Honey Dust

Chapters

1. Crumble
2. Puncture the Shell
3. Divide
4. Mixing In
5. Epilogue

1. Crumble

Author's Note

Hello, brave readers, and welcome to a new installment in the Silky Saga!
~~No, that isn't the real name for this series~~

*cough* Anyways, I'm glad that you've decided to give this story a look. For all the hard work, blood, sweat, and tears that went into this, I'm really proud of it. I hope that you all enjoy a tale of sorrow, of blood, magic, and eventual happiness. I tried to keep it a little lighter on exposition. Emphasis on tried. I do appreciate any feedback that you're able to provide, so don't hesitate to give a comment down below, even if it's only a few words! I won't bite...

1. Crumble

The Saddle Arabian desert was notoriously inhospitable, but there was life that could be found. Besides Sonambula in southern Equestria, one other feature spot for travelers was Sweet Oasis, just on the other side of the border. Apart from having the largest body of water between the border of Equestria and the Capital of Saddle Arabia, the walls were so tall as to supposedly be able to block out a sandstorm. Even more astounding was the history behind the perfectly circular barrier. It had been constructed over a thousand years ago by an alicorn, working by moonlight to fit every neat square into place to protect the ponies inside. Though the alicorn’s name had been lost to the town’s history, most assumed it to be the legendary Celestia.

Fine Silk had her suspicions, though, as had decades of scholars who had lived in the ancient town. There were old mosaics in the shadows of the walls that depicted a much darker figure. Most of Sweet Oasis didn’t care about which of the ancient Two Sisters had constructed the wall, but the silk trader was closer to filling in the pieces of the old mosaics, the illustrated truth about who had constructed the wall. At least it might take away some credit from that bloated white peacock on hooves- huh?

The coarse sand underneath her hooves had given way to something so fine, she was beginning to sink into it. The bicolored unicorn backpedaled quickly, bumping into her wagon and pushing her mobile home back from the trap. Where there had normally been rocks protruding from the desert, there was only fine, shimmering sand, forming a neat line between Fine Silk and her destination in the hazy distance. “Oh no,” she murmured aloud, looking out at the desert around her. Sandstorms weren’t common out here, but when they occurred, they could be devastating.

“Fine Silk?” A reedy, elderly voice called from inside the covered wagon. “Is everything alright?”

Fine Silk had never believed in lying, even to protect someone’s feelings, and she wasn’t about to start now. Squaring her shoulders, she unhooked the padded harness from around her torso and moved closer to the wagon. From inside the dark interior, filmy yellow eyes blinked back curiously. “I’m not sure, Brightspear,” she said, her heart twisted in worry. “There was a sandstorm.”

“Oh, how dreadful.” The elderly mare within blinked, mourning clear in her rheumy eyes. “I do hope that the walls were enough to protect the town.” Brightspear made no move to venture towards the open door, however, but there was a sympathetic hum from within.

“I hope that someone from Canterlot came to restore the wall’s magic,” Fine Silk murmured, turning back towards the direction of Sweet Oasis. “The town’s mages were sending enough missives to Celestia.” The unicorn’s horn began to glow purple, and soft auras of magic briefly formed around her hooves and the wheels of the cart. It was a slightly modification of the Cloud Walking spell, and it held true as she took a cautious step out onto the soft sand that had blanketed the desert. The ground barely stirred around her hoof, and neither she nor the cart sank. The burden of pulling the cart actually was a bit easier as they skimmed over the hot earth. She would have to remember this spell for next time.

Circumventing the disaster area to get to Sweet Oasis would have taken days, but going straight through meant that the town’s famous walls would become visible in a few short hours. Fine Silk had made this journey so many times before, every rock and and bush around her had become familiar, like old friends who guided the way to any city along the way to the Capital. With the new sand blown in, however, it was an alien landscape that she crossed, distinctly uninviting.

After three hours of silent trekking, Sweet Oasis’ walls were still not in sight.

“I swear, I’ve only walked in a straight line!” Fine Silk shouted out to the desert at large, not that there was anything around but Brightspear to hear her. “And there’s no haze, so where’s the bucking town?!” Frustratedly shouting, she stamped down on the sand, but with the magic around her feet, it only sent up a little cloud of dust.

The wagon behind her shook a little, and there was the clatter of goods inside. “Hold on!” Brightspear called. “I’m looking for a compass.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, you old bat! I can just try a locator spell,” the unicorn called back, stopping the wagon.

“Let me be useful, just the once,” the older-sounding pony shouted in retort, a little harsh-sounding, but it did little to ruffle Fine Silk’s (figurative) feathers. She rather enjoyed their catty banter. “Besides, I’ve got it here. You’re going in the right direction.”

Levitating a map out from the inside of her robe, Fine Silk cast a Global Positioning Spell to show their current position. Her eyes widened. “Brightspear…”

A grey muzzle just barely poked out from around the curtain of the wagon. “That’s your “I’ve got bad news” tone,” the elderly pony muttered. “Okay, Fine. Just how bad is the news?”

Fine Silk looked out over the landscape in front of them, where oddly angular sand dunes poked up from the pale yellow and rusty orange landscape. “We’re right on top of the town. The sandstorm blew the walls down.”

Baklava was rudely brought back to consciousness when fine particles flew up into her nose, and she promptly wished that she hadn’t woken up at all. Every shelf in the storage room had been knocked off of their bracket, sending jars of oil and preserved fruits to the ground. The slurry pooled all around her and eugh, some of it had stained her hair purple and red. Shaking a little, the unicorn tried to push herself up from the ground. How had she gotten on the floor again- ow! Her head felt like a melon that had been split by an axe. Her vision swam and her stomach lurched unpleasantly. ‘I already have one mess to clean up,’ she thought vaguely, closing her eyes upon getting to her knees. ‘I don’t want to add to it.’ Something warm dripped from her forehead and onto her cheek; it was probably some of the juice that she’d been laying in.

With agonizing slowness, Baklava opened her tacky eyes to look around the room a little more. Aside from the broken jars, baskets and crates had tipped over, spilling their fruity contents over the floor and leaving them for the dust and flies. It was at least two hundred bits worth of supplies lost. Damn...Poppy Loaf was not going to be happy-

Poppy Loaf!

On shaky hooves, ignoring how her dress felt much breezier than usual, Baklava shuffled towards the stairs, dripping dark liquid with every step. From the lack of light through the shutters and the stairway door, it had to be nighttime, and she couldn’t hear anymore wind. Maybe the storm had blown over. The walls had held, and everyone was sleeping. That had to be it. It had to-

“Oh, no,” she rasped, pulling open the door. “Faust, no…” Something deep inside of her splintered, like dry wood under the unrelenting desert sun.

The stairwell that led down to the bakery had been completely filled by gold and red sand. From the surface of the earth, three black digits poked up towards the sky, stiff, fleshy monuments to a desperate moment that was frozen in time. Even without touching them, Baklava could tell that the pony to whom they’d belonged was dead, drowning in the relentless sand. Her knees sank into it as she collapsed, but she couldn’t bring herself to care as she touched the black-furred fingers. “Poppy,” she sobbed. “Poppy, please.”

Poppy Loaf’s beautifully talented fingers would never work dough to a rich shine, or pull trays out of the oven for her when she could have done it with her levitation. She’d never feel her husband’s hugs again, left to remember those that he’d given her from their childhood through their wedding day. They would never be able to share a laugh or a cup of tea again after a long day in the shop. They’d never get to share dinner with Kiliv and Seed Loaf.

The last thought had hot tears stinging at the edges of her salt-encrusted eyes. If Poppy Loaf was dead, then that meant Baklava’s in-laws were probably dead as well, since they lived on the lower floor. Poor Kiliv and Seed Loaf, who’d been nothing but kind and accommodating to the young orphan who had captured their son’s heart. No more family meals, or going shopping for ingredients with Kiliv, nor would there be walking with the whole family around the wall to find some of the crumbling mosaics.

That was all that Baklava would ever have of them anymore: memories.

Consumed by her grief, the brown unicorn crouched over the only visible part of her husband’s body and let out a shrieking wail. Her sobs rang in her ear as she sat trapped in the tomb of her new family, as well as any future happiness that she could have shared with them. “P-poppy,” she stammered while her tears sank into the sand. “Poppy, please. Come back….come back!” Her final words were screamed, torn from her ragged throat, but there was no one to hear her here. Not even the Sun, a constant sentinel over Sweet Oasis, could bear witness to the bride’s grief.

“Don’t leave me alone. I don’t want to be alone.” She alternated between quiet whimpers and loud wails, and no one could comfort her in this grief. It opened beneath her like a crevice, bottomless, all-consuming. Baklava fell, mind and soul, into the sadness and loneliness. Maybe, if she were lucky, she would join her husband and family in the Eternal Meadow soon.

A pair of ears, one black and one white, pricked up in interest. “Brightspear,” she whispered, “do you feel that?”

Faded yellow eyes and that grey muzzle poked out from the wagon again, sniffing the air. “Mare in distress?” the older pony muttered. “Typical for you. Feel a bit harder, dear. There’s something else there, too.”

Any particular friendly jabs at her companion were promptly forgotten as Fine Silk reached out with her senses, already trained on the unknown mare, into the immediate area. She didn’t have to reach far before a phantom taste was in her mouth, harsh and unyielding.

Blood and steel.

2. Puncture the Shell

Author's Note

Hello, everyone. Thanks for all of the lovely feedback so far! It really encouraged me to post this earlier than I had expected. This chapter will probably be the longest, or maybe second-longest, and it's the most visceral of the story.

This chapter contains: verbal abuse, intent to sexually assault/rape, intent to enslave, blood, weapon and magical violence, suicidal thoughts, kindergarten-level smack talk (with a few curse words thrown in), several off-screen deaths, sickness...and I think that's about it.

Once again, I do appreciate all comments that you are able to give, and the next chapter should be up on Sunday or Monday. I hope you enjoy!

2. Puncture the Shell

Baklava didn’t have long to wallow in her misery as with a shuddering crack, the clay ceiling crumbled, and sand cascaded into the room.

‘Is this how I die?’ she thought faintly as the golden-red earth began to flow into what was left of her home. ‘Drowning with sand in my lungs?’ Given the slightly ticklish sensation in her chest and nose, there was probably a head start from the storm. Then, harsh white light burst through the hole created in the ceiling. The sun...it hadn’t been nighttime outside, like she’d first thought. Sand had completely covered her home, which could only mean one thing.

The sandstorm had knocked Sweet Oasis’ walls down and had buried the whole town.

She barely had a chance to feel a fresh wave of agony when something long shot out at her from the light above. Instinctively, the mare shrunk away from what might have been a snake, but the rough line wound around her, encased in a tingling magical field. Completely bewildered and overwhelmed, Baklava’s mind blanked out and she didn’t even think to resist as her arms were tightly cinched to her sides. She did protest, however, when she was roughly yanked away from her husband’s resting place. “No!” she screamed, reaching out desperately with her upper body and only succeeding in turning herself upside down. She didn’t want to be rescued. She wanted to stay with Poppy Loaf!

Ignoring her plea, the magic wielder deposited Baklava’s body onto the scorching sand. Wordlessly, she flinched away from the heat that was burning her fur through holes in her dress, and then a hoof pressed down on her hip warningly to keep her in place. “Well, well, well,” a low voice chuckled. “It looks like you’re my catch of the day.”

Already numb from shock and grief, the unicorn mare’s body didn’t even have a chance to grow cold in terror at the stranger’s voice. The unknown stallion’s hoof dug into the soft flesh around her hips, keeping her pinned, and there was no way that her magic would counter the one handling the rope that had tied her body down. ‘This can’t be happening’ was the only thing that Baklava could think. ‘It can’t be. Please…’

More chuckles echoed around her. Earth ponies and unicorns, dressed in the mismatched garb of scavengers and bandits and carrying blades, formed a circle around their prey, leering at her. More than a few of them, including the unicorns, were carrying swords. “Look’it this one, Dune!” one of them crowed. “Right pair of tits on her!” She shrunk away from the words as much as possible, but there was no way for Baklava to hide her chest. She’d never received anything but positive comments regarding her...assets, as it were. This attention really didn’t feel good; it only added to the dirt and shame that covered her.

“She’ll fetch a decent price at the market,” a mare suddenly said, strong, cold, and commanding. “And if you guys are good, you’ll get a turn with her before the auction.” The other bandits shrunk back a step, nodding in deference to the obvious ringleader. A rough hand scooped Baklava up by her chin as if she weighed nothing, lifting her off of her feet. Through eyes filled with sand, salt, and tears, Baklava managed to get a decent look at the leader of her captors.

The massive yellow unicorn smirked at the younger mare in her grip. Her fingers pinched Baklava’s cheeks together, making it impossible for the mare to speak (not that she really could, given how sore her throat was). “Aww, don’t be so sad, little widow,” ‘Dune’ cooed, condescension and superiority shining in her maroon eyes. “Take comfort in the fact that you’ll fetch us a pretty penny for your pretty body. If you’re lucky, you’ll be taken in as a nursemaid for some lord’s herd. You’ll be useful for something, at least, being alive.”

So, this was to be Baklava’s fate. Faust had graced her with a good life, a fortunate orphan with a natural talent for baking. She’d had friends in Sweet Oasis and even married a wonderful stallion with kind and accepting parents. Now, they were all dead, and she was to be sold on the black market for a few bits just because she’d committed the crime of surviving a freak sandstorm. ‘What did I do?’ she lamented internally, and a few more tears sprang from her aching eyes. ‘What sin did I commit to bring this upon us? It must be my fault.’

With a sudden shout, Dune dropped Baklava like she was a hot stone, and she hit the hot sand with a small grunt. Above her, the ringleader was stomping around, waving her arm and sending showers of blood droplets onto the sand. A tiny silver sliver dropped from Dune's wrist and into the soft sand, tipped with blood. After swearing rather colorfully, the yellow unicorn shouted, “don’t just stand there, you idiots. Find whoever did that!”

“R-right!” Suddenly a lot less cocky and more on edge, the bandits began to move outwards from their circle, leaving Baklava alone with a very agitated Dune. Baklava looked at the little knife that had assaulted Dune. It was close to her shoulder, so if the other pony could just keep focusing on her own pain, maybe Baklava could reach it and either cut herself free or swallow it- A hoof stomped on the brown unicorn’s ribs roughly, winding the baker and disrupting her planning.

“I don’t care if the rest of them die,” the bandit leader hissed to her trembling captive, “but I’m not losing the money I can get from you.” The rope around Baklava’s arms and torso jerked upwards roughly, and she was helpless to do anything but dangle in the powerful levitation spell, her hooves a fair few feet off the ground.

“No,” Baklava croaked, trying to look back at her ruined home. “Please...let me stay-” A hard fist smashed into her jaw, forcing her teeth to cut into the inside of her cheek. Along with the sand in her mouth, blood began to pool and drip out from her lips. Completely dazed, she couldn’t do anything but hang in the air as a bubble of rushing air formed around them. Dune was forming a Speed Bubble to take them...who knew where? Maybe to a slaver’s camp. Certainly, it would be far away from the ruins of this place that she’d once called home. When the walls had stood, no bandits would have dared go up against them or the Oasis’ mages. Now, the walls had collapsed and the mages were most likely dead. ‘Why can’t I just die?’

The ball of wind shot forward with the two unicorns inside, and Sweet Oasis was quickly left in their dust. Baklava couldn’t even get one last look back at her home; Dune shifted her around so that they both faced front. The yellow unicorn appeared to be making long strides across the sand as they sped along, mile after mile across the new wasteland and putting a large amount of distance between them and whatever had first struck Dune.

Baklava didn’t have any clue how long or how far they’d traveled when something brilliant and purple smashed into the Speed Bubble. She went flying into the air, and with her arms tied, there was no way to brace herself for the rocky ground. ‘I will see you soon, Poppy Loaf,’ she thought tiredly, ready to embrace the end. However, she never made contact with the sharp stones. Instead, a much warmer and softer magic field completely suffused her, not just the ropes, abruptly halting her fall. As it completely encased her, the whole landscape seemed to take on a shade of rich, royal purple. Who’d be taking her this time, she wondered resignedly.

The answer came in the form of another pony, a mare dressed in the head-to-hoof navy robe of the more religiously observant ponies that lived closer to the Capital. The only identifiable feature was a pearly white horn that rose from the folds of fabric around her hood. It shimmered with the purple aetherial essence that was holding Baklava right now, and the stranger knelt beside her. Even in the more powerful levitation spell, Baklava shook from fear, exhaustion, or pain, or all three.

A hand, gloved in deepest blue, reached up. The young mare flinched back, but the fingers only came to probe her aching, bleeding jaw with the lightest touches, and there was an immediate, comforting warmth placed to the area. Per custom, Baklava was forbidden to touch one of the Righteous unless in the most dire of circumstances, and many of them would have turned a nose up at touching someone outside of their clade. Here, though, this mare had not only saved Baklava, but was freely touching her? “Wh-wha…” she tried, but everything was just too much at the moment. Alone, with her whole village killed, about to be abducted, and succumbing to touches that could have gotten her punished by a religious court, she just wanted to cry again at the moment.

“Shh,” her mysterious savior whispered. “You’re safe now.” She set the bound unicorn down onto the ground, but the sand didn’t burn her skin and fur this time. The purple magic field dissipated from around her, and the rope around her body actually dissolved painlessly into nothing but loose fibers. Underneath Baklava, the ground felt firmer than just sand. Had she been set down on a rock so that she wouldn’t sink?

All of a sudden, the whole desert turned blood red around the pair of mares. A beam of crimson magic shot across the sand towards them, pulsing angrily at the nucleus and growing larger with each second. Baklava gasped, terrified and also faintly, shamefully hopeful that this would be it. Unthinking, with all of the effort that she could manage in that brief moment before contact, she cast her magic against her strange savior and pushed her out of the way of Dune’s attack.

Fine Silk managed to scramble up as soon as the rescued mare started screaming. ‘The beautiful fool,’ she thought desperately, dissolving her gloves and pressing her bare hands to the golden head. It was, unfortunately, very difficult; the pony’s back was arching almost unnaturally, and her thrashes were something out of a spiritual possession or maybe even torture. Remnants of crimson magic seeped into the chestnut unicorn's skin.

When Fine reached in with her consciousness and magic, her whole body lit up in searing pain. It felt like her blood was boiling alive in her veins, that every nerve was being sliced, and this was merely a shadow of what the poor mare had taken instead of Fine Silk. This nameless unicorn’s body was going to rip itself apart if Fine Silk didn’t do something. This curse, though...even at her cursory intrusion, it licked at her palms like tongues of white-hot flame, physically burning the fur and blistering skin to an ugly red.

“No, you don’t,” she grunted, determinedly pushing back against the malignant hex with something to simulate cool relief. Most of the healing charm evaporated against the simmering, magmatic curse, but as Fine Silk continued to push, some of her magic corralled the crimson into a more condensed, manageable mass deep within the brown unicorn. The purple barrier wouldn’t hold permanently, but it could buy the younger pony a little more time-

‘Oh, yes,’ Fine Silk thought dismissively as a different spell struck her like a ton of bricks, ‘and give time for me to take care of this wretch.’ The spell blasted apart the rest of her clothing, leaving Fine to feel the heat of the sand across all of her body. Damn! That would be a pain in the flank to brush out.

The third unicorn, Dune, was still struggling to her feet when Fine Silk picked herself up. “Heh...no wonder the Righteous go around in their fancy cloaks all day,” Dune spat, a little blood mixing with the dirt at her feet. “Must be embarrassing, to all be Sky-cursed like you.”

“I really wish that you wouldn’t use such an outdated term,” Fine sighed, an unimpressed glare in her eyes. “The term is ‘paint.’ It’s a legitimate skin condition-”

“It’s garbage, that’s what it is!”

Oh, well, this was going to be a stimulating interaction. With a sigh, the black and white unicorn rolled her head across her shoulders and cracked her knuckles. “I suppose you’re going to try to fight me, then?” she asked casually, sinking into a crouch and stretching out her legs. It would probably go a long way towards making her opponent do something stupid out of rage, watching Fine not take this fight really seriously. Plus, it would do no good to go into a fight without being at peak flexibility.

“Won’t be much of a fight,” Dune sneered, drawing out a crystal sword. “I killed to be leader of the Fennec Bandits, and I’m going up against a stupid, shameless bitch who’s naked as the day she was born. It’s a bit of an uneven match.”

‘You said it, not me.’ No use sharing that particular thought with the slaver, though, especially if she wasn’t going to be able to suffer her defeat for long. “Then by all means, make the first move,” Fine Silk offered brightly, extending her arms out. “And I do hope it’s a doozy.”

“Oh, it will be,” Dune growled, her horn shining crimson again. The crystal sword in her hand, pale and opaque, suddenly glowed like a red garnet and shot forward without its wielder behind it, the wicked tip aimed right for Fine Silk’s midsection.

“Ooh,” the bichromatic unicorn cooed with an eager smile, sliding to the left at the last second. A decent challenge! The sword whistled past her, humming with the ill intent of its wielder. ‘A propulsion and levitation combination?’ she thought. ‘Clever. I might use that later.’

The cursed blade circled around Fine Silk, arc at every angle, making experimental jabs at her. She neatly dodged them all, watching the garnet sword bury itself in the sand each time before popping back out like a weaponized radish. When Dune’s sword rose up from by Fine Silk’s hooves and aimed for the underside of her chin, she stepped back just a bit, curled two of her fingers, and flicked them against the sword (with a little added magic behind the strike) to send it off it’s intended path.

“Stand still, you little-!” Snarling, Dune thrust her hand out to the side, and the sword spun around to aim for Fine Silk’s spine this time. The intended victim didn’t even turn around but instead pirouetted to the side once again. The weapon soared back into Dune’s scabbard behind her back, the slaver breathing raggedly and glaring hatefully at the paint pony.

Really? Was that all that Dune had in her? “I’m almost disappointed,” Fine Silk remarked blithely before giving a shrug. “Then again, you did spend so much energy trying to abandon your own crew in exchange for one captive. I mean, I’m just-”

Shhhk!

The sword in Dune’s scabbard dissolved as the genuine article slammed into Fine Silk’s side, cutting her off and burying itself up to the pommeled hilt. The painful pressure was immense, even for Fine, and she doubled over a little. No wait, no, that only made the pain even worse. Brackish blood began oozing out from the entry wound, then- “Gah!” she gasped when the enchanted weapon sliced itself across her middle before pulling out. The deathly sharp edge slicked through tissue and muscle as if it were nothing, creating a long slice across her midriff. Fine Silk collapsed to the ground on her knees, arms around her bleeding belly. “Damnit,” she gasped through blurry vision, an intense heat in her bones. She probably shouldn’t have been so cocky for so long.

A cracked yellow hoof slammed the sand in front of her face, kicking noxious dirt up into the bleeding pony’s nose. “That’s the problem with all you Righteous,” Dune snarled, twisting her hand into Fine Silk’s long mane and dragged her up roughly while the latter kept her arms around her abdomen. “Always treating everyone beneath you like dirt just because you worship Faust more devoutly than others.”

‘Well,’ Fine Silk thought with astonishing clarity as she hung immobile from the mare’s grip, ‘at least I’m not the only one with a bragging problem.’ Damn, the wound stung, and Brightspear was going to whoop her flank later for the sin of pride.

An ugly smirk morphed onto the slaver’s lips as she lifted her bleeding victim up close. “And look where that’s gotten you. Guess your skin really shows your lack of ‘blessing’.” They were at eye level now, angry crimson meeting darkened purple. “What’s your all-powerful Goddess got against a non-believer?”

Like a striking serpent, a black hand lashed out and latched onto Dune’s face, specifically onto her forehead. The bloody fingers seemed to sink into her skin, putting pressure around the faded yellow horn, but the attack wasn’t what caught Dune off-guard. Her eyes darted down to see that the gaping wound in her victim’s midriff, one that had cut from her liver to the front of her stomach, wasn’t there anymore. There wasn’t even a speck of blood on the glowing alabaster and ebony fur.

“What is a non-believer to a monster?” Fine Silk snarled lowly, her eyes and hand glowing so deeply as to be almost black, and the world filled with purple light.

Black fingers were brushing through a stringy golden mane. Baklava didn’t want to let go of Poppy Loaf, but the ghostly image of her husband, smiling above her, was already beginning to dissolve into dust. “I love you, Lavvy,” he whispered, a faint noise carried on the wind. “I always will.”

“Don’t leave me, please,” Baklava whispered, reaching for her husband’s face, looking into his adoring green eyes, but they were already almost gone. “Poppy, don’t leave. Poppy!”

“Poppy…” she moaned aloud from a throat that felt terribly raw, and the discomfort forced Baklava awake. The light in...wherever she was had been dimmed behind a few shades, but it still stung her eyes and made her head pound. Maybe if she sat up- no, no, that made things worse. The pounding in her skull changed to a throb, all the way to the tip of her horn. Instinctively, a hand came up to rub at the side of her temple, and she found a thick swath of bandages.

“Take it easy,” a raspy voice whispered, and a weathered hand came down gently on the chestnut unicorn’s shoulder when she started. The stranger was an older mare, with fur of a stormy gray and faded golden eyes. Her ears had the strangest shape, much larger tufted with silver fur, and some sort of weird fabric contraption was strapped to her back, but the stranger’s smile was dimpled and kind. “Don’t try to talk yet. It won’t be comfortable for you. Drink this instead,” she said and offered a steaming cup to her charge.

Baklava didn’t even think to try to question what was in the cup. Her whole body felt awful, like she was suffering from a particularly bad seasonal flu. Weakly, she took the hot cup into her hands and brought it to her lips. Something dark and smoky washed through her mouth and down her throat, and the muscles there flared unpleasantly before the pain began to dim. The throbbing in her head eased off as well, though it didn’t quite go away.

“Good girl,” the old stranger whispered while Baklava continued to drink. “It’s a special tea, an old recipe from Equestria, mixed with just a little whiskey. It should help with the pain.”

Upon draining the cup, Baklava gasped, “yes. Thank you.” While she still didn’t feel great, her immediate thought about her body was no longer, ‘oh Faust, please just let it end.’ Now that it didn’t hurt to have her eyes open so much, and with the stranger refilling her cup of tea, Baklava got a good look around. She was sitting on a massive pile of cushions in the middle of a decently sized room, filled with baskets and crates. It had no windows, but there was a flap on one wall that let in a cool little breeze. “Where am I?”

“Among friends, young lady.” The older mare pushed the refilled cup back into her hands. “You’re in our cart on the edge of town. My name is Brightspear.”

“Brightspear…” Baklava tested the name out in her tingling mouth, then took another sip of the tea. “What happened to the bandits?”

Was it her imagination, or did the grey mare’s smile have slightly sharpened teeth? “Buried far away from here. I was expecting a bit of a challenge, but I suppose that they weren’t really up to snuff.” She stretched her arms and spine back a little, and that’s when Baklava noticed that for being several decades old, at least, Brightspear was startlingly fit. Every muscle was lean and cut, and her exposed arms showed more than a few old scars. Sensing the looks she was being given, the older mare said, “Fighting’s in my blood, dear, and they weren’t just going to drop their weapons and walk away.”

“No, no, I understand. Force is sometimes necessary.” Stil, Baklava couldn’t help but wonder just how this one mare had (supposedly) taken out at least eight other ponies on her own. Maybe she shouldn’t think about it too much; the headache was starting to come back. Instead, she asked, “did you happen to see a Righteous unicorn nearby? She had a white horn, I think.”

Brightspear nodded immediately in understanding. “My travelling companion. She’s checking the town for other survivors. Her name’s Fine Silk, but she’s not a Righteous, dear.”

Baklava’s face quickly heated from the embarrassment (although it could have also possibly been because of fever), and she ducked her eyes. ‘I feel like an idiot.’ Why did she assume that her rescuer was a Righteous, just because she wore the clothing?

As if catching onto her little bit of self-criticism, Brightspear said, “You don’t have to be ashamed for assuming something logical, dear. Fine Silk’s a paint. When she goes trading, it’s usually easier for her to wear the Righteous robes than deal with superstitious folk.” It sounded like an explanation that the older pony had either used or had heard herself many times.

“I’ve never seen a paint pony before,” she admitted quietly, thoughtful as she sipped her tea. Baklava’s work at her husband’s bakery had introduced her to many travelers that stopped at Sweet Oasis on their way into the interior, but she’d never before encountered a pony with the paint condition. Granted, she supposed that a paint pony was just that, a pony whose skin was different, whether by genetics or metaphysical circumstance. It was certainly unlikely that a paint pony would be cursed, despite the mutterings of more superstitious folk. “Is Miss Silk staying away in case I reacted badly to the color of her fur?”

“You’re pretty sharp, aren’t you?” Brightspear’s smile was very genuine, though her glance was shrewd. “That’s one reason, yes. Better for me to explain and see if you’d accept her apology before she hears a random tirade about being cursed by the moon and sun. I’m told that it’s gotten draining on her after the few dozen times.”

“I don’t think it would be bad to meet her. I want to thank her for saving me.” Still, she couldn’t quite bring herself to smile, and the chestnut unicorn looked down to finger the pattern of a blanket that covered her legs. It looked to be hand-stitched, and the detail was exquisite. She was grateful, truly, but Poppy Loaf…

“Wait a moment,” she interrupted herself, “why would she need to apologize? She saved me.”

“You may not think so,” a new voice said from the little doorway, but the voice tugged at Baklava’s memory as she looked up at the new pony, who had to be Fine Silk. Behind the sheer black veil and long black dress she now wore, the unicorn could make out some of the definition in the paint’s coat. One of those beautiful purple eyes was surrounded in black fur, the other with white, but not in straight lines. It was almost like waves of night and day, ebbing and flowing across the mare’s body.

“About time,” Brightspear groused, but there was no heat behind her crotchety complaining. “Did you find anything, Fine?”

“No other survivors,” the black and white unicorn murmured, but her eyes remained locked on Baklava as she entered the wagon. Baklava’s whole body seemed to warm under her rescuer’s gaze a little, but that may have been because she was trying to drown herself in tea to hide her blush and tears. “I can at least say that they didn’t suffer.” Fine Silk didn’t speak loudly, but she sounded so miserable. At the very least, Baklava was grateful that her rescuer seemed to care about what had happened to her home.

The younger mare started as, with a slight jingle of decorative coins on her dress, Fine Silk knelt down on a cushion that was just out of arm’s reach. The shrouded pony tilted her head to regard Baklava with those dazzling purple eyes, a curious expression on her face that the bride- no, that the widow couldn’t quite understand, but she didn’t think it meant any ill will.

“Thank you...for saving me,” she said shakily, the headache coming back just a little in tandem with an unpleasant gurgling from her belly. “I don’t want to think about who that bandit might have sold me to.”

Beneath the black shroud, those purple eyes darted to the side. “I’m sorry,” Fine Silk murmured, and why did the stranger’s sadness tug at Baklava’s heart? “I really- are you in pain?”

“A little.” Even mentioning it brought Baklava’s attention back to the slight roiling, ill feeling just under the muscle of her throat and around her mouth. “I know a small pain prevention spell-”

“No, don’t!” Quickly, Fine Silk’s hand wrapped around Baklava’s horn, gentle but firm pressure from her hand and magic stopping the other unicorn’s spell before it could even start, but something else...happened.

What happened was that the whole world fell away as Baklava was faced with something that she could both see and not see. Within and around Fine Silk was magic, so potent and pure as to be almost painful to look at. That magic reached out in turn, curling around almost caressing Baklava in a loving, curious manner as she witnessed how it reached into the earth around them, trailing out in faint lines. It shone purple like Fine Silk’s eyes, but there were currents of something else in that well of magic as well, something that felt, for lack of a better word, old. It wasn’t quite dark magic as far as Baklava could tell, but she felt herself drawn to that primal energy-

An inferno erupted inside Baklava, wrenching a scream from her and taking her away from that beautiful, welcoming magic. Harsh crimson and noxious green exploded within her body, roiling under every inch of skin and tissue like grave worms with a venomous bite. What felt like a branding iron slammed into her heart, and she lurched on her makeshift bed. Something coppery rose in the back of her throat, and she was helpless against coughing it out, hot liquid bitterly coating her nose and mouth and splatting across her front. It went beyond just hurting, and she couldn’t see through her watering eyes.

A rough, hissing sound rose and fell in her ears, and as the sickening colors inside of her began to simmer down a little, Baklava finally realized that what she was hearing was her own breathing. Calmer purple rose to meet the sickness inside of her, unaided by the baker’s own magic. Fine Silk’s magic, still laced with that aged tint, crashed against the sickness like a battering ram, keeping it from bursting the poor unicorn’s fragile shell. Deep inside her, in her own magical well, a fierce battle was waged with Baklava as more of a spectator or prize. The swirling red and green was relentless, but it was an unstoppable force going up against an immovable object.

“Easy, easy,” a low voice whispered to the ailing widow. Through the waning fire, Baklava felt cool hands pressing directly on her furred skin, with one at her back, a second on her head, and a third on her torso. Moaning weakly, her eyes barely managed to flick open. The rim of a cup was placed against chapped lips, but it was a monumental effort to let her mouth open enough for the smoky tea to be poured into her throat. The fur over her whole face, even her eyes, felt hot, matted, and sticky.

“That’s why you shouldn’t thank me,” Fine Silk whispered, mournful. “The curse that you took for me is going to kill you.”

3. Divide

Author's Note

Thanks again for all of the great feedback, you guys. I really appreciate it. This chapter's a bit more exposition-heavy than usual, but if you are willing to stick around for one more chapter, we get to the juicy bit. :scootangel:

Warnings for this chapter: a little blood, some alcohol use, a bit heavy on the exposition

3. Divide

Baklava couldn’t bring herself to sleep. The events from the past day and a half, compounded by the pain from the curse that she’d apparently taken, caused her head to buzz with all of her thoughts. Here she was, newly widowed and the last survivor of a sandstorm, completely alone except for two mares who had saved her by killing the bandits intent on selling her and worse. On top of that, Dune’s attack was a curse that was causing the unicorn’s body to turn against itself and could kill her at anytime.

It was all just a bit much. Just a bit.

Miserably, Baklava pulled a little on the cloak around her shoulders and stared up at the moon with tired, stinging eyes. Fine Silk had been generous enough to offer her the cloak for warmth and protection, since her dress was a bit unsuitable for either in its ruined state, and she couldn’t bring herself to say no. In the much larger and grander interior of the wagon, she could faintly hear her two rescuers talking with each other and shifting objects around.

‘Faust, what am I going to do?’ Baklava thought desperately, sipping at another cup of smoky tea that she’d brought up with her. Fine Silk seemed to know a lot about magic, but the paint unicorn was completely stumped at any form of counter-curse to help drive the toxic magic out of Baklava’s body.

“It doesn’t mean I’ll give up,” she’d said before Baklava had gone outside for some fresh air. “I won’t ever stop looking, if you want to stay alive.”

Did she want to stay alive, though? A few hours earlier, Baklava had wanted nothing more than death, especially with her whole world having come crashing down around her. She had no husband or in-laws or friends anymore, no extended family that she knew of. Everything that she was had been tied to Sweet Oasis; selling baked goodies to travelers and townsfolk alike, swimming in the crystal blue waters with Poppy Loaf, joining him on a few midnight trysts (and sometimes engaging with other couples rebelling against tradition).

Now that Baklava herself was dying, crying blood when the curse managed to push through Fine Silk’s magical barrier, it didn’t feel like what she wanted to do, especially if dying was so painful. “I’ll miss you, Poppy,” she whispered up at the stars. Somewhere beyond that spangled aether, she hoped that Poppy Loaf and his parents were safe and relaxing in the Eternal Meadow. A few hot tears, only lightish-red saltwater this time, trailed down from her eyes and into her matted fur.

Something knocking on the wood of the wagon made her start, but it was only Brightspear and Fine Silk on the platform below. “May we talk to you for a few minutes?” the paint pony asked quietly.

“I have more tea,” Brightspear offered, stretching her back a little so that the odd apparatus that was there shifted.

How could she say no? Baklava nodded quietly and leaned back to give them both some room. Fine Silk clambered up with hands and hooves only, nimble as a spider on a web, and sat a polite distance from the widow. Brightspear, however, rolled her shoulders, and leathery wings snapped out. Long, fingered, and dark silver in the moonlight, the baker couldn’t help but watch in awe as the older pony took a running jump, flapping her wings in the warm desert night.

“Y-you’re a-a-a-”

“A bat pony, dear. Don’t choke on your own tongue,” Brightspear chuckled, kind as she brushed her hand against the stunned chestnut unicorn’s cheek. “Not so common, but we don’t need to stay completely invisible.”

“I’ve never seen a bat pony before,” Baklava admitted, wide-eyed in her awe. Belatedly, she realized that this was the second time that she’d said that in just a few hours; the chestnut pony was quickly realizing that there was bound to be a lot of different races and species that she hadn’t seen before, even with spending her whole life in a major trading town. Grief and anguish was giving way to curiosity. Even in the tragedy of today, there was more to see and experience, a thrill in and of itself. “Is it true that you can only be out in the nighttime because the sunlight sets your fur on fire?”

“Ha! Is that what they’re saying these days?” the elderly member squawked mirthfully. “You hear this?” She elbowed Fine Silk in the ribs. “The tales that they’re sharing with foals.”

“Bat ponies told me much stranger stories when I was a filly,” the paint unicorn murmured, smiling under her veil. “Then again, that was a different time. Different traditions and cultures, you know.”

“No, I don’t.” With a shrewd glance, Brightspear elbowed her companion again, seemingly unafraid of being nosy in front of their guest. “Why haven’t you shared those stories with me, Silkie?”

The nickname earned a low, good-natured grumble from Fine Silk, and she batted at her seemingly older companion.

“Wait, I’m confused.” Baklava, having been quietly watching them interact, tilted her head. Something about their interaction had piqued her curiosity again. “Miss Brightspear, I...forgive me, please, I don’t want to seem rude, but...does Miss Silk know stories of bat ponies that you do not?”

The mirth shared between the two older mares was still there at her question, but there was a sudden shift in the atmosphere around them. Something more serious was in play here, all of a sudden, prompted by a single question. Unconsciously, Baklava shrank back, worry and embarrassment squeezing at her stomach. “I’m- I’m sorry. Please, I meant no offense-”

“It’s fine, dear.” Brightspear waved the concern away and patted Baklava’s shoulder while Fine Silk was watching them both with an odd, searching expression. “It’s...well, a bit of a sore subject for the both of us, but I’m not afraid to talk about it. Need some tea, first.” Immediately, Baklava filled her own cup with the new teapot and passed it to the old bat pony, desperate to make up for her probing question while also insatiably curious.

After adding a bit of amber liquid to the tea from a concealed flask, Brightspear took a gulp before launching into her tale. “There aren’t many bat ponies anywhere, whether it be here or Equestria or the lands beyond. We all live in isolated communities, either with just bat ponies or with other races who were generous enough to house us. There are many superstitions about us, where we came from, how we do things, why we do them. At more than one point in the past, it...well…”

“They would be killed because of those superstitions,” Fine Silk added softly, still watching them both with that odd expression on her face. “By non-pony races, at times, but oftentimes by the three main tribes, all because they were too different.”

“That’s...horrible isn’t even the right word.” Baklava was suddenly very glad, not that she was a unicorn, but certainly that she didn’t live in times where such a thing would have been acceptable. “It must be terribly difficult, being a batpony in Equestria.” That seemed to be where these two were from.

Taking another sip of her tea, Brightspear took a moment to look up at the beautiful, clear night sky. “We manage. It’s easier, living with others of our own kind, and we try not to take advantage of the generosity that others show us because we know, collectively, that we’re lucky.”

“That attitude has never changed.” Fine Silk never spoke loudly, hardly intruding in the conversation.

Something was niggling at Baklava, deep in the back of her brain, something that she should ask, but the moment was interrupted by a sudden constriction of her lungs. Before the first blood clot could be coughed into her palms, Fine Silk was there with her glowing purple hand, reaching into the suffering unicorn’s body and reinforcing the fierce purple wall of magic that contained the crimson curse. The pain and need to cough eased at once, but Baklava sagged, completely exhausted, still staring at the lump of congealed blood in her hands. She was caught in warm, gloved arms, and a gentle hand came up to brush through her mane. Little grains of sand fell from the strands onto the rooftop of the wagon.

“Are you alright?”

“...don’t want to die.” It was a small, pitiful, but safely in Fine Silk’s arms, with such unconditional generosity in the form of the paint pony’s magic keeping her alive, Baklava couldn’t manage anything more.

“I know, my dear.” The veil was lifted from in front of Fine Silk’s face as she looked down at her charge. In the moonlight, she seemed enchanted, surrounded by a halo of stars. Even in her sickened state, Baklava could appreciate the other pony’s beauty, though it was probably mostly due to the paint’s kindness.

“Baklava,” she croaked, unconsciously burrowing into the other pony’s skirts.

“Baklava. What a lovely name for a beautiful pony.” Lips softer than rose petals met Baklava’s forehead, two little dots of coolness against the raging fever. “We’ll look for a cure for you tomorrow. We’ll search through the library.”

“But how?” she softly protested, just barely basking in the glow from the other pony’s praise. “I’m sure that it’s buried.” Even though it would be a blessing to be able to access the library, could this unicorn remove tonnes of sand to do so?

Fine Silk flashed a determined grin. “We’re going to at least try to get in. You can go to sleep, Baklava. I’ll plan our way in.” A glowing purple hand caressed the chestnut pony’s face, and she curled into that warm, inviting lap a little while that hand brushed through her mane again, soothing her aching body and mind and letting Baklava drift into a more peaceful sleep.

Being in the spacious interior of the wagon was a comfort for Baklava, but she chose to sit outside on the platform with Brightspear the next morning, enjoying a breakfast of tea and soup dumplings while Fine Silk worked her magic. The baker couldn’t help but watch, fascinated as with a touch of her glowing fingers, the immediate ground around Fine Silk solidified from loose sand into a slightly more stable sandstone. The unicorn didn’t stop there, though. Around her, a glowing spell circle burned itself into the stone, and with a punch of the paint’s fists into the empty air in front of her, magic shot out from the runes in lines, digging into the sand that had buried Sweet Oasis’ library.

“She’s really powerful,” the brown unicorn squeaked, shifting with the wagon as the ground under them was twisted and maneuvered by Fine Silk’s rumbling magic.

“Yes, absolutely.” Brightspear gave a slurp of the broth at the bottom of her spoon before swallowing the rest of her carrot dumpling. “She’s trained for longer than anypony in modern times.”

“I thought that she might be long-lived.” The suspicion had niggled at the back of Baklava’s mind, but no time had seemed appropriate to bring it up. “She must be very powerful, almost as powerful as the Sun Princess.”

There was a sudden sharpness in Brightspear’s eyes, a rather alarming flash of frost, but before Baklava could apologize for saying something wrong, the bat pony said, “I...would be careful about mentioning Celestia to Fine Silk. You can bring it up, but she may not want to answer.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Baklava couldn’t claim to be close to an expert on Equestria’s monarch, nor how she interacted with her subjects, but the impression that she’d gotten was that the mover of the sun was generally beneficial.

“There’s no fault in ignorance unless it is willful,” the bat-pony replied sagely, slurping up another dumpling as a low v-shape formed in the sand in front of Fine Silk. “Though we all have our moments when we don’t want to face the truth.” A pointed glance was aimed at Fine Silk’s back, but if the powerful unicorn noticed, she ignored the older pony’s glare.

Taking a few more bites of her own breakfast, Baklava wasn’t blind to the glare. “You and Miss Silk are friends, yes?” she asked. “Have you two argued recently?”

“...always picks up the sharp ones.”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, dear.” But it clearly wasn’t nothing. The bat pony’s mouth had shifted into a soft frown as she looked over at Baklava. “Fine Silk and I have been friends for my whole life. We agree on many things, and have playful arguments over some others. Regarding you, though...we disagree on what to do going forward.”

“Me?” To her memory, the young mare had not been the root of any sort of problem, or the trigger for any sort of argument with anybody. What could they possibly be arguing about with her?

“Not you personally.” The elder patted Baklava’s shoulder with a calloused hand. “We both agree that you are a very wonderful pony, and we’re both saddened by the losses you’ve suffered and the curse you were hit with. Nothing from the past two days should have happened to you. Where Fine and I disagree is finding a cure versus pursuing a treatment. She knows that she can treat you with her magic. She just wants to find a cure before trying the treatment.”

“Has she not been treating me?” There was a reason why Baklava had gone for baking instead of higher schools of magic, particularly healing.

“She’s been using a stop-gap against your symptoms.” Brightspear folded her arms against her chest, still watching her friend at work. “Not quite the same as a full treatment. The treatment wouldn’t eliminate the curse, but it will contain it more forcefully, negate its effects in you, and help you live a mostly normal life, if not completely the same in quality as before. The cure, a counter-curse.” She paused, drumming her gnarled fingers over a few scars on her arm. “...we don’t know if one exists.”

The ground gave another rumble underneath the wagon, and the valley formed into the sand finally stopped growing. Fine Silk had formed a tunnel between the surface and what looked to be the library. “That was a good workout,” the paint groaned, stretching her arms and back as she approached the caravan. “Brightspear, you’re up past your bedtime, so I’m sure you’ll want to stay here. Baklava, would you like to come with me?”

“I…” So much was going on inside of Baklava’s head. Not only the stress of losing her family and her whole town in a freak accident, but adding in the pressure of the curse in her body and the sudden revelation of the argument between Fine Silk and Brightspear about her future, what was she to do? She turned to Brightspear, to see if maybe the bat pony could offer any wisdom, but the grey mare had already disappeared into the magically altered cart. “Yes, please,” she whispered lamely, sliding off of the platform. Maybe she could ask Fine Silk while they searched the library for whatever the other pony might be looking for. Maybe...there were far too many maybes. When could something become more concrete?

Descending down into the tunnel that she’d created, Fine Silk turned her head to look back at Baklava, concerned. “Are you alright?” she asked quietly, though her voice echoed a little. “Did I do something wrong, Baklava?”

Far be it from anyone, living or deceased, to accuse Baklava of being a liar. “Brightspear told me,” she began haltingly, “that there...might not be a cure for me.” She fiddled with the cloak that had been given to her, still covering her old, torn dress.

“Ahh…” Fine Silk sighed, but didn’t seem entirely put out by the admittance. “I see. It’s something that we argued about since I first rescued you. I expect that she also mentioned that I could treat you?”

“Mmm-hmm...yes, she did,” the younger pony added, thinking that the older unicorn might not have heard her hum. “I think that she thought that you should go for the treatment now, and not look for a cure.” That had been her impression, anyways.

“I see.” It sounded less like Fine Silk was annoyed at Brightspear, and more that this was a piece of ordinary gossip. “And what do you think, Baklava?”

The younger halted in her tracks, skidding a little on the sandstone. “M-me?”

Fine Silk stopped as well, turning back to look at Baklava from under her veil. “Yes. It is your body that we’re discussing. The decision should be up to you.”

“I suppose that I want more information, please.” Her reply was soft, unsure about the whole situation. So much of what her life had become now was uncertainty. She was a little boat, adrift in a lake with no tether to shore. Every new occurrence was a wave that threatened to sink her, but this filly was determined to keep her head above water, thank you.

“That’s very wise of you. Would you like to walk with me?” Fine Silk offered an arm that Baklava took gratefully as they strolled through the archway of the library. The sand had been mostly cleared away, so the green marble tiles were visible. Even the magical ceiling, covered in at least a solid foot of sand up above, reflected the cloudless morning.

The interior of the library had been spared from the worst of the storm thanks to the few windows being covered in intricate inscribed spell-glass. The two mares’ footsteps echoed through the dim building, but as they passed through the threshold into the main antechamber, there was a slight tingle in their hooves, and the lamps around the wall flickered from soft, yellow flames that added just a little extra light to the chambers. “The town’s Majii were quite ingenious, weren’t they?” Fine Silk whispered, looking around at the columns of books and scrolls that seemed to stretch up towards the sky.

Most unusually, Baklava found herself feeling bitter in her aching heart. “If they’d been so ingenious, they could’ve kept the wall up,” she muttered, looking down at the floor. While the library’s interior had remained intact during the storm, some grains of sand had been tracked in with them.

When Fine Silk looked at her companion from underneath her veil, it wasn’t with anything reproachful, pitying, or uncaring towards the widow’s bitterness. A handkerchief was quietly offered for Baklava to mop up a stray tear that was, thankfully, untainted by blood. “An alicorn’s magic is both powerful and unique,” the robed unicorn murmured as Baklava wiped at her eyes. “And alicorn magic built the walls of the city, so only an alicorn would have been able to fully restore the wall’s magic that could have kept it standing and sand-repellent.”

“The...the Majii were sending letters to Celestia. Everyone in town knew that.” Baklava’s throat tightened in her bitterness and grief, but she was still able to talk. Almost as soon as the physical pain began, though, there was a soft glow and it returned to dormancy. “Why...why didn’t she come to rebuild the walls that she made?” Why didn’t Celestia perform what must have been a simple task that could have spared hundreds of lives? Why didn’t the Sun Princess do something that could have spared Poppy Loaf and her in-laws? Why had Sweet Oasis been ignored?

More questions began swirling around in her head while Fine Silk remained silent, deep in thought. What was she waiting for? It looked like she had an answer. “Tell me...please.” It came out as a whimper from Baklava. “Why did...why did my husband die?” Her knees sank to the cold floor, providing a sharp contrast with the hot grief gripping her heart, and she gripped the other mare’s skirt.

The now-weeping unicorn wasn’t kicked away or ignored. Fine Silk knelt down next to her and pulled the chestnut pony into a gentle hug, tucking Baklava’s head against her chest. “I know it hurts,” she murmured, gently rocking the pony in her arm. “I know that nothing I say or do will stop you from wanting your husband back-”

“You don’t know what it’s like!” Baklava couldn’t take it anymore, this wonderful, unconditional, wounding kindness that tried to soothe her, and she screamed at it in retaliation. “Y-you don’t know what it feels like to lose someone who promised to d-d-dedicate their whole life to you.” Deep in the back of her mind, where all the rationale and objectivity had been shunted off to, she knew that she was being unfair. Fine Silk was long-lived; she had to have had friends, lovers, family members, maybe even children come and go. The gaping wound in her heart, though, was just too raw, especially with the revelation that the tragedy of her husband’s death might have been prevented.

Fine Silk didn’t let go, even as Baklava’s wail rattled around in her ears and through the empty halls. This had nothing to do with the smaller unicorn’s curse. This was pure grief, born from losing everything you held dear. It was far too familiar to the paint, and she held Baklava as the latter practically crumbled to pieces. It was best to let the tears flow, for all the unjust questions and thoughts to be shared, and give rationality a chance to prevail in a clearer, less cluttered head. Fine Silk’s hands glowed again where they made contact with chestnut fur, a mixture of the stop-gap charm she was using as well as a general muscle relaxing spell.

The weeping widow almost melted under the gentle magical touch. She wasn’t sobbing her heart out anymore, but sort of gulping now that the worst of it was over. A few hot tears still matted her fur and were tracking down her face, and a handkerchief was quietly offered. She took it to clean herself up, and the cloth came away without any trace of blood. “I’m really sorry,” she hiccuped. “I don’t...usually cry like this, or...or shout.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” the older unicorn whispered, brushing a hand through a frizzy blonde mane. “I’ve lost ponies that I’ve been close to, and other creatures besides, but never quite as suddenly as you have. Your emotions are completely justified, Baklava.” A dark hand reached out to take the chestnut’s own, and she said, “honestly, I am quite amazed that you held it together for as long as you have. You truly have a burning, enduring spirit.”

The compliment unintentionally stung, and fresh tears beaded at the edges of bright blue eyes. “I’m not...not strong,” Baklava whimpered, and her head hung limply so that the tears splattered to the tiles. “If I were, then...then I might have sa-saved him. Poppy would still be alive.” And so would her in-laws, and all of their friends, and everyone who’d lived in the town. Why… “Why did I survive, but e-everyone else d-d-d-d...died?” Even saying the word made her heart crack just a little bit more, even when there was so little of it left.

Offering a few moments of silence to Baklava so that she could finish crying again, Fine Silk waited quietly and patiently for the other pony to curl into her, desperate for warmth and comfort. “It’s a question that I’ve heard often,” she finally said, situating the grieving mare more comfortably into her lap and setting Baklava’s head against her shoulder. “Living feels like a curse, especially when we have to go it alone, without the usual support we would have expected.”

“You...you’ve lost others, too,” Baklava stammered, nuzzling into the kind pony’s chest. “I...think that you’ve lived a long time, so you must have lost many to whom you were close.” The paint froze underneath her, shocked, but before the widow could apologize for her assumption, Fine Silk spoke again.

“I’ve lived for a long time, yes, though I couldn’t tell you why. I’ve lost my parents, friends, lovers, pets, even friendly rivals and enemies. It hurts every time.” The arms around Baklava tightened just a little, as though Fine Silk were trying to find her own comfort. “I’ve wanted to join them on more than one occasion. I’ve tried.”

Even in her grief, the mention of the beautiful pony’s attempts on her own life startled Baklava. “Why would you- oh…” There was no polite way to say it, really, and she didn’t want to come across as accusatory. Besides, not too long ago, she’d wished for the same thing.

“Why would I want to die like that? I don’t mind you asking,” said Fine Silk in her calm yet somber voice. “I didn’t want to be alone. I still don’t. When my- the bat-ponies that I lived with ages ago were killed, I was so angry at myself for staying alive. Why would I dare to do that? Why couldn’t I join them in their eternal rest? How could I not do more to protect them?”

“How come we didn’t go upstairs together?” Baklava chimed in miserably, but even asking the question out loud seemed to lighten the burden just a little bit. “Why did he insist I go up first? Why did Seed Loaf and Khiliv go back for that stupid, ugly vase? Why…” She suddenly paused in her questioning and blinked up at Fine Silk, who was watching her patiently. “Why didn’t Princess Celestia come to help fix the wall that she had built?”

Something deep in those kind purple eyes...sparked? Or something briefly glimmered, a deep pain that seemed to go beyond grief. It was gone almost as soon as it appeared, though, replaced with an aged tiredness, similar to what Baklava might have seen in some of the town’s elders. “I...am not certain that Celestia did,” she mumbled. “Build them, I mean.”

It felt like the floor had suddenly dropped around them, so great was the shock. “Sh-she didn’t? But you said that...an alicorn’s magic couldn’t be duplicated.”

“It cannot,” Fine Silk replied lowly, “but, if you’ll forgive me for indulging in a small teaching moment, Celestia has not been history’s only alicorn. Just as there is one for the sun, there was, long ago, one for the moon.”

“Another alicorn?”

“A sister, more precisely.” Beneath the sympathetic pain that she felt for Baklava, Fine Silk’s soul glimmered warmly at the pony’s curiosity. “My suspicion, based on the town’s murals, is that Princess Luna shaped Sweet Oasis’ walls over a thousand years ago. Unfortunately, she could not have come to help. She was sealed away.”

“Sealed away?” Baklava was beginning to feel a lot like one of those colorful parrots that used to live around the oasis, mimicking those who wandered beneath their trees. If the other pony took no offense, though, then there didn’t seem to be harm done in asking questions like this. “Where? Why?” Without a word, Baklava found herself quietly set down on the cool tile, and the paint unicorn was moving abruptly away, not facing her. “Miss Silk?” Oh no! What had she done? What did she do wrong-

All of a sudden, the magical lanterns in the library began to dim, and even with the clear sky from the enchanted ceiling above them, the halls became noticeably darker. A cold wind began to abruptly howl, tugging at Baklava’s loose mane. Fine Silk’s black and white mane also moved, but it wasn’t as free-flowing as her dependent’s. It seemed to take on a near-liquid consistency, dripping from around her shoulders and legs, seeping into the dark parts of her fur and the crawling shadows. The older mare still didn’t face the younger, but Baklava watched both of her black hands curling into fists.

Oddly enough, the vortex wasn’t dragging at Baklava, but that may have been because she was huddling closer to the ground at the supposedly rare demonstration of frustration or anger. The wind tugged at her, yes, but she was barely moved from her seat as she watched angry embers, dark and light purple, sparking from Fine Silk’s horn. Brightspear’s words suddenly came back to her. “I would be careful about mentioning Celestia to Fine Silk.” She was beginning to understand why.

Baklava was more than a bit hesitant to approach. She’d known of more than one occasion where someone interrupting a raging pony could find themselves bearing the physical brunt of that anger, though she herself had never suffered like that from anyone. The way that Fine Silk’s magic was curling into the darkness around them, and almost seemed to be circling Baklava herself, was terrifying. Trying to not attract any attention, she shuffled backwards just slight- “Eep!”

Fine Silk had turned at the slight movement, face contorted into obvious rage and eyes aglow with purple light that had obscured every discernible detail. When she saw Baklava shrinking back, however, the rage was quickly supplanted by something sad. No, not just sad, but also lonely and afraid. “I’m sorry,” the unicorn whispered, even though her voice made the floor vibrate, and the paint melted into the shadows.

4. Mixing In

Author's Note

Alright, folks, this was what (I'm sure) most of you were waiting for. This chapter does have sex after the horizontal rule. Well, tactile sex, anyways. Tags include consensual mind control, breastplay, lactation kink...and I think that's it. Enjoy!

4. Mixing In

“Miss Silk?”

“Miss Fine?”

“Fine Silk? Where are you?”

Logic would’ve dictated that upon being faced with a threat like an angry Fine Silk, Baklava should have taken off running into the desert and taken her chances with the heat or the curse killing her quicker. No, instead, she was wandering through the darkened rows of the library, looking around columns, specifically in the areas where there were a lot of shadows. That...vanishing trick, for lack of a better term, probably meant that the paint unicorn would be someplace with less light, right? The chestnut called into the library, but her only answers were her echoing voice and hoofsteps, and the slight whistle of a cold wind.

The sound of only her own hoofsteps was quickly getting to Baklava, and there were so many thoughts running through her head. “Miss Silk?” she called out, but not as loudly this time. “If you can hear me… things are beginning to make more sense. About why Sweet Oasis was destroyed, I mean.”

Nobody spoke in response. Was it just Baklava, though, or did the cold wind die down a touch? No, it was true. The faintest whistling had subsided, and the shadows seemed to concentrate around her, exuding an odd yet pleasant warmth. Was Fine Silk listening, wherever she was?

“If...if Princess Luna was the one to build the walls, then maybe...maybe Princess Celestia didn’t know how to perform the same spell to renew the walls’ magic?” Baklava called out into the shadows, hoping that the message would get across.

Somewhere on another floor, but relatively close by, came the unmistakable sound of multiple books suddenly tumbling off of a shelf. Given that there were only two living ponies in the structurally sound library, it was pretty safe to assume that Fine Silk was up there and listening. Baklava immediately found a small ladder to take her up to the next floor, and she clambered up swiftly yet safely.

True enough, a pile of books lay in a heap on the floor just above where Baklava had been previously standing. As she stepped closer, the whole collection seemed to be about curses and how they were cast. “Miss Silk?” she called again, but the shadows had lightened up a touch again, leaving her alone with only her swirling thoughts. If Fine Silk had blasted these books off of the shelf, though, so soon after Baklava had spoken, then she was probably listening.

Best to give it another shot. “Brightspear said that...mentioning the Princess to you might not be a good idea,” the chestnut unicorn called again, stooping to set the books back on their shelves (she had no hope of understanding their contents, really). “Or that I should be careful when doing so. I guess that means that you don’t like her very much?”

In a different aisle, there was another clatter of books and a crack of stone. Racing to the area, Baklava just witnessed a flare of dark purple magic repairing the banister before disappearing again. The pile of books this time was larger, though still related to curses and cures. Fine Silk must be travelling through the whole library through the shadows (somehow), looking through books for a cure. There was nothing else that Baklava could do (nor that she wanted to do) except to follow the paint unicorn. At least she was safe at the mysterious pony’s side.

“Why did you save me?” Baklava called out as she moved to the banister that overlooked the main floor of the library. “I do not mean to sound like I am complaining, because I truly am grateful. I just want to know...why? I’m just one pony, nobody important.” Her stomach slowly clenched, suddenly anxious, but then it became so much worse. The deep red in her core was sputtering like an angry coal, growing into a small flame. The curse!

“No, no,” Baklava whimpered, gripping at her middle uselessly as Dune’s curse grew inside of her again, burning an angry red and sickly green, sending hot, foaming blood up her throat to make her cough. Red dripped from the banister, and her hand slid in the slick liquid, making her sprawl over the marble beam and threaten to fall all the way back down to the ground floor. At this height and angle, it was sure to be a fatal mistake. “Fine Silk?” she called out wetly, fear making her heart hammer at the same time as that horrible heat slammed into the nervous organ. Even to her ringing ears, Baklava’s voice sounded terribly small in the huge library.

Warm, dark arms wrapped under her arms suddenly and brought Baklava onto her side, pressing her too-hot cheek to the cool floor while purple eyes, which had regained their definition, looked down at her with fright. “I am so sorry,” Fine Silk whispered, and her voice no longer made the floor rumble underneath the dying unicorn. “I...I will do the treatment now, if you wish it. There’s no more time to find a cure.”

Bloody tears were streaming out of Baklava’s eyes as she looked up at the terror-stricken unicorn, matting up her dark brown fur. “Please,” she gasped hoarsely, weak from the sudden blood loss. She couldn’t feel her hooves anymore, but there was no fear in her mind; she was far too weak for that. “I don’t...I don’t want to die.”

A clear tear fell on her cheek from Fine Silk’s eyes, just barely diluting the blood. “Forgive me,” the other unicorn whispered, and her hand and eyes glowed purple as they connected with Baklava’s head, light consuming them both.

When her eyes flashed open next, Baklava wasn’t even all that concerned that she appeared to be under some sort of domed net of glowing lines, or that the backdrop of the library had faded away. It felt good and right to remain flat on her back, cushioned by some unknown material. Even the fact that she was without clothes didn’t bother her so much. Of much more interest was Fine Silk kneeling next to her, also divested of her nice dress and veil. Baklava, even now, was happy to admit that she thought the other unicorn was absolutely beautiful. The white and black of her coat seemed to be moving a little bit, undulating, though that could just have been from how Baklava’s vision was swimming.

“We’re in a...place between places,” Fine Silk explained before Baklava could ask, and she gently pressed down on her shoulders before the sick unicorn could stand. “Physically, we have not left the library, but we are not dead, either. I suppose that the best way to think of it is as a threshold to a crossroads.”

“We’re...more alive than not?” Baklava asked hoarsely. Though there was no longer a coppery taste in her throat, it still was painful to speak very much.

“That’s a good way to put it.” The paint pony sat on her knees and watched Baklava with a cautious expression. “The treatment I can use on you is...one of my own design. I’ve never tried it before as a cure, but the theory and practice behind it should be sound.”

News that should have panicked Baklava really didn’t bother her, and she tried to relax back into the cushiony material. “What will you do?”

“What do you know about ley lines?” Fine Silk asked carefully. “And it’s alright if you know nothing-”

“Some,” the sickly unicorn coughed. “Equus has them...and we have them. Not everyone has them...in the same place.”

The smallest smile flicked across Fine’s face, holding a little bit of pride. “You know more than most, then. A pony’s immune system is tied to their ley lines, and it is usually a direct relationship. When we are sick, our ley lines help boost our immune system. However, this curse that you were afflicted with is attacking your ley lines as well as your circulatory system, meaning that your body cannot fight back against it.” She took Baklava’s hand gently and ran two glowing fingers over her knuckles, easing some of the pain there.

“So...the treatment would be tied to my ley lines?”

“Precisely.” Slowly, Fine Silk took Baklava’s hand and placed it over the center of her upper chest lightly. “I would take a little bit of control over your ley lines, which should redirect the worst of the curse to me.”

“No!” Baklava rasped immediately, closing her hands into shaky fists. “You mustn’t! You barely know me, and...I know that you are long-lived, but this will kill you!” She couldn’t let this amazing pony take on such a burden for her-

Gentle lips pressed to the base of Baklava’s horn as she protested, cutting off her words and thoughts of protest. It wasn’t the first time that she’d been kissed by another mare (and this time was one of the most chaste), but something about it just...made her want to listen to Fine Silk.

The paint continued patiently. “Baklava, I have lived for centuries. I’ve tried to kill myself in just about every way that you can imagine, including cursing myself. I can take this burden, especially if it means giving you a life just as good as what you had before.”

Baklava clutched at Fine Silk’s chest, anxious and miserable again with the pain from the curse. “It won’t be the same without Poppy, or anyone else,” she whispered. “I’m sorry...I don’t mean to be a downer, and I don’t want to die, but...how do you know that I can be happy after this?”

At this, Fine Silk looked distinctly...shifty? Nervous? Certainly something that she wasn’t overly proud about, and her grip on Baklava’s hand slacked off a little. “I...taking control of your ley lines won’t be entirely consequence-free,” she whispered slowly. “My magic...it...does things to ley lines that it interacts with. It does things to the ponies. It impacts libido, improves mood, and has the subject shift a lot of their focus and feelings onto... me. Not completely, but you might think about me more often than not.”

Even with the horrible circumstances surrounding...well, all of this, all that Baklava could really think was, ‘Well, at least she’s kind and pretty, and not trying to keep me in the dark.’ A sudden question crossed her mind. “Will I...will I forget my family?” she asked in a shaky voice. The pain was beginning to build back up. “Will I stop loving them?”

“No!” Fine Silk replied immediately, so earnest that she couldn’t be anything but truthful, and she clutched at Baklava’s hand. Glowing fingers kneaded her knuckles. “I don’t know much about myself,” Fine continued, eyes darting from the floor to Baklava’s blue eyes, then back and forth again. “Why I don’t age, why I can’t die, or why my magic reaches out to ponies in need. What I do know is that anyone you’ve loved and cared for in the past, those thoughts and memories and emotions will stay the same.”

Even with the pain, the sorrow, the anxiety, Baklava could take solace in that revelation. “Any...any other ponies that you’ve…” She needed to ask this. “Other ponies haven’t forgotten?”

Fine Silk shook her head. “Never, my dear. And you won’t be left alone once the treatment is complete. You can come with me, if you would like, and I can help you resettle someplace.”

Many other ponies would’ve wanted more time to mull this proposed treatment over, especially with something so invasive, but Baklava was well aware that she did not have the luxury of time. “Will it hurt? The treatment, I mean.”

“I will make sure that it doesn’t hurt. It can be pleasurable, if you would like.”

“I would...please.” Baklava sighed, laying back flat and staring up at the glowing purple lines of the dome around them. It looked remarkably like a spider web, but she’d always found spiders to be rather cute (yes, even the venomous ones). “I’d like the treatment, Miss Silk.”

As soon as the last couple of words were out of her mouth, several long, purple things appeared out of the purple dome above. There were eight of them, thin and spindly, reaching out to the entire circumference of the dome, and Baklava couldn’t help but be anxious for a quick few seconds at the sight of the enormous spider legs.

“They won’t hurt you.” Fine Silk didn’t seem to be consciously making them appear, but she was looking at the magical constructs with a mild bemusement. “They’re just extensions of my magic and will. They’ll help with the charm that I’ll apply to your ley lines.”

One of the gigantic spider legs came just a little closer to the pair of unicorns. Baklava could now see that the construct was smooth, almost shell-like, and she unthinkingly reached out to touch it. The same aged aura that she’d felt only yesterday came to her fingers again, just as friendly as the newer, brighter magic that was definitely Fine Silk’s alone. It felt as if that old magic was saying that Baklava didn’t need to be afraid anymore, that it was here to help. The dark purple hue spread over her fingertips, then visibly stopped at her wrist while continuing to move up the veins in her arm.

The crimson curse inside of Baklava lashed out at the new attacker, but now, it didn’t hurt nearly as much. “It...ooh.” Anything that she was about to say was quickly forgotten as gentle, plush lips pressed against her cheek, making her skin tingle. She looked over at Fine Silk, whose body was outlined in both light and dark purple magic. Why didn’t her tongue want to work, so that she could tell this wonderful mare just how beautiful she looked?

Baklava’s other hand was still held to Fine Silk’s chest. With a sudden shove from the darker magic on her left against the curse, red sparks appeared out of her right fingertips, absorbing into Fine Silk’s skin. “Oh,” Baklava managed, face screwing up in sympathy as Fine Silk just twitched a little. “Does it hurt?”

“A little sting,” the paint whispered, “but I’ve had much worse. I appreciate the concern, though.” Still keeping Baklava’s hand on her chest with one hand, Fine Silk’s other hand came down to brush against the chestnut mare’s cheek. “You asked me before why I saved you, when you are just one pony?” Baklava barely had to nod before Fine Silk continued. “It is because you are one pony. Any pony who is suffering in any way should be comforted and cared for, if possible. It doesn’t always happen, but I do my best to get in touch with those who do need a little more help and care, and do what I can for them. I don’t want to ask for much in return; helping is its own reward.”

“This still...it must be a lot for you.” Baklava felt too good right now to be too concerned, but this felt almost like taking advantage of the other pony’s kindness.

Purple eyes blinked down at her, completely open and honest. “Baklava, I would go to the ends of Equus for you,” Fine Silk declared. “You deserve nothing less.”

About a year ago, just after they’d gotten engaged, Baklava and Poppy had talked a lot. Well, they’d always had long talks with each other, but this one had been important. “Lavvy,” he’d said, “if, Faust forbid, you outlive me, I don’t want you to feel like you have to grieve for me for the rest of your days. If you can find happiness in someone else, I want you to do that.” How could Baklava even ponder such a thing, loving someone besides the pony she’d wanted to spend the rest of her life with? Still, she’d agreed; they could find love and enjoyment in other couples, after all, so the possibility of another love later in life was not outlandish.

Baklava leaned up, a little stronger now that some of the curse’s power over her was gone, and she rested her lips against Fine Silk’s. She didn’t push; she never had, in any kiss with anyone, but maybe Fine Silk would like it? Purple eyes blinked once in surprise, and then the paint’s free arm wrapped around the chestnut’s back as Fine kissed her back, humming a little in happiness.

The two of them briefly parted, faces still close together. “You are wonderful,” Fine whispered, just tickling Baklava’s cheek with her words. “Wonderful and beautiful, smart and special.”

The heat of her blush was definitely not fever related this time. “Just...want to show that I appreciate you. Everything that you’ve done,” Baklava whispered, looking up at this beautiful pony with a completely free mind and open heart. “And...you’re doing all of this with good intent. I don’t mind being fixated on you. Don’t think it could be with a better pony.”

She was gently tipped back again onto the cushioned ground, while Fine Silk knelt over her. “I never want to replace your husband,” she said, and Baklava found it very easy to believe her. “Believe me, I do not. I never want to usurp that connection that you still have with him. If you want to stay with me, though, when this is over, then I will care for you and cherish you. I will never hurt you.”

That sounded just...very nice. “I would like that. To stay with you.”

“You could travel however you wanted to, of course,” Fine added quickly, “and move about however you wanted. I don’t...you’re not my servant or slave. I would give you a stipend, to spend as you wish-” but the brown fist at her chest knocked the muscle and bone there gently, just to get her attention, before flattening out.

“Miss Silk, I believe you,” Baklava whispered up to her. “I trust you, or I would not have agreed to this.” True, she barely knew this pony, but there wasn’t any sort of apprehension in her gut whenever Fine Silk was around. The other pony, even before this, had felt safe, even during her one magical rage. The paint had never been anything but kind, and seemed to honestly answer Baklava’s questions. At this point, being all alone, what did she have to lose?

There was barely a pause before Fine was leaning down again to press another earnest kiss to Baklava’s lips. Her free hand rubbed the other mare’s ribs, a simple gesture that had tingles of warmth and pleasure travelling up the baker’s skin. She reciprocated readily, kissing back eagerly and messily as more and more of the curse’s burn was pushed out through her hand and into the willing unicorn. She felt rather new at this, like her first fumbling attempts at making out with Poppy, but Baklava had kissed other mares before. What was so new about this? Oh, what did it matter. Fine Silk felt practiced enough, especially when one thumb pressed- oh~!

Fine Silk lifted her head as Baklava gasped at the unintentional brush against her breast. “Ah...I think I may have found an area where your ley lines are concentrated,” she admitted with a slight blush, but didn’t resist when the chestnut pony used her one free hand to press Fine Silk up against her breast, maintaining that delightful contact. “It can happen...they can be sensitive during sex, those ley lines.”

“L-love it,” Baklava stammered out, blushing herself. “Always have...my breasts.” Maybe the ley lines were the underlying cause for just how good her chest felt when touched, but whatever the reason, Baklava adored having her chest played with during sex. She pushed into the hand that she’d pressed to the malleable flesh, encouraging further contact. “Please...do more!”

“Nothing would give me more pleasure,” Fine Silk replied, with a grin so decadent and indulgent as to be almost sinful. “Though,” the paint paused, and was that a little teasing glint that she saw in her rich purple eyes? “What would you like me to do, Miss Baklava? Your wish is my command.”

The choice being given to her had Baklava’s mind in a tailspin. Fine Silk had given her carte blanche to ask for whatever she wanted. She just...liked it all! But that wouldn’t do, now, would it? She should try to give specifics, at least. And if they were a ley line hot spot on her body (to her delight), then Miss Silk was almost guaranteed to keep touching them. “...kiss them, please?” Baklava asked in a small, quiet voice, relaxing backwards after the initial rush of ecstasy.

“So polite,” Fine Silk cooed, dipping her head down to oblige. Soft lips connected with supple fur and skin, keeping the contact so deep, as if the point of contact were the lips of a passionate lover. Baklava hissed her pleasure and moaned out as her skin lit up, not with fever and pain but with goosebumps of delight. The tip of a tongue flicked against the skin of her breast as Miss Silk practically worshiped her. Blearily, Baklava noticed that she alone was keeping her hand to Fine’s chest while the paint pony’s hands were busy massaging the line where her breasts met her torso, rubbing into the tissue with tender, glowing fingertips, heightening the unicorn’s pleasure.

Poppy Loaf had expressed his joy with being able to fondle Baklava’s bosom, both before and after they were married, and she’d adored his attentions. They had been remarkable, unforgettable...and now, so were Fine Silk’s. Whereas Poppy had worked her over with the careful force of a baker, rubbing her deeply and loosening her muscles, Fine Silk worked with the nimble fingers of a weaver or seamstress, connecting magic to Baklava’s ley lines expertly and making her skin and muscles twitch and tingle. One had kneaded her flesh as if forming a perfect loaf, and the other was manipulating her to form a magnificent design, like an elaborate dress or a tapestry.

Baklava adored them both, submitted to them happily, then and now. “Please...more!” she gasped out to Fine Silk, one hand coming up to brush through the other mare’s dark mane.

Nodding against her tits, Fine Silk sucked a little on the soft flesh, leaving a mark beneath the blushing chestnut fur. Baklava tilted her head back and gave a moan of sweet delight. Fine kissed and sucked her way over both of the jiggling mounds, continuing to massage the tissue and press magic into the ley lines. Deep beneath, the pulsing cyan lines became less dotted with sickly red and more with bright purple, but the new magic moved in unison with the old, and only appeared sporadically, never completely taking over.

Not that Baklava was able to see anything on the meta-minute level, or much of anything at all at the moment. Her vision was whiting out with pleasure and just how expertly Fine Silk was working her over. The unicorn still knelt at her side, still moved slowly and softly and never moved to overwhelm her, but the control that Baklava was giving up was being gratefully accepted and handled delicately. This wasn’t one pony becoming slave to another, no. If Baklava had the mind to focus on the comparison, this was a moment of new lovers becoming more in tune with their dynamic, fully realizing each other. Baklava could just lay back, give up this control, and trust that Fine Silk would take care of her.

“Hah!” the chestnut gasped, face practically brick red as plush lips fastened over one of her nipples. “M-miss Silk!”

Purple eyes flicked up to meet light blue, and those delightful lips unfastened from the perked nub. “Too much?” There was genuine concern in Fine’s voice as she watched her new charge, but her fingers continued to work so very gently, weaving her magic into Baklava’s ley lines to take away the worst of the curse.

“No!” Baklava’s hand, the one in Fine Silk’s mane, pressed just enough on the back of the other unicorn’s head to keep them close to their original position. “Please...it feels good. Really good,” she whimpered, unafraid to show just how vulnerable she was and how much she was loving it.

The paint smiled coyly into the chestnut’s breast, looking up at Baklava with eyes filled with...adoration? It was the closest thing that her pleasure-addled head could come up with. “You enjoy being touched and kissed here?” she asked in a whisper.

Shakily, Baklava nodded, her eyes filled with fuzzy purple light as she both tried to answer and also succumb to the pleasure. After the past few days, she really wanted to just...let go for a bit. “Yes,” she gasped. “Love it. Love...being kissed. Bitten.” The blush on her cheeks, if it was even possible, deepened as she admitted, “and sucked. Always thought I’d… reminds me of...milk,” she finished with a squeak. Oh, this was so embarrassing, admitting one of those deep-seated desires to this relative stranger-

“Really?” Fine Silk asked, not in disgust or confusion, but interest. “Each pony has their thing. I can see why you might have that particular kink.” She didn’t draw away from Baklava, no, but nuzzled in between those ample mounds gently, carefully, kissing them both. “I have no problem with that. Your breasts are very lovely. You are very lovely.”

Baklava was just about to whisper her thanks for the compliment when those smooth lips fastened over her right nipple again, and she threw her head back and groaned in delight. “Ooh...Fiiiiiiiiiii-” Her words were cut off as the paint unicorn gave a few gentle sucks with her mouth. Was it just her, or did Fine Silk’s lips seem to glow with the same purple light as her hands and horn? That faint question was quickly tossed out the proverbial window when Fine Silk stopped kneading the chestnut’s chest and instead curled her hand under the unoccupied breast. She rolled the supple flesh in her fingers, squeezing and warming it with her palm.

It was so very tempting to swear colorfully at just how good all of the attention felt. Baklava gasped, groaned, and sighed her delight as Fine Silk played her like a lute; squeezing, kissing, sucking, and slowly trailing her way down Baklava’s strengthening body. By now, the worst of the curse had been removed from her, and while some of it remained, permanently tied to her ley lines now, it was much smaller and more manageable. She barely even noticed it, what with her body and mind burning with euphoria.

Fine Silk didn’t stop her sweet gestures, even though her treatment was complete and crimson fire licked at the inside of her skin. Her upper body, specifically her lips, trailed in a winding pattern down between Baklava’s bosom and towards her belly, with the single white star that was so very sensitive. Encouraged by the melodic moans coming from the pony beneath her, the paint kissed around the edge of the white patch of fur, tracing it with her lips and tongue, before pressing her lips to the center of that star.

Electric pleasure rolled through Baklava’s body, from the tips of her hooves all the way to the roots of her mane, and her body bowed as she cried out from the orgasm, her pussy clenching on nothing but itself. Every cell of her body seemed to be flooded with pleasure of all sorts; physical, emotional, mental, and magical. If she’d been able to see, Baklava would’ve watched her body spark with purple and cyan lightning, egging that ecstasy on, keeping it cycling through her. On and on, the orgasm kept going, and it didn’t seem to know when to plateau. Even with nothing inside her slit to fill her, that didn’t matter right now. This was something special, wonderful, almost overwhelming.

All of this, her pleasure and her life, thanks to the smiling pony at her belly. Fine Silk.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of riding that endless wave of ecstasy, Baklava became more aware that the floor around her was cold marble, and she was back in her own torn dress and the cloak that she’d borrowed. Through blurry vision, she saw a black and white shape kneeling over her, no longer glowing with magic. Something soft was brushing against Baklava’s eyes and coming away wet.

“Are you alright?” Fine Silk asked in a quiet voice, keeping close to the mare on her back without being stifling or crowding too close. Still almost sparking with the residual pleasure, Baklava nodded against the cool floor, curling into a ball even as a few clear tears fell from her eyes.

“It was good...so good,” she rasped, completely spent and exhausted, happy to have those tears wiped away by a soothing handkerchief. “Thank you, Miss Silk.”

Just a few hours ago, it felt like Baklava never be able to be happy again, not without Poppy Loaf, her in-laws, and her friends. Now, it didn’t matter to her that some of this was probably (most definitely) due to Fine Silk’s magic. There was a light at the end of the tunnel now, a light that shimmered purple, black, and white.

5. Epilogue

Baklava found it difficult to sleep when she hooked herself up to the stationary breast pump, but it gave her time to read and think.

The chestnut unicorn lay on her belly on a slightly inclined cushion, feeling her bosom gently massaged by the silicone cups of the pump, encouraging the heavy glands to shed some of their liquid weight. Around her, the little shack was dimly lit by candles that smelled like citrus fruits, and there were Neighpon-style landscape wall hangings draped from the four walls of the spacious little house. It gave the place a homey appeal, warm and inviting Baklava to relax while one of the side effects of the ley-line treatment was dealt with.

‘Six months already,’ she thought, resting her chin on the book she’d been reading: Herds: A Discussion on the Consequences of Communal Living on Equestrian Society. It had been six months since she’d first met Fine Silk, since she’d received the treatment to control her curse, and since she’d accepted the invitation to return to Fine Silk’s home. Muga Estate lay well within Equestria, just northeast of Canterlot, surrounded by thick woods that shielded the pristine stone walls. Here, Fine Silk had continued to pleasantly surprise Baklava, the newest addition to her herd.

On their journey back from Sweet Oasis, Baklava had timidly asked if she could have some time to adjust and cope with the rapid and traumatic changes to her life, which was readily granted. “You can go wherever you’d like to on my property, and use what you want,” Fine Silk had offered. “There are plenty of my ponies that you can talk to, if you want, all from different backgrounds. If you don’t want to join us for meals, feel free to use the kitchen. I also have a library, covering just about every subject that you can think of.”

Baklava, processing and accepting the grief of her losses in bits and pieces, had read everything that she possibly could since coming to Muga, in an attempt to keep herself busy. She wanted to learn about this new land that she’d heard so much about from travellers buying from her husband’s bakery. The history, culture, traditions, legends, and laws, they would all be important to know so that she could fit in. Almost every night of the past six months had found her either in her private hut or the milking room, with a plate of food that she’d made up and a new book every night. The first thing that she’d picked up to read was about the history of Equestrian herds.

In Saddle Arabia, herds were not entirely uncommon, but were strictly regulated by the religious courts to make sure that all participants were willing and content. Even so, some abuses were known to happen. In Equestria, herds were illegal, an ‘archaic byproduct of the Age of Disharmony’, as most of the texts had described them. They’d been allowed at one point, during and after the Reign of the Two Sisters, but any existing herds had been broken up after the Minotaur Occupation, in some sort of mysterious event simply referred to as ‘Disbanding.’ That certainly seemed a shame, Baklava couldn’t help but think, that herds were no longer allowed under any circumstances. If other, less fortunate ponies could gather together under kind, competent leadership like Fine Silk’s instead of relying on sporadic welfare from the government, then there would be a great deal of good done.

Still, the very concept of a herd carried a sexual connotation, but Fine Silk hadn’t done anything beyond the very occasional hug and cuddle since they’d left Sweet Oasis, and Baklava couldn’t help but wonder why.

The pumps began to pull a little harder, trying to draw more milk from Baklava that she didn’t have, and she turned off the magical engine and stood up, buttoning her shirt around her large bust. It must’ve been hours since she’d first come in (the only thing missing from the cabin was a clock), but it wasn’t like she had to be anywhere. She could do whatever she wanted, on her own time, and not have to worry about bothering anybody here at Muga. Picking up the book, along with the large bottle of milk, Baklava extinguished all of the candles with a brief flare of blue magic and stepped out into the morning.

It was a crisp spring day, with the sun just creeping up over the granite walls of Muga. There was no frost on the ground, not today, but Baklava did shiver a little as she made her way through the empty courtyard towards the row of slant-roofed buildings that housed the estate’s more permanent residents.

“Oh, Miss Baklava!” a soft voice called from the archway that led to the garden. A slightly older, pale violet pegasus trotted up, long silver mane done up in double braided loops behind her, arms full with a basket of vegetables. “I thought that you might join us for dinner this evening. Also, Miss Silk would like to see you in the library, whenever it is convenient for you.”

“Thank you, Lavender Creme.” Baklava dipped in a short curtsy, then rushed forward when the pegasus suddenly stumbled, vegetables tipping precariously in their basket. “Oh! Are you alright?”

“Fine, fine.” Lavender accepted the help quietly and righted the basket in her arms. “Just a little headache, but it’s gone now. I’d best get started on that curried rice that you enjoy so much.” It was after Lavender left that Baklava couldn’t remember ever saying to anyone here that her favorite food was curried rice, but it probably wasn’t a huge deal. Lavender Creme seemed to have a talent for knowing little bits of future happenstance.

After storing the milk bottle in the kitchen, Baklava made her way to the largest building on the estate. She’d seen pictures of Manedarin and Neighpon-style palaces, but never anything in real life. This great hall was probably a very close approximation. It was her favorite place on the estate. Not only did it have Fine Silk’s quarters, and the room where her herd could safely rest in their cocoons, but there was also a library more extensive than even the collection at Sweet Oasis. The room had to be magically bigger on the inside, because there were more than two hundred shelves of books that stretched off into the darkness. Even dimly lit, there was just something about this place that made Baklava feel safe and secure.

Fine Silk sat in one of the many reading nooks, seated on a Purrsian rug with one leg tucked beneath her, reading from a thick tome. She smiled immediately upon seeing Baklava. “How are you doing, my dear?” she asked in her soothing voice, closing her book quietly and letting it levitate back to its shelf.

“Fine, thank you.” At the silent invitation from Fine Silk, Baklava slid to the rug and tucked herself against the other unicorn’s side while a hand draped over her shoulders. She started a little upon feeling silk instead of Fine Silk’s normal fur on her hands, but that wasn’t going to dissuade her from a little cuddling.

“Sorry about that,” Fine Silk whispered, kissing the shimmering blonde mane. “That pesky curse started to eat through my palms a little. It’s fine!” she added hurriedly before Baklava could voice her protest. “They’re regenerating. It doesn’t hurt, but you probably didn’t want to see my hands bleeding.”

Murmuring her discontent, Baklava curled closer to this wonderful unicorn. “Just don’t want you to hurt,” she whispered into a dappled shoulder.

“I’m not. Thank you for your concern, though.” Fine Silk gave Baklava another kiss to the top of her head. “How are you doing, my dear? Feeling comfortable?”

“How can you even think about my own feelings when your palms are being eaten from the inside out?!” It wasn’t a true protest, and she tried to inject a little humor in along with the evident concern. Still...

Now, both of Fine Silk’s arms were around her, and Baklava practically melted into them adoringly. “I’ll be fine, Baklava, you know that. The curse won’t kill me, and I can handle a lot of pain. Your wellbeing is far more important to me.” A few more kisses were placed to Baklava’s head, and her resulting hum was far more calm and pacified than earlier. “Now, how are you feeling? How are you doing? Is there anything that I can do to help you adjust better to living here?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Baklava replied quickly. “Things are good, Miss. Everypony’s been very kind and helping me settle in.” She squeezed the arms gently looped around her and let out a long breath, comforted and comfortable. “Some nights, when I’m thinking of Poppy...it’s a little rough, but I’m getting better. I’m glad that I don’t forget him,” she said softly, a little more subdued but still ultimately positive. The sting of loss and grief was fading away, bit by bit. “Thank you, again, for finding the pictures for me. I finally got all of the sand out.”

“It was a pleasure, Baklava. I’m glad that they’ve made you happy.” Fine Silk was truly the best cuddler, in Baklava’s opinion; she pressed her face to the top of the chestnut’s head, and her kisses always felt so soft and divine. Baklava surrendered herself to those affectionate attentions, and had to drag herself out of a pleasured stupor when Fine Silk said, “I do not mean to sound like I want you to do anything that you don’t want to. I only want to ask...is there anyplace that you would like to travel to? Inside of Equestria or out? Anything that you would like to do, I will pay your way. You are free to stay here and continue using my library, of course, if that’s what you wish.”

Truthfully, Baklava hadn’t thought about it often. With her days full of reading, being pumped, and wandering around her new home, there hadn’t been much else that she’d wanted to do or anyplace else to go. ‘Probably not too healthy,’ she thought vaguely, mostly focused on those pleasing touches coming from Miss Silk. She didn’t want to leave this pony’s side, if she could help it, but Baklava could recognize that as part of the charm on her ley lines, and she was alright with that.

“Will you be travelling again soon?” she asked softly, looking up to meet purple eyes. “To one of your boutiques?”

Neat eyebrows rose slightly in mild surprise. “To Seaddle, yes, for a few weeks. I have a client there who has requested a few additions to his wardrobe that require my personal touch. Would you like to come with me?”

There wasn’t much thought required to make Baklava’s decision. “If that’s alright with you? If there would be room for me,” she asked, staring up into that gorgeous face. “I don’t want to take up space, but I’ve never heard of a city getting so much rain.”

“There’s more than enough room.” Fine Silk kissed Baklava’s lips this time, smiling broadly. “My boutique there is in an old boarding house from the last century, so there’s a place for you and I to stay. I might be pretty busy, though.”

A new thought crossed the chestnut unicorn’s mind after only a few seconds. “Do you have a kitchen there? I could cook and bake for everyone, while you’re filling client orders. That would definitely keep me busy.”

After a very brief pause, pale and dark lips brushed against chestnut again, much deeper and more passionate, leaving Baklava rather breathless. “You are truly brilliant,” Fine Silk purred. “I would love to taste your creations. I’ll provide you with money for the ingredients.”

“I could…” she started, but the words almost died in her throat, and Baklava had to cough to get them out again. “I could...pay you back for them. In other ways?” Surprisingly, Fine Silk didn’t seem to understand at first, based on the confused glimmer in her eye, and Baklava tried to shift herself meaningfully against the other mare’s body. It just seemed a little too embarrassing to try to say “I will have sex with you in exchange for money for ingredients.”

In hindsight, it sounded just plain wrong.

Finally, the paint blinked in understanding, and her smile dipped. “I won’t accept it as payment,” Fine Silk whispered, holding Baklava close. “I don’t do things like that. I’ll give the money to you, no strings attached. If you want to have sex with me, that’s fine. One is not predicated on the other.”

“I’m sorry,” Baklava said immediately, just noticing how the other unicorn seemed to be trembling. The very suggestion seemed to really bother Fine Silk, when almost nothing else could get to her. Was it somehow linked to Fine Silk’s dislike (Baklava had managed to pin it down as dislike) for Celestia?

Still, Fine Silk didn’t move away from Baklava, nor did she unwind her arms. “No, I’m sorry,” she finally said in a low, almost tired voice. “I didn’t mean to sound like I was scolding you. I saw that you were reading books on herds. You wondered about the sexual element with mine?”

Baklava couldn’t even pretend to be surprised at Fine Silk’s conclusion. She nodded quietly, holding the other unicorn close, comforting her in turn. “I didn’t know why...you hadn’t taken me to bed since I came here,” she admitted. “I know that you did so with others, not that I mind.”

Another kiss was pressed to Baklava’s mane. “I wanted to give you proper time to adjust and to mourn what you lost,” Fine said, looking down at her pretty companion. “We couldn’t really do it properly before, at Sweet Oasis. Giving you the time and space that you needed to cope. Time wasn’t on our side. Now that it is...you deserve to have whatever space you needed. Sex wasn’t really going to do any good for that, I don’t think.”

“And you didn’t want to force me.”

“Never,” Fine Silk almost hissed, looking out into the dark distance of her library. “To me, there is nothing more cruel or heinous in this world than taking pleasure from someone unwilling to give their own. My magic may increase libido, and encourage them to give in to harmless inhibitions, and it may sometimes be outside of my control, but even it won’t force another pony who isn’t truly willing to do something. I know that much.”

“There seems to be a lot about yourself that you don’t know,” Baklava said after a short time of ruminating over Fine Silk’s declaration. “You said it earlier, too. At Sweet Oasis. You said how there’s a lot that you don’t know about yourself, or your magic. But you’re...long lived?”

“Hmm.” It was an amused little snort, so at least Fine Silk seemed to be in a slightly better mood. “And most ponies have a full understanding of their magical talents by a young age, based on their cutie marks. I can see your confusion at...well, my own confusion, and trust me, it is aggravating to not know more about why I’m like this. I was supposed to know more, but now, it’s not really possible.”

“Because of the Princess?” The question was out of her mouth before Baklava could catch it, but before she could apologize, Fine Silk nodded against her.

“My mother would’ve told me more about myself. She said that while I was a filly, I wasn’t prepared to know more about my family line. It probably means that there were others like me before, and they somehow managed to die.” There was a faint wistfulness in her voice. “Maybe something more dramatic, like a blood curse or a tie to ancient, forgotten gods.But my mother’s gone. During the Disbanding, she fought against Celestia personally. One minute, she was there, and then...she wasn’t. I was about...seven, at the time. Had to seek out what I know on my own. ”

It was now little wonder to Baklava why Fine Silk was operating an illegal herd, practically right under Princess Celestia’s nose, given their proximity to Canterlot. Even greater than the risk of punishment was that desire to return to happier days. Even now, though, the dappled mare carried that slight air of loneliness.

“I don’t think it matters what powers you possess,” she finally said, slow and measured, giving Fine Silk a gentle squeeze around the middle. “Or what you are, if you’re different from the rest of us. Not if you aren’t hurting anybody. You’re helping ponies. You helped me. I’m happy to be part of a herd managed by somepony who genuinely cares.”

There were a few moments of silence, followed by a beautiful face pressing itself into Baklava’s golden mane. “You are more of a blessing that you realize,” Fine Silk whispered to her, voice shaking just a little, dampness around her eyes. “This probably isn’t the life that you wanted, comforting some sort of monster…”

Baklava was going to hear none of it. She squeezed back and patted the paint’s back solidly. “Hush, Miss. Some monsters don’t deserve to be lonely, especially if they aren’t evil.”

Nobody, past or present, could accuse Baklava of not knowing what she wanted (besides that little while after her husband had died). She’d always miss Poppy Loaf, and the life that she’d had in Sweet Oasis, but being brought to Muga, into this kind mare’s herd, was the best thing that could’ve happened to her after her old life was destroyed. “I’m not ready for sex yet, but I want to be here, with you, enjoying your company. You’re wonderful, Miss Silk.”

“I think you might make me a better pony,” Fine Silk said lowly, shifting around so that Baklava’s back was to her chest, but she leaned over the other’s shoulder to kiss her cheek and meet her eye. “I won’t fail you. Won’t hurt you, or let anyone hurt you again.”

“I’m not worried.” Baklava really wasn’t. Having a powerful pony hold her in such high regards could only be a good thing. “I trust you.”

It felt like the air had cleared somewhat, that a subtle knot had loosened between them. It hadn’t been real tension, like with an argument or unresolved sexual issues; rather, this was them figuring out their place with each other. Not just herd leader and mate anymore, Baklava had unknowingly slipped into that lieutenant position of lead mare. It filled in a small hole in Fine Silk’s heart and mind too, one that she hadn’t fully realized was empty. If either of them felt that little piece slipping into place, they chose not to mention it.

“Would you like to read with me for a while, before dinner?” Fine Silk offered, still holding Baklava against her gently, thumbs making little caresses.

“I’d like that.” Baklava looked up, blue eyes meeting purple, and felt more assured now than she had since that awful day six months ago. “Do you have any old cookbooks? I’d like to learn some new recipes.”

Author's Note

And that's a wrap! Thank you so much for reading, and have a happy holidays, everyone! I'll be back in early 2019 with new stories following Fine Silk and her adventures.