to break the Order’s most sacred rule.”

“Please, My Queen, please…”

“You have no idea what you nearly accomplished. You are just a child, how could you know? But the rule exists for a REASON. You could not even imagine the cost of that blood. The pure blood of the purest race of ponies is not meant to be consumed by any living mortal being. Do you understand this?”

“My Queen!” Fleur cried and dropped to her knees. She had now completely lost her composure and was openly weeping. “I’m sorry! I’M SORRY! I was just- -I fell to temptation! My vanity, I could not control myself! The thought what that blood could bring me, it- -it was too much! I’m sorry! My Queen, please! Please forgive me, if you can!”

The White Queen stared through the dark for a long while, and Fleur began to sob quietly. Then, as Fleur watched, she saw the reflection of teeth as the White Queen smiled.

“Fleur,” she said in a voice that was almost motherly, stepping forward toward Fleur’s magical light. “I understand. I understand more than any pony can, perhaps. By our standards, you still are very young, and you made a mistake.”

“But my castle, my land, my birthright…it was all destroyed. I have nothing.”

“You have us. You have ME. And most importantly, you did not succeed. Rarity and Sweetie Belle of Ponyville remain unharmed.”

The White Queen was now partially visible. Her white coat seemed to glow blue in Fleur’s light, and she stretched out two long legs. Fleur looked up into her eyes, astounded that she could be offered forgiveness after having committed such a sin.

“Oh, My Queen!” she wept, falling into her master’s arms. She continued to sob on the Queen’s shoulder, now with joy and relief. She felt the Queen’s strong legs close around her in a firm hug that made her feel for just a moment as though she were in the arms of Couleur De’Lis once more.

Then the White Queen’s mouth snapped open, and her jaw clamped closed over Fleur’s neck. There was a loud snap as Fleur’s spine snapped from the force. She opened her mouth wide, trying to scream, but she could not. The nerves to her diaphragm had been severed. All that came out was a low wheeze.

The loss of sensation had been instantaneous as Fleur’s neck had snapped, but she still felt her blood pouring out of her where the White Queen’s many sharp teeth had cut into her skin. It had a sickening sound as it rushed out of her carotid artery. Much of it spilled onto the floor, spraying out form her neck, but a great deal of it rushed into the White Queen’s throat. Fleur could hear her slurping madly as she swallowed mouthful after mouthful of the precious silver fluid.

Fleur’s mind faded before her heart stopped. She felt no pain, but only fear as the light from her horn faded and she was left in darkness that was somehow even deeper and blacker than what she thought had been the blackest possible.

When her heart finally slowed, her blood continued to flow for a few moments. Her hemophilia prevented it from clotting, allowing the White Queen a few more long moments to feed. When the last of her vital blood had left her, though, the rest became useless, and the White Queen discarded her, allowing Fleur’s corpse to fall to the floor. Blood still sept out of the wound in her broken neck, forming a pool of beautiful silver below her perfect unicorn body.

The White Queen paused for a long moment, savoring her meal, and then stood, allowing Fleur’s blood to drip down her chin. She then slowly walked across the floor to where a heavy curtain sealed the light out of a large window. The White Queen’s horn ignited with golden light flecked with silver, and the curtain parted. Bright sunlight poured through onto her tall body, her long white wings, and her prismatic mane and tail.

As Celestia admired her sun, she could hear the sound of the other ponies in the room retreating from her divine light. Her and Fleur had not been alone. Behind her, in the now partially lit darkness, were the remnants of the noble houses that had long ago ruled Equestria. The occuppations of the current heirs and descendants were varied now, though: there was the young scion of House Sabethes, now a DJ in Ponyville, who stood beside a Canterlot dandy and self-styled ‘prince’ who was fanning himself rapidly and looked as though he was about to faint at the sight of Fleur’s crumpled corpse. Not far from them stood a pink-maned student who leaned close to the male member of a pair of twins. The twins were generals in the Royal Guard, and belonged to the only house that both remained prolific in the production of children and lacked the hemophilia trait that the Celestia had been so careful to breed into the nobility. It was the cousins to those two elites who populated most of the Royal Guard.

There were others as well, and almost all of them looked distraught at the sight of one of their sisters. The only one that did not was the oldest among them, a unicorn mare whose coat had been rendered gray by age and outbreeding. She was in attendance with her son, the Prince-King of the Crystal Empire, who looked on at the familiar scene before him with the same knowing pain that he had the first time he had witnessed a feeding.

One of the ponies stepped forward. He paused for a moment, adjusting his glasses. Celestia saw the look of disbelief on his face as he rushed to Fleur’s side.

“Fleur,” said Fancy Pants, cradling Fleur’s head in his lap. Fleur’s broken neck tilted at an unnatural angle, and she did not respond to her fiancé’s touch. She was quite limp, and her dead eyes stared blankly without seeing him.

Fancy pants immediately bent over her body to hide his face and began to weep quietly, with all the elegance that was expected of him and all the sincerity of one who had just lost his true love.

“You…you killed her,” he said. It was not an accusation, just a declarative fact spoken with such weight that it nearly sent several of the other unicorns into tears as well.

“No,” replied Celestia, smiling. “Her beauty and youth live on in me. She left her form so that I may live on. This was always to be her fate.” She looked out at the others. “As it is all of your fates. It was I who gave you the gift of eternal youth, wasn’t it? And allowed you to take my lesser subjects to sustain yourselves…and every one of you who stands here now used what I taught you to prologue your own lives and your own beauty. All of you understood what that meant when you began.”

“But we were going to be married…”

Celestia sighed, and put her hoof on Fancy Pants’s shoulder. “She challenged me directly, Fancy. I had no choice. She was already the last of her line. Take Twinkleshine instead. Produce many foals for the Order, and continue your lines.”

“So that you can feed on them,” he said, darkly, staring at his fiancé’s corpse. “So that you can live forever.”

“Yes,” said Celestia smiling. “You harvest white ponies to extend your lives. Then I harvest you. That is your only purpose as nobility, isn’t it? To keep your god forever young? Because your love for me is undying and pure?”

Fancy Pants looked up at her, his eyes red and his face saturated in tears. Then he smiled through the pain. “Yes, My Queen,” he said, softly. “Yes…it is...”

Things were not the same. Things never could be the same. This was the conclusion Rarity reached, and the one she meditated on as she sat mostly submerged in a warm bath on the upper floor of Carousel Boutique. It was her home, and her store, the center of her life. It was where she felt the calmest, and where she had come to think.

Rarity reclined in the tub, letting the warmth and moisture creep up to her neck. She closed her eyes in the steamy bathroom and tried to think. She had survived- -yet, somehow, the version of herself that came back from that castle was different. That had been over a week ago, and she had hoped that returning home would at least start her back on the path of becoming her former self. It had not.

She had witnessed ponies die. Not only that, but they had been murdered by her close friend. No matter how hard she tried, Rarity could not get the image of the two bodies of ponies she had known and spoken to hanging there, lifeless, as Fleur smiled beneith. That image was forever burned into her mind.

That was not something ponies were meant to see. Their lives were supposed to be peaceful and simple, with the hardest things they had to deal with an occasional monster attack as they navigated friendship problems and community challenges by working together and having compassion for one another. That version of the world, though, had been shattered. There had been no compassion in that castle, only madness, pain, and death.

Yes, she had survived. Where the others had fallen- -Silver, Muguet, Feathery Snipper, even Fleur- -Rarity had survived. Unfortunately, though, she had suddenly found herself profoundly alone. There was no pony who could understand what she had seen, or what it meant. She could not talk to anyone, or find anyone who would understand. In the past week after returning from Prance, she had withdrawn from her beloved friends. She knew that they were becoming concerned, but there was nothing else to do. Their lives were still peaceful and happy. There was no way Rarity could ruin that joy for them, even if she had to bear the pain of what she had seen all alone.

This left her with an unpleasant paradox. She was so happy to be alive- -so relieved, so exhilarated- -and felt like she could view the entire world in a new light, to appreciate what it contained. At the same time, though, a different part of her wished she should have died there. The guilt was overwhelming, that she had made it out while they had not, and that she had not done more to try to save them. It was the antitheses of generosity, and it felt horrible.

This was what she thought about for what may well have been hours as she sat in the bath, letting the warmth calm her pained joints. Outside, Celestia’s sun set, and night fell. The room was left with nothing more than the light of the candles that Rarity had set in advance, knowing that she was in need of a long soak.

Then, finally, she thought she had come to a conclusion. She ducked her head beneith the surface of her bath, holding her breath for just a moment, and then she stood, allowing the red fluid to flow down off her body. She stood for a moment, activating a spell that cleaned the deep stains out of her perfect white coat. Then she left the bath, being careful to avoid stepping on the pair of corpses that sat at its base: Blossomforth, a Pegasus, and Nurse Redheart, an earth-pony. Both of their throats had been slit, and Blossomforth was staring upward with a curious blank expression that still held the confusion of her last moments.

Rarity ignored them, letting them lie where she had left them. She would deal with them later. Instead, she crossed the room to an area where a large ornate mirror stood against the wall. Rarity paused in front of it, and smiled, but only for a moment.

Fleur, Rarity had determined, had not been insane. She had been a visionary of sorts. Her procedure had worked. Rarity looked young again. The wrinkles from the corners of her eyes were gone, and regardless of how much she looked for them, she could not find a single gray hair in her silky, perfect mane. In fact, she had not even realized how old she had gotten. The mare that stared back at her from the mirror was in her prime, barely past fillyhood, a perfect shining example of what a unicorn should be.

Except that Fleur had also been correct about the internal consequences of the treatment. Rarity’s mind felt alert and agile, as it had when she had been young, but all the old pains of her body remained. Her spine burned, and the arthritis of her knees was still as intense as ever. In fact, every internal pain seemed to be greatly amplified. Just existing was only barely tolerable, and Rarity wondered how Fleur had been able to withstand it for so long with such grace and poise. That pain led Rarity only to admire Fleur more intensely.

“But it’s only temporary,” she said to her reflection, staring into her own yellow eyes. “How long will it last? One Pegasus, one earth-pony. Years? Months? Weeks?”

She did not even need to ask the question. She had already come to her decision. Her only regret was not making it sooner. She could have stayed with Fleur- -but of course, she did not really want to. She could not imagine spending so much time with a pony who was capable of murder like that.

Rarity sighed, and then walked to the far side of her expansive upper floor. She moved slowly, surprised at how silent her motions had become. The confidence that came with her augmented beauty was intoxicating beyond what any pony wine could achieve. She was young again, and she knew how to turn back the clock, to keep that part of herself for as long as she wanted.

On the far side of the room, a rope had been strung around one of the main roof joists. It had been tied tightly, and the far end had been tied even more tightly around Sweetie Belle’s legs, holding her suspended and inverted over the center of the room. She had been bound and gagged, and her horn had been negated by a small enchanted device, but she was still alert. Her eyes followed Rarity, and it was clear that she was terrified.

“Shhh, shhh,” said Rarity, trying to calm her sister as Sweetie Belle began to struggle. As she did, she levitated a beautifully painted enamel bucket- -only the best would do for her dear sister, of course- -and placed it below Sweetie Belle’s head. As she did, she brushed her hoof over Sweetie Belle’s cheek. Sweetie Belle recoiled, causing Rarity great offense, but she supposed she could forgive her in this case.

“It’s okay, Sweetie, it’s okay,” said Rarity, smiling. She produced a straight razor from a small stand nearby. Sweetie Belle clearly saw it as Rarity flicked it open with her magic, and she began to struggle against her bindings and to scream into the gag that prevented anything more than a whimper from escaping her. “You’re going to make me beautiful,” said Rarity, “forever. Sweetie Belle, this is the greatest gift you can ever give me. You want to help your sister, don’t you? It’s the generous thing to do, after all.”

Sweetie Belle looked up at Rarity, her eyes quivering. She was crying, and Rarity had to look away.

“You’re helping me,” she repeated. “You are going to help me stay young forever, Sweetie Belle. Thank you. Thank you so much. I love you more than anything in this world. You have no idea what this means to me.”

She then pressed the razor against Sweetie Belle’s neck, and started cutting.

Chapter 1: Arrival

The carriage bumped suddenly, its wheels colliding with the rough cobblestones below with enough force to knock Sweetie Belle free from her seat. With a cry, she fell to the wooden floor, sprawling outward in a way that would have been funny had it not hurt so much.

She stood, attempting to return to her already severely uncomfortable wooden seat, only to be knocked back down by a second and even more severe bump. “Ahg!” she cried, angrily flailing her feet in the air from the floor. “This is so stupid! Why couldn’t we get the carriage with the suspension system?”

“Dearie, we talked about this,” said Rarity, who was holding a cup of tea in her magic with such poise that the bumps of the road did not even affect it. “Did you even see the way it was painted? Pink AND red? Heavens, no! I simply couldn’t bear to ride in something so hideous! I would simply be driven to distraction by the sheer embarrassment…” She paused. “Sheer…hmm…” She pulled out a pad and scribbled onto it.

“Well I’m about to be driven to distraction by having my organs driven to the wrong places!”

“Sweetie, you’re being dramatic.” Rarity reached out with her magic and, with a great degree of difficulty, lifted Sweetie Belle to a standing position that allowed her to return to her seat. “I thought you liked this cart. It’s historically accurate! And I know how much you adore historical precision.”

“If it were a recreation, yeah. But…” Sweetie Belle tapped at one of the extremely dry walls, feeling the thick lining of varnish that covered it. “I think this literally is historical. It’s super old.”

“Darling, t’s simply antique! Isn’t it charming?”

“Charming if you like a sore butt,” muttered Sweetie Belle. She leaned on her side and stared out one of the small windows. She hated to admit it, but she really did think that despite the primitive suspension system, getting a chance to ride in a working historical wooden carriage was actually pretty nice. Few carriages in the Canterlot region of Ponyville even bothered to maintain the historical design; it was considered too dark, drab, and even downright grim. Not to mention the poor quality of the ride, of course.

Still uncomfortable, Sweetie Belle took in the slowly passing view outside. The land outside was strange to her. The long road that they were being brought down was mostly dirt, but still contained many of the stones that had been laid in ancient times, no doubt by earth-pony workers under the supervision of the Unicorn Empire back centuries before anypony would have even heard the name “Nightmare Moon”.

Beyond the road were extensive fields filled with a grass far greener than any that Sweetie Belle had ever seen. The fields, though, were given an ominous cast by the trees that lined the ancient and empty road: the edge was planted with a line of evenly spaced pollarded willows. They were strange, knobby trees that had been forced into their twisted shapes by centuries of cultivation. Their shape was strange, like claws of some strange thing reaching up from the damp soil below, or like trees that had long since died and yet somehow retained some semblance of what they had once been.

Which, Sweetie Belle realized, was probably true. For all she knew, those marshy green fields could have once held hundreds of willows. It was only the pollarded ones that survived now, though, because the same pruning that had destroyed their native forms had rendered them nearly immortal so long as it continued. Or at least that was her understanding of it; her cutie mark, after all, was not in arboriculture.

“An impressive view, I must say,” commented Rarity. “Although the rural aspect is not my cup of tea, so to speak, I can understand the appeal. It does seem so relaxing, if a little, well, rustic.”

Sweetie Belle nodded, but she was not in agreement. Those trees, the fields, and the forest beyond, they were all so empty- -and somehow that made her feel strange. As if the cart was not the only thing making her uncomfortable.

The feeling only got worse as the ride continued. The road was long, but there were no ponies at all. Sweetie Belle supposed that was reasonable; they were in an extremely rural district, far away from any major cities deep in Eastern Equestria. It was the Old World, a region that had been distant even to the Unicorn Empire. But there should have been somepony. Someone walking on the path, or perhaps in the fields, tending a farm- -but there were none. Just the expanse, the road, and the occasional crumbling ruins of a long-abandoned stone foundation.

The only ponies that Sweetie Belle saw apart from Rarity were the two carriage pullers. One of them was a drab brown color, and the other an equally drab gray. They were tall and stern, as were most ponies in this part of the world, and they spoke little. Sweetie Belle got the impression that they might not be able to speak at all, at least not in a shared language. The language in this region had long ago split from Old Equestrian and merged with the now extinct Upper Unicornic, forming something completely unintelligible to those who spoke the Alicornic dialect.

That only made the situation worse. It was a strange kind of loneliness to be in a foreign land and unable to communicate. That no matter what Sweetie Belle said, they would just look back at her with their hard expressions, not understanding. Of course she would have tolerated this so much better had there just been one other pony, or one sign of life to indicate that this land had not lain abandoned through the intervening centuries between its early settlement and their current journey through it.

In time, the fields were replaced by forest. It was thick and nearly oppressive, and the trees felt strange. They were not like the purpose-planted forests of Ponyville, or even like the mixture of decay and life that was the Everfree Forest. These trees were far more quiet and far more stately; this was a safe forest, but one of unbelievable age and size. The trees were thick and tall, to the point where they blotted out the sun with a thick canopy of leaves. The mottled light that came down from them lit bare trunks, and the remnants of long abandoned stone walls that had once bordered farming plots but that now ran between trees that had survived long past the ponies whose land they had conquered so long ago.

Rarity, of course, seemed not to notice this. She had instead started reading a fashion magazine, flipping slowly through the pages and occasionally making sounds of approval or grimaces of disgust.

“You shouldn’t read that in the carriage,” said Sweetie Belle. “You know it makes you sick.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Rarity. “Besides, I need to keep up to date. To understand the trends and the advancement of the craft.” She sighed, and then picked up a large book- -one of several- -of wedding gowns. “As much as I do enjoy my occupation, my immense skill can be a burden sometimes. This project has to be perfect.” She set down her book and picked up a small compact. She looked closely at her face, and then grimaced. “Although I think I have to be careful.” She poked at the side of her face, not indicating to Sweetie Belle her extreme distress at having seen the early stages of crows-feet forming in her eyes. She pulled at the skin ever-so-slightly, hoping that it was just an illusion but immediately finding that it was not. “Stress can be very harmful to a pony. To her mental health, I mean,” she added quickly.

“Oh. Well that does explain the gray hair.”

“Gray hair?” Rarity glared at her sister. “What did you just say? Sweetie Belle, I thought you of all ponies would know that there are some things that it’s just not okay to joke about.”

“I’m not joking. Look.” Sweetie belle reached out with her magic and lifted a hair from Rarity’s perfectly coiffed mane. Rarity was about to protest, but gasped in speechless horror as she saw that Sweetie Belle was indeed holding a long, white hair.

“N- -NO!” she whispered. “It- -it can’t be! A- -a gray hair!” She was so distraught that she could not even faint property, but did manage to flop sideways on her bench.

“It’s just a gray hair,” said Sweetie Belle. “It’s not even gray. It’s white.”

“That doesn’t make it better!”

“But it’s not like you don’t have white hair. We BOTH do. We’re both covered in them.”

“But that’s coat hair! It’s a completely different thing than manes or- -” Rarity gasped. “TAILS! Oh Celestia no! Please no! Anything- -ANYTHING but that!” She immediately leaned over and started going through her tail, searching for gray hairs. “What if there is one? What if I didn’t notice it? What if everypony was secretly thinking- -thinking I’m OLD?!”

“Gray hairs don’t make you old. Silver Spoon only has gray hairs.” Sweetie Belle paused. “Then again…if I had to hang out with Diamond Tiara all the time, I’d probably have a gray mane too.”

“It’s not the same thing! I’m supposed to actually be attractive! A pretty pony! And you can’t be pretty with GRAY HAIR!”

The cart momentarily stopped, and one of the ponies- -the gray one, who had a speckled gray and black mane- -looked back through the front window and glared. Apparently, they did speak at least enough Alicornic to know when they were being insulted.

“Darling,” said Rarity, sitting up and smiling. “I didn’t mean you. It looks good on stallions. It makes you look mature, as opposed to mares, who it just makes look disgusting and old- -”

“NUne, he said, shaking his head. Then, in a heavily accented voice with broken Alicornic . “We…arrive.”

Both Rarity and Sweetie Belle immediately looked out the windows of their carriage, finding themselves suddenly past the forest and now in the center of a moderately fair sized village. The two of them had been so engrossed in conversation that they had not been aware that they had entered it.

The buildings looked like something Sweetie Belle would expect to have seen on the back of a postcard- -and yet, somehow, also different. The buildings looked at first like they were supposed to, if by “supposed to” one meant out of the idealized photographs of Eastern Prance that tended to be filed neatly in coffee table books. Unlike those pictures, though, these buildings were old. They showed signs of wear: their paint was peeling in some places, and many of them had aged to the point of being crooked. A few even had hastily constructed additions built onto them, making them seem oddly tall as they leaned toward the dirty and weed-covered streets below.

“This isn’t right,” said Rarity. “We were supposed to be brought to Château De’Lis. I have urgent business there.”

The two pulling ponies looked at each other nervously, and the gray one shook his head. He turned to Rarity. “Nune, mademoiselle. Nous ne umeya- -we cannot. We go, not farther. Cannot.”

“But you have to,” protested Rarity. “Darling, I don’t wish to imply that I know how to do your job better than you, but it’s not much farther. The contract- -”

“NUNE,” shouted the puller pony, his voice suddenly becoming loud but his expression turning not to one of anger but of fear. “No closer! No closer!”

His brown colored companion spoke to them in their own language, and the pair of them seemed nervous. The gray pony seemed far more anxious, but the brown one turned to Rarity and spoke in his own language. Rarity seemed to understand at least some of it, and Sweetie Belle only caught the fact that he was apologizing. The only other thing she understood was the word for “bad” and the word “mesta”, which Sweetie Belle did not know the definition for. Everything else sounded like he was mumbling rather loudly.

Rarity did not seem to be able to convince them to go an inch further. Eventually, she gave up completely and decided to depart with Sweetie Belle on foot. Their prodigious quantity of supplies and luggage- -with “their” being about ninety eight percent Rarity’s- -for the most part had to stay, as neither of them were strong enough to carry it themselves despite Rarity’s pleading for Sweetie Belle to at least try.

This situation, of course, caused Rarity to become quite peeved. Before the pair of pullers departed, Rarity stomped over to them.

“I was going to give you each an enormous, beautiful Ponyville crystal as a tip,” she said, angrily. “But for this horrible service, you each only get a MEDIUM crystal. I hope you’re pleased with yourselves!”

Rarity levitated the crystals to them, and Sweetie Belle pressed her hoof against her forehead. With their almost complete inability to understand Alicornic, the pair likely had no perception of Rarity’s expression of displeasure by the giving slightly smaller crystals.

“Well,” said Rarity, turning back to Sweetie Belle. “I suppose we have to walk the remainder of the way.”

“You’re going to get sweaty.”

Rarity gasped. “I will not! A proper lady does not…eew… ‘sweat’. She…leaks beauty.”

“I guess that makes sense. But after a seven hour cart ride? You smell pretty beautiful, sis.”

Rarity at first seemed pleased until she understood what Sweetie Belle meant, and then she dashed to where her luggage had been unloaded, trying to find perfume of some sort. Knowing how long that could take, Sweetie Belle started walking through the town.

It was impressive, but not by its design. It was actually rather rustic, and it seemed that the ponies who lived there were poor, or at least poorer than those in Ponyville. What struck Sweetie Belle, though, was just how strange it was to be in a foreign land so distant from her home.

That sense of strangeness only grew, though, as she realized just how silent the town was. This was so severe that it caused Sweetie Belle to stop in the center of what should have been a busy street. There were a few ponies, of course, but they kept their distance and eyed Sweetie Belle with great suspicion or even outright dislike.

The majority of the townsfolk, as far as Sweetie Belle could see, were drab colored, either in earthy shades of brown, gray, or dark blue. That made sense considering their racial makeup: all of them were either earth-ponies or, strangely, thestrals. Bat-ponies were a rare sight in the Canterlot region, but here there seemed to be many. They were short but well built, with unnerving and seemingly unblinking eyes with irises in several strange shades of yellow.

Some of them- -both the native earth-ponies and the thestrals- -stared at Sweetie Belle, but not for long. They immediately each seemed to realize that they had something better to do, and wither walked off or returned to local buildings, closing the doors behind them.

“Well,” said Sweetie Belle, “now I know how Zecora used to feel.” She paused. “Wow. I can’t believe we were such jerks.”

“Sweetie Belle!” called Rarity, trotting to Sweetie Belle’s side. “Don’t just walk off like that, dearie! Do you have any idea how terrible I would feel if I lost you somewhere out here? Not to mention what mother and father would say!” She looked around, and frowned. “Especially with ponies like this around. My they seem unhappy, don’t they?”

“I would be a little unhappy if I lived here too,” said Sweetie Belle as the pair of them started walking. “It’s a little…well…”

“Drab?”

“I was going to say depressing, but sure. Yours works too.” Sweetie Belle looked around, watching several ponies suddenly reach out and shutter their windows. As the pair of them walked down the road, Sweetie Belle even saw an entire group of children her own age take one look at them, stare wide eyed in fright for a moment, and then scatter.

“Blancos!” cried one of them as he fled. “Blancos ici!”

“Well, that’s rude,” said Rarity. Rarity tended to think that most ponies and their actions were rude, but in this case Sweetie Belle actually agreed. “I was going to ask for directions!” Rarity paused, turning her head, before she caught sight of an adult threstral who was busty hurrying past them, her shoulder rubbing against the buildings as she tried to stay as far as possible from Rarity and Sweetie Belle.

“Excuse me!” said Rarity, trotting up to the very surprised looking thestral mare. The thestral was so dusky that she blended in almost completely with the shadows of the building, with only her large yellow eyes being readily visible. She did not appear happy that her camouflage seemed to have failed. “We’re a bit lost, I’m afraid, and we’re looking for the way to Château De’Lis. If you could help us?”

The thestral did not react. She just stood there, perfectly still. Her head was cocked to one side, so only one large golden eye was staring at Rarity and Sweetie Belle. They eye did not move, nor did it blink, for what Sweetie Belle was sure was at least a minute.

“Um,” said Sweetie Belle, “are you okay?”

“Nune,” said the thestral suddenly in a loud but still somehow raspy voice. “Ne blancos! Nune!” Her eyes narrowed, and she suddenly took flight, flying swiftly up the building near her and taking refuge on the thatched roof, with only her head peeking over the edge. “Blancos lasser!” she hissed before vanishing entirely.

“Hmm,” said Rarity, now seeming to be losing her patience. “I was assuming that ponies living in the birthplace of Equestrian culture and mannerism would have MANNERS!”

“She can’t understand what you’re saying, you know.”

“Oh, I know. Or else I would not be saying such things. But that does not excuse her being so RUDE!” She extended her neck, yelling at the roof as though the thestral was still on it even though she was no doubt gone. Sweetie Belle caught a pair of greenish eyes peeking through the gap in the shutters on the second floor and glaring down at Rarity.

“We don’t need directions,” said Sweetie Belle, pulling a map from her bag.

“A map?” said Rarity, suddenly less angry. She smiled. “Of course. I should have known I could count on you to be practical.”

“I know, right? I am pretty great.” Sweetie Belle opened the map and oriented herself. “Alright,” she said. “There’s actually three of these little villages here.”

“But which one are we in?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Sweetie Belle pointed at the map, and the roads that all led to a large central area. “All of them connect to the castle in the middle. See? We just need to go down the center street.”

“Oh,” said Rarity. She frowned in the direction of the thestral. “That would not be difficult for somepony to explain, would it.”

“It would be if you don’t speak Alicornic.” Sweetie Belle closed her map. “And didn’t you tell me you spoke their language?”

“Not the same dialect, apparently,” said Rarity. “I suppose the version Fleur uses is different from the one that the…well… ‘less aristocratic’ ponies use.”

Sweetie Belle accepted that answer instead of pressing her hypothesis that her sister only knew the most fashionable four or five words of the region’s native language, and they started walking again. “What exactly is this place, though?” she asked.

“An outer village,” said Rarity. “A small town around the castle in the center.”

“Canterlot isn’t set up like this.”

“Well, no. That’s because this is a little different. The De’Lis family is one of the oldest in Equestria, after all. Their ancestors have held titles here since the medieval days.” Rarity sighed. “When every aristocrat wore flowing dresses, and there were knights in shining armor…with long, hard, pointy horns…”

“Eew,” said Sweetie Belle.

“It’s not ‘eew’, it’s romantic. But that’s my point. This place is hardly modern. It’s still set up much the way it was when it was a medieval manor.”

“Medieval- -wait, you mean we’re going to have to stay in a dusty, drafty, dark, drab, decrepit- -”

“Sweetie Belle, please. Stop alliterating.” Rarity put her hoof to her head. “I have a headache from getting so darn PEEVED.” She paused, and then sighed. “If you would be so kind as to not tell mother and father that you heard me use such uncouth language. I just don’t like ponies being so RUDE. And yes, we are staying in the castle. Assuming we can get there.”

“Great,” said Sweetie Belle, sarcastically. “Well, at least I have the map.”

Chapter 6: Mistress and Servants

It had been a long day. Or, rather, most a night and part of a day. Rarity found herself in substantial pain, the result of having been standing, flexing, bending, and preparing for the better part of twelve hours straight. She had gotten a great deal done, of course, and only because of this sense of progression had she decided to take a break. So, taking a chance to relax, she allowed herself to sink deeper into the hot water of the luxurious bath and waited for the heat to at least alleviate some of her pain.

There had been a time in her life when she could have sewed and planned for days straight, motivated entirely by the force of the creative expression and her passion for dressmaking. Those days had begun to pass, though, and Rarity increasingly found herself getting more tired more quickly.

All things considered, though, she had made substantial progress. Feathery Snipper had delivered Couleur De’Lis’s dress, and although it was quite old and its condition at best fair, it was still an astonishing garment. Rarity was unsure of who exactly the designer had been- -the information had been lost to time- -but whoever it had been had possessed skill far greater than almost all of the chief dressmakers active in the last two decades.

The old dress itself was, of course, far too old fashioned to be useful in and of itself for a modern wedding. In accordance with Couleur’s apparent hobby of wearing anachronistic clothing, it looked like something from two centuries prior. As an inspiration, though, it provided insight that Rarity would never even have considered in her wildest dreams. Fleur had agreed heartily, and the pair of them had settled on a tentative design and color scheme.

That had been about the time that Rarity had been informed that Sweetie Belle had become quite ill. She had initially not come back from her attempt to fetch Feathery Snipper, although the latter had found her much later lying unconscious in a distant and empty hallway. This nearly sent Rarity into a panic, but she was assured by both Feathery and Fleur that this was not uncommon. It had something to do with a reaction to the castle’s water supply, which Rarity understood. She too was feeling somewhat ill. Although she felt quite sorry for her sister, the assurance that Sweetie Belle was lying at rest in her bed was enough to put her mind at ease and allow her to continue to work.

Her slight sickness and worry about Sweetie Belle did impact her performance, but it was largely offset by assistance from Silver Sight. As he had suggested, he was actually rather competent at simple sewing tasks. He worked with the slow, careful pace that most earth-ponies had to- -on account of their lack of horns, something that often made sewing unbelievably frustrating for them- -but he was good at following orders and had proven himself able to prepare components as Rarity had specified by cutting cloth and following the patterns she provided. He also seemed quite happy to assist, and, in all honesty, Rarity was glad to have him. He was cheerful, effective, and had a flank that she did not mind looking at when the desire struck her. Unfortunately, he had departed soon after night fell. He had not explained why, but Rarity had simply accepted that he had to attend to his duties as a butler.

A sound came from behind Rarity. She opened her eyes, wondering if she had been asleep. Slowly, the turned. Through the steam she saw Fleur standing at the edge of the swimming-pool like bath.

“Do you mind if I join you?” she asked.

“What? No, of course not!” said Rarity. She looked out at the bath. “It is certainly big enough, isn’t it?”

Fleur laughed. “Indeed it is.” She walked over the tile floor to the stairs that led to the water and gracefully descended. Rarity knew that it was inappropriate, but she could not take her eyes off Fleur as she descended water and sweet-smelling foam. Then, to her surprise, when Fleur reached the appropriate depth she took a deep breath and submerged herself completely into the water. For a moment, she moved quickly below the surface, crossing a short distance before emerging again, flipping her hair back and sending a shower of sparkling droplets into the air around her. Even soaked, her mane still looked perfect, albeit in a different way. Rarity was too frightened to get her own mane wet for fear of the amount of time it would take to style it back to normal- -she had therefore wrapped it in a towel- -but Fleur seemed not to care. Knowing her, of course, her hair was likely so perfect that it simply needed to dry before automatically resuming is perfect silky-soft texture and fashionable shape.

Fleur drifted through the water, producing a small wake as she approached Rarity and sat down beside her.

“I saw your sister on the way here,” she said, leaning back and sighing. “She was with Muguet. The two seemed out of breath and a bit nervous. I do wonder what they were up to.”

“With Sweetie Belle, it is better not to ask. If I had a bit for every time her and her friends ended up doing something uncouth, I’d be able to open my own department store in Cloudsdale’s downtown district.”

“A troublemaker, then?”

Rarity smiled. “But that’s why I love her. Among other reasons, of course.”

“I see.”

The two of them fell silent. Rarity found herself staring out at the slowly drifting rafts of bubbles, still propelled by the remnants of Fleur’s wake.

“Rarity?” said Fleur after a minute or two. “What is wrong?”

“Wrong?” Rarity looked up. “Oh, darling, nothing is wrong.”

Fleur raised one eyebrow. “Nothing wrong, you say? I think not. I know that look. It is said that the heart of a mare can truly only be understood by another mare, and I think I would like to know, if you are willing to speak of it. What is wrong, Rarity?”

“Like I said, nothing.” Rarity stared out for a moment, and then sighed. “I…was just thinking.”

“About what, exactly?”

“About Sweetie Belle. And about myself.” She paused. “You know, there was a time when I was a lot like her.”

“Really?” Fleur seemed surprised. “You two seem so…different.”

“Well, we are. Now at least. A pony changes over time. Like that wine we’re both so fond of. We start out sweet, like juice, mature through an awkward and unpleasant stage, and finally mature to perfection…and then spoil into vinegar.”

“That last part is a bit dark,” noted Fleur. “But I suppose it fits the metaphor well.”

“It’s just…where did all the time go? I was fifteen when she was born. Already starting my business out of my parent’s garage. And now look at her. She’s almost as old as I was then. She has a cutie mark now, and she’s staring her own path…and how old does that make me?”

“Ah,” said Fleur. “Approaching thirty, I suppose?”

Rarity frowned at Fleur. “Trust me, Fleur. You’ll get there too, eventually. It’s not a fun place to be. It’s like…” Rarity paused, and looked up at the ornate ceiling. “I was just a filly, and then successful and young. I had all the time in the world. But where did it all go? I didn’t feel it pass! I feel like I just bout Carousel Boutique a few months ago…but that was nearly ten years now…”

“And it has done quite well,” said Fleur. She sat back, and thought for a moment. “Unless you are concerned that by focusing on your career, you missed out on a great many things that you might otherwise have directed your attention to? No doubt my wedding is making this even more poignant. I do apologize, Rarity. I did not realize.”

Rarity gasped, ashamed. “Oh, no! That isn’t what I meant!” She groaned. “Oh, look what I’ve done! This is supposed to be a happy time for you, and here I am complaining!”

“I do not mind,” said Fleur, holding up a dripping hoof. “I actually appreciate the conversation. It has been so long since I have been able to take a bath here and not be…alone.” Her expression fell. “I’ve been alone for a great deal of my life, Rarity. It is good not to be for once. Especially if I can do anything to help.”

“Just listening is help enough,” said Rarity.

“Well, that is certainly something I know how to do. And to look fabulous while doing it.” She paused. “I did always wonder why you never got married yourself, though. I always assumed that it was because of your popularity in our social circle. That you were in such high demand, you preferred to take stallions as they came and keep your options open.”

Rarity laughed. “It couldn’t be further from the truth, Fleur! I’m a bit ashamed to admit it…but I’ve never even had a steady coltfriend.”

Rarity’s eyes widened. “Really? No!”

“Well, in all honesty, it is rather difficult to do in Ponyville. There are very few eligible stallions. And I am a bit…picky.”

“Of course,” said Fleur, nodding. “As is a mare’s prerogative, no? Especially a white unicorn mare, as we are.”

“I just…I figured I could always put it off. But now…I’m starting to get old.” Rarity pushed back her hair with her magic, revealing the several gray strands beneath. “Look at me,” she said, smiling even as she was on the verge of tears. “I’m going to be an old maid…what stallion is going to want me when I’m old and ugly?”

Before she could do anything, Fleur suddenly leaned forward and wrapped Rarity in a hug. Rarity was at first confused, trying to decide if trying to resist would be impolite. She never did end up trying to pull away, though, buecause she realized just how pleasant Fleur’s embrace was. Fleur’s coat, even when wet, was perfectly soft, and her body was surprisingly toned. It almost felt as though Rarity found herself in the grasp of a stallion, except that Fleur smelled sweeter and there was no sense of awkwardness.

Rarity in fact felt her heart flutter, and she felt a sensation that she had never really felt before. Part of her considered it wrong, feeling that way while a mare was embracing her, but she still found herself hugging back.

“Don’t ever call yourself ugly,” said Fleur. “You are not. You are like us. More beautiful than any other pony in all of Equestria. Please…you were not wrong. You made good choices. Everything is going to be alright.”

“Fleur…”

Fleur hugged her tighter for just a moment, and Rarity felt as though she was going to cry. Then Fleur gently released her and stood up from the water. “Now,” she said, reaching down to help Rarity up. “Some breakfast, perhaps?”

Elsewhere in the castle, Sweetie Belle was sitting across a worn wooden table from Muguet. Muguet had gotten herself some more fruit, but had not bothered to make more pastries. She was hardly eating, though, and Sweetie Belle was not eating at all. The two of them were just sitting in silence, both wondering what exactly they had just seen and why it had been so unduly frightening.

“I’m sorry,” said Sweetie Belle at last.

“For what?” said Muguet, not looking up at her.

“For making you come out there. To look for me.”

“Oh no. That is not something you should apologize for. That is my duty. Just please do not do it again. If you had gotten hurt…” Muguet looked up at Sweetie Belle, her expression serious. Then, suddenly, her eyes flitted to above Sweetie Belle and her expression turned to one of surprise and fear.

Sweetie Belle was about to ask her what was wrong, but as she opened her mouth she was silenced by a massive head of ornamental kale being slammed violently into the table in front of her.

“Ack!” she cried, jumping back. It was just so profoundly strange. The head was immense, especially for this time of year, and the leaves were a combination of violet and the darkest purple she had ever seen. “What the hay is this?!”

“Eat it,” demanded a voice behind Sweetie Belle. A female voice that did not belong to Rarity, or to Fleur.

“What?” she said, turning her head, only to have her entire chair turned to face an extremely angry looking Pegasus. “Feathery- -”

“I said EAT. IT.” She pointed to the vegetable. “Because THAT is what you’re going to have for lunch. Or breakfast, whatever.”

“I don’t understand- -”

Snipper leaned close to her, her dark eyes glaring into Sweetie Belle’s. “Do I look like an idiot to you?” she asked.

“Um…no?”

“Then tell me, tiny unicorn. Why did I take time out of my extremely busy day to come talk to you? Hmm?”

“I don’t- -I don’t know- -”

Feathery Snipper slammed her hoof on the table, causing Muguet to squeak and the kale to jump.

“So you lied, then? Twice now!” She leaned in closer. “In case no one made it clear: DON’T go to the Old Castle!”

“I didn’t! I was in bed and- -”

Snipper raised a hoof, silencing her. “DON’T interrupt me, child,” she said through clenched teeth. “You went there. I saw your hoofprints. And HERS.” She glared even more harshly at Muguet before turning back to Sweetie Belle. “You unicorns,” she said, almost under her breath. “Inbred to mental retardation, perhaps?”

“Hey! That’s not fair- -”

“It’s not a playground! Half that structure is unstable, or rotted, and I have more than once needed to pull skeletons out who seemed to think it was a good idea to spend the last two centuries hiding in a secret passage, or at the bottom of a hidden shaft! Now, I don’t care if you die. That’s what idiots deserve. But I really, REALLY don’t want to spend time plumbing the depths for what’s left of you!”

“I got lost!” admitted Sweetie Belle. “Alright?! Is that what you want to hear?!”

“NO! I want you to STAY OUT!” She paused for a moment. “And further. Do NOT touch my things. You’re probably arrogant enough to think it looks like trash. It is not. Many of those things are important. Priceless, even. And some are not meant for you to see.”

“Okay,” said Sweetie Belle, feeling her tone growing strangely aggressive. “Fine! I won’t go there again! Are you happy?”

Snipper leaned in so closely that Sweetie Belle could smell her breath. It smelled strongly of kale. “Good,” she said, tapping the tip of Sweetie Belle’s horn with her hoof. “Because do it again, and I will snap off your organ. Understand?”

She suddenly shot forward, taking Sweetie Belle in what was almost a hug. She then whispered directly into Sweetie Belle’s ear. “Don’t eat anything she gives you!”

Feathery Snipper then pushed Sweetie Belle’s chair back and stomped off, pausing only to take the fruit that Muguet was eating and take a bite of it herself. She then lurched forward, drawing her head suddenly toward Muguet. Muguet squealed in surprise and fell out of her chair.

“Bat-winged harlot,” said Snipper, walking away and toward the nearest door that led back outside. As she did, Sweetie Belle got the first good look at Feathery Snipper’s cutie mark that she had managed to aquire since arriving. It was a violet and yellow flower, one that Sweetie Belle quickly recognized as a nightshade bloom.

Muguet eventually lifted herself back onto her chair, and looked pitifully down at her now empty plate.

“You can’t let her talk to you like that!” cried Sweetie Belle.

“I can, and I do,” said Muguet, seemingly trying to hold back tears. Sweetie Belle was not exactly sure why she was crying over lost fruit, but whatever the reason was, it made her angry.

“Why? You work just as hard as she does! And you’re not a plothole about it!”

Muguet gasped and blushed, surprised by Sweetie Belle’s Scootalooesque language. “Sweetie Belle!”

“I’m darn angry!” cried Sweetie Belle, standing up. “You know what? She got the drop on me there, but now I’m going to go back and give her a piece of my mind! She can’t say things like that!”

“Or threaten to remove your, ahem, ‘organ’?”

“That too!”

Muguet held out her hoof and stopped Sweetie Belle. She turned on her chair and slid off. “Don’t,” she said, now sounding quite serious. “She is like that. She seems to enjoy making my life…difficult. But what she said to you was what she thought you needed you to hear. Until that section is renovated, it is not safe for anypony save for her and for Lady De’Lis herself.”

“And you just take the abuse like that?”

“She has her reasons,” she said, looking away from Sweetie Belle. “We ALL have our reasons. Myself, Silver, her. Each is the sum of her or his past.”

Sweetie Belle’s anger cooled, but only slightly. “I know it’s wrong that white ponies get treated like they do. But even that doesn’t give her an excuse to treat you badly!”

Muguet shook her head. “No,” she said. “She did not experience it as we did. Did you not hear her accent? He is foreign. From the East.”

“So?”

“The East is…a harsher place. Not so civilized. Not like here, or your Canterlot. There is a great deal of war there.”

“So, she may have had to do things to survive. It’s not something that you can understand. But I do. And I accept her treatment because of it.”

Sweetie Belle opened her mouth to protest, but she found that Muguet was actually right. Sweetie Belle had grown up relatively privileged. Not Diamond Tiara privileged- -not even Silver Spoon privileged- -but she had never had to experience war, poverty, discrimination or violence. She really did not understand. In addition, Muguet’s display of empathy left her feeling like the far lesser pony in the situation.

Muguet, though, just smiled. “See? It’s okay! Because of the Baroness, our past is behind us! Even hers.” She turned to the table. “Would you like me to prepare you the…um…”

“Kale. It’s a kale. And no. I don’t want to eat anything she gives me.”

“Thank goodness,” said Muguet. “As I have no idea how to prepare it. That, and I despise the smell. Is it even food?”

“No,” laughed Sweetie Belle. “It’s an ornamental. But you try telling that to my sister. She loves those diet things. She probably eats as much kale as she eats cake. And that is a LOT of kale.”

“Does it remain healthy if it is paired with confection?”

“No, of course not.”

Sweetie Belle laughed, and Muguet joined in, even if she did not understand the joke. The two of them started walking toward the opposite door from the one that Snipper had exited, not sure where they were going but knowing that it was best if they went together.

Before they reached it, though, Sweetie Belle almost ran into her sister.

“Sweetie Belle!” cried Rarity. “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

“I’ve been right here. With Muguet.”

Rarity looked at the thestral. “You look very beautiful today, Lady Rarity,” said Muguet, bowing.

“Oh, why, thank you,” said Rarity, unable to resist allowing her mood to be enhanced by the application of flattery even if there was the tiniest pang of jealousy. Muguet the maid was surprisingly beautiful herself despite her teenage lankiness, and all without a single drop of makeup. Rarity had taken at least an hour of preparation to make herself presentable, but Muguet looked youthful and pleasant without even trying.

“As I suspected,” said Fleur, entering behind Rarity.

“Baroness!” said Muguet, bowing but also turning toward a wall clock to check the time. “I had not realized that you were awake so early! I- -I was not there in my role as attendant, I- -”

“Do not worry,” said Fleur, brushing off Muguet’s agitation with a smile. “I do certainly appreciate your dedication, but I am more than capable of taking care of myself. In fact, you seem to have perceived my orders even before I gave them.”

“My Lady?”

“Feathery Snipper has informed me that our Sweetie Belle has developed a terrible reaction to our water supply. And to you, Sweetie Belle, I offer my sincerest regret. Not just because you were sickened so and unable to fully enjoy the beuty of this place, but because last night you spent at least three hours lying on the cold tile unconscious. I am truly at fault for this, and I take full responsibility.”

“Lady De’Lis…”

“It happens,” said Sweetie Belle. “There’s nothing you could have done about it. And I’m fine now. A little bruised, though.”

“More like a lot bruised,” said Rarity, her concern growing as she began to see the damage to Sweetie Belle’s complexion. “Dear Celestia, you look like a banana!”

“But you should have not been left unattended,” said Fleur. “Which is why I am assigning Muguet to you as your personal attendant.” She turned to Muguet. “Muguet, please show Sweetie Belle the same dedication and care you have shown me. Make sure she is safe, and has everything she needs.”

“But my duties! The dusting, and the towels- -”

“Can fall to the wayside, a bit, I think,” said Fleur. “For now, at least. I have put in an order for more servants, and they will arrive in time to set up the wedding. Until then, Feathery Snipper will be assigned some of your tasks. Right now, your top priority is keeping Sweetie Belle safe.”

“I will not fail you, Lady Baroness,” said Muguet, bowing deeply. “I shall treat her as if she were your own daughter.”

This statement seemed to please Fleur greatly, and she nodded, accepting Muguet’s promise.

“Now,” said Fleur. “Rarity and I do have some planning to do.”

“Do I have to be the dummy again?” moaned Sweetie Belle.

“Normally, yes,” said Rarity. “You are an excellent dummy. Quite pliable. But I know you’re sick, so why don’t you take the day off? Especially with those bruises. I can hardly match your color when you look like Rainbow Dash after a…well…like Rainbow Dash normally looks. She simply isn’t careful.”

“Yeah,” said Sweetie Belle. In fact, she found herself wondering more and more about that. She remembered that she had fallen, but there was no way that it could have injured her that badly. There was no reason why she should have been bruised so badly.

Rarity and Fleur started to leave, but then Sweetie Belle remembered something. “Wait!” she said. “Fleur!”

“It’s ‘Miss De’Lis’,” reminded Rarity.

“No, no, Fleur is fine. I like my name,” said Fleur. “What is it, Sweetie Belle?”

“What was up with you last night?”

Fleur looked confused. “Last night? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Last night. I woke up hearing…” Sweetie Belle paused, then shook her head. “I saw you. In the halls. You just sort of…stared at me.”

Muguet and Rarity looked at Sweetie Belle, clearly confused and a bit shocked, but Fleur looked concerned.

“Sweetie Belle, that is not possible,” she said. “I was with Rarity all night, and I went to bed immediately after. I don’t know who you could have seen, but it was not me.”

7�}i