While she toiled there - stressfully sewing, lulled mechanical whirl of a sewing machine running next to her, did a exhausted Rarity stay and stare to make a beautiful gown. Like compelled to it by a potion, sat she there mesmerized by the motion, there up and down the needle went, gossamer fabric and haute couture; a little magic, the night endure.
In her hoof held she another piece, a headdress, hoof-sewn, the cure for stress. Then, Ow! Said she, reeling back, a claw scraped against her soft flesh, her hoof would jerk and find it’s way, the needle raise, her hoof in it’s way, then down it went into her fur. Scraping, digging, jabbing down, the little lance did make its mark, spearing needle, thread, a bloody mess made of a dainty, delicate hoof.
But then, poor Dress horse did not cry out, she whimpered and did bite her lip. Looking down to the bloody mess - needle sticking into flesh. Dress horse sat and nursed the wound with her lips, to kiss it like her mother would, the ruby drips caressed her lips. The searing, throbbing, pulsing stab, tugging at her heartstring, she had never felt a pain that would so wonderfully sting.
She closed her eyes, and a feeling came, warmth and pleasure amidst the pain. The taste of rubies - the throb from hoof, the quivver of flanks. In the dead of night she took to the floor, sprawling out and reaching down... feeling hoof to something precious. Before she knew, her injured hoof turned on itself, pointing needle to the floor, forcing down. Deeper in the needle went, spearing stabbing, ripping in. Light and magic, spark and heat, a calling she had never felt so strongly before, her mouth fell open to release a precious scream: but not of hurt.
Then, as quickly as it came, the pleasure faded... and she lay there in her post-orgasmic glow... dazed, confused, and something had opened. Slowly there - pulled she the needle out, watching as the deep wound seeped. “Ou!” Said she, eyes narrowed like a charged search-light, unto the cat who only wanted attention. Blood still dribbled onto the floor, as she looked for the offending creature. The room flooded with a purple haze, and then and there while she thought she stood - the mare would rest, her vision fade.
“Opaleeeescence, Opaleeeeeeeeescence.” She called, singsong. “Mommy needs you, darling~!”
Oh how she had hated that cat! Always tearing into her precious dresses, snarling, hissing, spoiled indignant thing. Oh, how she dreaded every time she saw that cat! She stumbled once and swooned, glancing to her lush coiled-tail, her legs still shaky, flanks drizzled in glaze. “Ah~” Swooned she - the tension eased - limbered up, lips curled into a deadly grin. Opal came to her second call, the indignant creature strutted into the room as if it had done no wrong...
There was no use for horn, the unicorn simply swept and grabbed, jerking the wriggling ball of fur off of its legs and up, raising it up to her eyes, a shake, a cry, and claws did fly. The swipe caught her on the eye, and again, said she “Ou!” As three sharp curvaceous kitty claws ripped across her left eye - scratching down over her manicured brow and lid.
The cat was launched with a rapid throw - into the wall. A helpless yowl, a deadly snap, and the body slumped unto the floor. The second thrill of the night, the Dress horse stood and panted hot and heavy - staring to the offending cat, grinning and letting out an evil laugh. Her flanks twitched again to let her know - she liked, she liked!
Then, her pupils shrank... what had she done. What monster was she then? To give and receive pain, to feel the grace of it more strongly than she had felt any love and pleasure on this earth, to watch the poor kitten die from the punishment felt so... heavenly. “No!” She was not a murderer, not a fiend! She wouldn’t hurt ponies. She rushed to Opal and cried, but it was too late... the cat was merely a pelt and little fat and bone.
“Has... anypony noticed Rarity acting a little ‘strange’ lately?” Asked Twilight, sitting with her friends.
“Nah, she seems fine to me.” Answered Dash, sitting backwards upon a chair, wearing sunglasses on an overcast day. “Maybe a little tired... I’m sure she’ll get over it.”
Twilight bit her lip and glanced over towards the Ponyville Boutique. She tried to shake this thought out of her head, her sandwich and hayfries becoming colder by the moment as she could only look at them - and think. She sighed and pushed her seat back.
“You... you all enjoy your lunch, I’m going to check on her.” She stated - matter of factly - and then she made a brisk trot to the Boutique - still closed. “How strange...” She muttered to herself. “Usually she would be open by now.”
A few light raps on the door - and Rarity answered. She had a light gracing of bags under her eyes, that she had sported for a few days in a row... and today, it was no different. The unicorn yawned, then offered Twilight a sleepy smile.
“Darling~ good morning.” Rarity greeted cheerfully, her mascara lightly dribbling down her cheeks. Behind her, Opalescence tumbled over the floor, playing with a ball of Yarn, while Sweetie Belle watched and giggled.
“It... it’s not morning, Rarity.” Twilight corrected, the sun had passed by high noon half an hour ago. Rarity yawned and gave her mane a toss. “So it is, Good Afternoon my lovely... please come in. Sit down... won’t you join me for an afternoon tea?” Her voice was sweet and singsong but at the mention of Tea - her teeth flashed a wicked smile, a smile that held daggers in its rows and rows of gleaming teeth, eyes that pierced Twilight’s soul and made her shiver on her hooves.
“I... I think I have to be going, Rarity.” Twilight answered - feeling immediately soiled to have lied to a friend.
“Ah don’t understand what you’re on about, Twilight.” Applejack argued, rearing her hips back and giving another tree a strong kick, shaking a good clump of fresh Apples into the basket waiting below. “Rarity seems fine! Didn’t you ask us this question at lunch hours ago?”
“Yes - but... but...” Twilight argued.
“But what? But nothin’. We’ve all spoken to her, we’ve all seen her, besides sleepin’ in a little bit more lately and changin’ her store hours - ain’t nopony in ponyville has seen a lick of difference besides you!”
Twilight bit her lip and glanced over the horizon, her wings ruffled by the breeze as she looked on, deeply troubled, chewing, mulling, arguing with herself - she brushed her mane out of her eyes and looked over her most Honest and straightforward friend.
“Applejack, am... am I the crazy one?”
This one didn’t take more than half a second for Applejack to answer. “Sugarcube...” The farmer said. “Yall’s need to take a deep breath and calm down, not everything is some huge - equestria ending disaster you know.”
Twilight gave a weary nod, looking over her shoulder. She took a deep breath, and then sighed it all out. It didn’t feel like the friendship lesson was complete, it felt like there was more to it than that... but oh did it sure feel like one had begun all over again.
“I... thanks, Applejack. I... I’ll try to put this out of my head for a while.”
True to her word, Twilight simply forced herself through the motions of another day - from a little Tea time with Fluttershy to a bedtime story for Spike. Maybe that was all she needed herself, a little bit of rest - and yet even with the day done - she found herself laying awake on her bed while her pets and castle slept - fitfully pulled to thoughts on her Unicorn friend... or was it her Unicorn friend.
Twilight’s heart raced, what if indeed something truly terrible was boiling under the surface - like Rarity was a changeling, or corrupted, or worse! Twilight lifted herself up and trotted to a window, facing the boutique, and then... she began to pace, slowly at first, back and forth, diligently wearing her hooves against the floor - suffering under the barrage of thoughts that would not go away.
“Mommy is so good with needles. Mommy likes pain... Mommy liiiikes.” Rarity softly whispered to herself. She sat in the bathtub of the Boutique, blinds drawn over the windows, towel stuffed under the door. Ever since her fitful night - passed out in front of the sewing machine that injured her - needle sticking in her hoof - ever since - she felt a desire - a pull. The sensation of her flesh being stabbed so forcefully, by her own hoof... the strange dream about murdering her kitty cat after - the world was more dreamlike to her now...
A row of sewing needles waited for her on the edge of the tub. Lifting one - she studied it, smiling at it, glancing to herself in the mirror. A fiendish idea came. She lifted her foreleg - already decorated with a row of horizontal needles, and took this one in it. Blood dribbled into her soft white fur as she moved the needle up to her soft lips, and pursed them. Then, she pushed, letting the sharp tip of the fine steel do its work, to slip into her soft marshmallow flesh. She arched her back and tried to hold her body still from thrashing. Rubies poured down from her, her eyes welded shut as the spear finished making its mark. Her mouth fell open and her head hung down, she let out a dainty, high pitched cry that pinched off into a squeak.
The whole room smelled like blood, and so did she. Her fur was candy-striped with ruby streaks, like a hoof-made peppermint candy, a disorganized mess of red and white. She panted swiftly and flipped onto her back, the pressure white-hot in her system, her heart pounding in her ears. Her tail flopped into a pool of blood by the drain, wicking it, soaking it as she spread her legs and drew her hoof to her marehood. Slowly, her own satanic ritual started... Last night it was driven by pure instinct, now it was driven by desire.
She could not have rubbed for long - minutes perhaps, no more than that. When she started moving her hoof in a circle, her mouth answered with cries. - Sweetie Belle must not hear this! She lit her horn and stuffed her mouth with a towel, biting it, crying into it, the screams muffled by the quickly blood-stained fabric. Her body became racked with twitches, her hoof sped up, but she needed more. She turned her horn to the row of needles in her forelegs, lighting it, giving each one a little twist. Pain tingled up her nerves, shooting right into her heart, she twitched and moaned, trembled, and shook... and released.
Her head fell back and hit the edge of the tub, the rag fell out from her teeth, and the world faded again - faded to a vision of an aged Ponyville establishment, a little bakery. Late at night, rows of cupcakes, silent, still - beautiful, tasty... and then she saw, amidst the shop, a bloody knife, a cackling baker, a row of sharp and pointed teeth. A flash of pink, a high pitched giggle, stirring cupcake batter as it went, the party spirit of her dream sported not a mess of mane but was it straight as an arrow, and yet the demon did not frown - it smiled - it grinned, it even laughed - with her or at her she could not know.
‘I’ve been waiting for you, Rarity’ The demon growled, and Rarity felt herself grow smaller and smaller before it, the countertops rose like mountains before her and the floor tiles stretched out for miles. She went to scream, but instead - she ran towards the demon and jumped onto it’s hoof - lifted up, she felt her small body carried to a massive mixer, eggs, flour, sugar, oh all the wonderful ingredients for the most delightful cake-of-cup...
The mixer whirred with the same tune as a sewing machine, spinning two knives through the batter as she was lifted to it - and casually tossed inside. A thick - yellow quagmire she fell into - spinning, swirling, pulled towards the evil whirling knives. A loud ka-chunk, and she was through, rendered into bloody goo, head and hooves, mane and tail, eyes and ears, back and belly. The batter turned a lovely red - the demon watched from overhead, licking its lips and waiting so eager - to get a taste.
As quickly as the sweetness came, so did the sun rise, and Rarity woke - a bloody mess in a bloody tub, the door being pounded on, pound pound - pound pound, and then a soft and singsong filly’s voice.
“RAAARRRIIIITYYY I HAVE TO USE THE BATHROOM!”
Author's Note
I have not written for a while and I am trying something new. Instead of hanging on to my stories for the longest possible time, I am trying to write in a more stream-of-consciousness style, proofread once but perhaps not a final draft. I am happy to make improvements. Comments are welcome.