A Demon's Loss Is a Mortal's Gain

Something shifted—among a stygian sky, an essence writhed within a void.

His back shadowed the stars and his paws held dusty nebulas within them. Chunks of debris from asteroids swirled around his claws. Lone planets were chipped and baren, flaking off into a current that wrapped around the entity.

As still as a corpse, the creature hovered within the nothingness.

There was no noise other than the crackling planets caving within themselves.

Suddenly, there was a twitch. An eyelid opened, the iris behind it lolling before focusing. His eye was a veil of gold. The galaxy concealing him happened to be stark and cold when it came to color, making his eyes an anomaly.

“…I hear it,” the entity whispered. His voice had resonated with a baritone so low it caused the cosmos to sway. “You call to me. Yet, I do not know why.”

The stars behind him were nearly lackluster, but they caught his eye. He inhaled, and the sharpness of it caused the sun to flare. He coaxed a trail to his muzzle before ushering it toward his nostrils.

He breathed in the sun's flame, yet, he didn't burn. The cracks within his face buzzed with a brilliant golden light when touched by the fiery vapor. The cracks acted as veins carrying the star's essence throughout his body before leaving it to become a shell of what it once was.

The graveyard of planets appeared to grieve once the gloominess settled. The last of the stars had been consumed, leaving nothing but dust and darkness to remain.

His mane looked as if it were pushed and pulled by an invisible ocean current. It curled and swayed aimlessly while he spared a claw to rest on his temple.

“You call. Why?” He repeated, asking no one in his solitude.

There was a pulse. Something crawled from the darkness to coat the creature in a warm medallion hue. His eyes narrowed then widened, before thinning into the tips of pens. The light danced and convulsed as it were a ribbon caught in a storm's brood. It carried a message, one only decipherable to the beast it caught in its snare. He appeared to understand, pushing himself out of the fetal position he had resided in.

He hummed, coming to a conclusion that appeared to enlighten him.

"And so, the hunt continues," the being announced. His brows were knitted and his mouth in a curl that showed a twinge of scorn. "You are alive. The scent of your power lingers even here."

A meaty tail unfurled itself from his chest and stomach. Its features matched the naked divinity that made up his eyes. The tip wielded a barb that mimicked a thorn dipped in a rustic gold. His wings were scaled, leathery, with torn holes within them. They outstretched for a mere moment and overshadowed the sullen comets left to wander the galaxy.

“…I have been summoned to finish what I did not,” he said, now hovering upright. “Mother Earth is not as forgiving as I am, but I will do as she asks. How you survived our last meeting is a mystery.”

His wings flittered, pushing him toward the open vastness that was the universe. His claws rested on a meteor. He accidentally pushed it out of alignment from the asteroid belt it called home.

“It saddens me, but if we are to survive…you must perish.” He levitated throughout the rocky environment, effortlessly passing it by until he met the other side. “It could have been centuries since we last met. I hope you have picked a God to pray to. You are stubborn about such things. Only then can you hope to exceed a Titan."

He then departed and welcomed the void. He left the dying galaxy he had consumed to lay as waste behind him.

A muffled protest was muttered. The groan could be tracked to a ball of pink buried under the bed covers. Her slumber had gone unsuccessful. That was to be expected when her night had been held hostage by a malign entity. The number of bits she would pay to wave her responsibilities today could be stacked to the ceiling. Of course, that wasn’t how life worked anymore. She couldn’t tug on Mama Pie’s ear and negotiate for a little more sleep since that faded when she moved from her rock farm.

Sometimes she missed being a filly.

The sun’s rays brushed her eyelids. They beckoned for her awakening as Celestia commanded them to do. She groaned again, pulling the covers over her ears while her mane stuck out like bristled animal quills.

The room was still. The only noise happened to be distinct weedwhackers that caused bugs to flee and tap on her closed window. Something felt odd, however. Normally she woke up with a piping cup of sarcasm in the morning, but the room was tranquil. This silence was an oddity and one that had a suspicious linger to it.

Pinkie peeked from under her covers. She was met with a pleasant sight in the mirror. It only parroted the bags under her eyes and nothing more.

“…Weird,” Pinkie rasped, still getting used to the morning itself. “Pinkamena?”

“Oh, good morning! I would offer you some coffee, but alas, I am without creamer. I know you dislike bitterness…especially when it comes to my attitude, yes?"

She pulled the covers from her head and peered up to nearly brush muzzles with The Mare in the Mirror, herself. Pinkamena grinned, her sunny demeanor questionable, while she fluttered a hoof in a wave.

Pinkie’s eyes bugged. The mare was draped over her stomach, forelimbs inches from her neck, and eyes leveled. She felt no weight, but yet, she was so close she could see every shade of red within her eyes.

Pinkie Pie’s mouth bobbed in a sequence of confused spasms.

She could have sworn Pinkamena’s breath had heat to it. The whites of her eyes even had an imposter of Pinkie reflecting within them. Pinkamena placed her chin in an open hoof, her cheek squishing within it, with her lips painted in a crude smirk.

“Staring is quite rude,” she teased, her smile swelling in mockery. “You look positively ecstatic about my promotion to probation. Good thing too, now I get the privilege of walking beside you with or without your consent for as long as you live! Isn’t that exciting?”

“Gah—” Pinkie stuttered, voice brittle with surprise. Although her face was blanched, Pinkamena appeared oblivious to the elephant in the room. “But the mirror—I, no, there's no way! This…this is cat-lady level crazy. You're not supposed to be out here. What are you doing? What are you up to?!"

Pinkamena’s muzzle scrunched, “excuse me? I was just here minding your business, and you automatically throw up walls? Build bridges, not walls, girlie. Besides, I ain’t doing nothin’ wrong, am I Sherriff Pinkie?”

The mare no longer in the mirror pawed at Pinkie’s nose with a wink.

Her stare enthralled Pinkie. She couldn't help it. She was awestricken by this phenomenon. The more she tried to make sense of it, the more her eyes matched the appearance of dinner plates. This was equal in both strange, frightening, and somewhat fascinating. This had never happened before.

“You…you found a way out of the mirror, h-how? You’re supposed to be over there giving me your patented stink eye, not here. This is monkey business…crazy…this is crazy! I…you…go back…go back!”

Pinkamena inhaled through her nose without breaking eye contact, “awe, Pinkie it only takes about one brain cell to see what's going on. Come on, don't short yourself. You asked me to be a little nicer last night, remember?"

She didn’t know why it felt like she was pinned under the mare’s body, but her stare kept her rooted. She had a tenacious grip on the bedsheets with a false hope it would deflect any voodoo weirdness Pinkamena might have had.

If it weren't for the headboard, she would have backed up out of bed. There was no longer a slick piece of glass between them. The only blockade she had were the covers she was using as a make-do shield.

“…Hallucinations can’t do this—”

Pinkamena put up an intervening hoof. “—in fact, they can, actually. You see, they're quite weird. Sometimes they appear as behemoths that pop out of the ground or sometimes they appear as strikingly alluring mares, exhibit A."

She gestured to herself. Pinkie’s eyes deadpanned.

The hallucination appeared agitated. "Okay, you tell me what you'd rather wake up to. You have the choice between a drooling serpent or a charming mare. At least I make an attempt to be funny. The other one you dreamed up has a massive aggression problem. Don't blame me for the hallucinations you create. You could dare to have a little more creativity."

Pinkie took two hooves and rubbed them along her face. This was a nightmare, so much for hoping the next morning wouldn’t be eventful.

“…This shouldn’t be happening.”

Pinkamena mouthed her words in ridicule before responding, "yeah okay. Obviously, I’m the more shocking thing this past week. Let’s just focus on Pinkamena because she’s just so problematic. Oh, there was a wyrm? Let’s just forget about that and gossip about what my pal Mena did this morning.”

She appeared disappointed when she didn’t get the reaction she wanted out of Pinkie. The Element of Laughter remained reserved.

Pinkamena put down her hoof and gave a pout, “seriously? Me out of the mirror is that shocking to you? You really need to get out and smell the roses if this is the craziest thing that’s ever happened, jee-whizz.”

Pinkie outstretched a hoof out of impulse. No breath was felt even an inch from Pinkamena’s nose. The mare steadily pulled back as if her hoof had a sting to it. She didn’t appear too keen on the idea of being touched even though Pinkie Pie knew she was nothing but still air.

“…Woah, hold on there. Personal space, bud. No, I don’t like that, stop—” Pinkamena protested, leaning away to where there were crimps in her neck. “No means no, I am saying the word no…respond accordingly.”

“Just let me pet you! Just—hold on, stop leaning back. It will only take a second!” Pinkie argued, nearly crawling out of her bedsheets to catch the mare inching off the mattress. “You’re going to fall off if you go any further back, Pinkameanie!”

“I don’t want to be touched. I have rights! I do not consent, I do not—urmph, you did it anyway. I have been violated.”

Pinkie’s hoof rested along Pinkamena’s muzzle, yet, there was nothing to be felt. The spot where they met was distorted like a low-resolution TV. The mare’s left eye was closed in a flinch, nose grooved with distaste, while her stare contained enough venom to telepathically poison her. Pinkamena was not happy.

“…You’re made of air,” Pinkie said, a gloomy sigh invading her tone.

In her gut, she knew that Pinkamena was something only she could see, but the vision appeared too convincing. Pinkie remained quiet while lingering on her empty hoof. Her cheeks sagged while she returned her hoof beside her and displayed a bit of despondency.

Was it wrong that she had a little hope in the back of her mind that perhaps Pinkamena wasn't what she thought she was? Obviously, Pinkie was only wasting time with this nonsense. She had to wring her brain of it. Other things remained a priority today and The Mare in the Mirror was not one of them.

Her companion suddenly collapsed into pixels before materializing at Pinkie's bedside. Pinkamena leaned an elbow on the satin comforter while settling on her haunches with an expression of boredom.

“So, are you here to help? Or, are you just here to storm on my Gala?” Pinkie questioned, while the mare’s eyes became half-lidded in restored amusement.

“No, I’m not here to storm on your parade. I’m made of air. What am I going to do? Huff, puff, and blow the Gala to splinters? I’m afraid my subscription only includes badgering you about your choices in life. I could upgrade your package to premium tier, where I could give you advice on how not to screw up Equestria’s economy like you’ve been doing.”

Pinkie’s face became stiff with a raw distaste for Pinkamena's humor. She slowly pawed a pillow out from under her mid-back before pressing her muzzle into the heart of it. The Element of Laughter threw herself back, nearly skimming the headboard, and groaned with enough force to draw attention.

Recognizable raps on the door surfaced, “Ms. Pie? Is there trouble?”

The pillow slid from her face with her hooves still lingering on the edges. Her room's walls must have been paper-thin, considering the guards could hear the drop of a hat.

“Just fine,” she responded cheerily, with noticeable weight in her voice. “A little low in the caffeine tank, but who isn’t this early? It takes major coffee power to fuel this vessel of mobile joy.”

Although her voice attempted camouflage, she’d have to perk up or it would be anything but hidden. She had veiled her trouble with the Gala for so long it was taking a noticeable toll on her.

"Listen, I tried to offer coffee," Pinkamena admitted, shooing Pinkie’s glare away with a swaying hoof. “Did you know caffeine can become addicting? I’d hate to have to organize an intervention. You’re already on thin ice as it comes, considering how much work you’ve piled on your friend’s shoulders.”

Pinkie’s head whipped toward her, “I’m trying my best!”

She threw her weight onto the side of the bed and untangled herself from the covers. She brushed past Pinkamena with a flounce.

Pinkie Pie gave Pinkamena a side-eye to counter her smugness, but it didn’t budge her arrogance. Her follower reeled back with a ridged brow before haughtily calling her out.

“Ooo-hoo-hoo, what attitude,” the Mare in the Mirror taunted, shadowing Pinkie’s stride toward the vanity. “I know you’re trying your best, but trying is different than succeeding. Maybe you aren’t cut out for these kinds of things.”

Pinkie wrinkled her nose at the mare's words. It wasn't any less annoying than a mosquito buzzing around her ear.

She grabbed a hairbrush resting on the counter before observing her movements within the mirror. "I still have to try. No matter how many times I get pushed down, I pop back up like a spring, don't I? I can't give up. Twilight is counting on me. It takes a certain, je ne sais quoi, to run a country as Rarity had said…I may not have it yet, but I will if I keep trying.”

She ran the bristles through her mane, causing her curls to bounce against her neck. Pinkie continued to flatten the frazzled hairs still captive by static until her mane looked a little less ratty.

“It might be helpful if you knew what Rarity meant. It isn’t very good advice, believe it or not.”

The brush clattered on the wooden countertop with Pinkie’s hoof nearly boring it into the varnished surface.

“Why do you have to be such a major stinker? Like rotting-egg and splotched banana peel stinky? Would it kill ya to have an attitude of roses and teddy bears once in a while? You have a very non-huggable aura about you, even I would think twice of doing so, and that’s saying something.”

Pinkamena’s hoof slowly pressed itself against her chest, "I'm going to be real honest…that cut a little. You see that little red spot, its blood—I’m bleeding.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, “mmmm, five stars for the performance, but you’re not that dramatic.”

Pinkie flashed a smile in her direction, but it was deflected by the illusion’s narrowed glower.

She truly did hurt the feelings of her pessimistic follower. Pinkamena’s shoulders were pinched, eyes evasive, and her head thrown in a direction to where their gazes wouldn’t meet.

Pinkie sighed, “did I actually hurt your feelings?”

There was no reply.

"…I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," Pinkie admitted, veering around to address Pinkamena, who had her forelimbs crossed. Her shoulder rolled, but it didn’t appear she was listening. “Can we have a truce for the time being, please?”

“…Chea juch htuh uj iw ih zonowihj quo,” Pinkamena grumbled, flickering her eyes to rest on Pinkie’s face before retreating to the closed window.

“Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Forget it, I believe you’ve spent enough time squandering in your chambers. We have work to do, don’t we?”

She nodded in response. Pinkie’s encounter with her unchained reflection had somewhat aged her energy to where she already felt worn out. Perhaps she needed to visit an old friend to rejuvenate herself. Fluttershy was the only pony she had entrusted with her problems other than her sisters. There was an itch she needed to scratch when it came to venting about what happened this morning.

Pinkie needed to talk about this to somepony. It was bizarre!

Her lips parted to say something to Pinkamena, but she decided against it. Anything she said would be used and held against her. It was what the mare always aimed for to claim a checkmate. It was best to never seek the last word. Pinkamena was trained to counter it.

She felt a little remorseful when leaving Pinkamena disgruntled, but her other feelings ruled against it. Normally she’d never leave an argument where the other felt upset, but The Mare in the Mirror was a different story.

She weaved around the bedpost before approaching the door. There were no steps heard, but Pinkamena had followed without so much as a visible breath. The mare would be tailing her very closely with or without her agreement.

Pinkie hesitantly pushed open the door, passing through it, and waiting with bated breath to see what The Mare in the Mirror would do.

“…Ponk,” Pinkamena muttered under her breath, sulking after her.

There it was—the famous last word she always had to have. It took a heck of a lot of willpower not to respond to the nickname she had been given. Pinkie had heard it before since it was generally used as an insult. Of course, she didn't know what it meant, but it wasn't hard to understand that it was far from endearment.

She failed to be placating, “…Pinkameanie.”

Thankfully, her shadow hadn’t seen her fall into the blatant trap she laid out for her. Sure, maybe being amicable would have been plausible, but that wasn’t the relationship they had ever shared. Grousing at each other was about the only language Pinkamena ever understood.

“So where to? Are we apologizing to Applejack? That should probably be number one on the checklist. If looks could kill, you'd be the first to go."

Pinkie was wary of her new attitude. Her illusion had suddenly traded her cold approach for a warmer one. However, something about it caused a smidge of suspicion. She had never bounced back so quickly from a spat.

“…You’re suddenly in a good mood,” Pinkie tested, eyebrow perked.

"Feels good to stretch my legs," she responded breezily. "If you had been tied up your whole life, wouldn't you be jumping for joy at the chance to walk?"

Pinkie visibly flinched. Her pace was jovial, springy, proving without a doubt that it was quite a candid response. She felt a little kicked when seeing how relieved she was to be out of those chains. Even though Pinkamena was a figment of her own imagination, she had always been quite the character. Maybe not buoyant, but definitely full of life. Something felt wrong about it all. No pony deserved to be chained their whole life even if they weren’t real. Why did she feel so guilty over it all? It wasn’t like she purposefully meant for her to be bound.

Pinkamena spotted her lingering gaze.

She stopped, eyebrow cropped. “…what?”

“….Nothing,” Pinkie lied, nodding down the hallway. “I’m going to find Flutters.”

“Do I have a say in the matter?” She asked, not receiving a reply.

The hallway was freshly polished, the floor nearly illuminating the walls with a shine. There was a smell of flowers in the air mixed with a bit of citrus. Bushels of flowers created a colorful overhang by being stuffed in-between columns. Petals fluttered downward, gently caressing Pinkie’s nose while she passed under them. Pinkamena appeared agitated. She swatted at the petals as if she detested them.

“It’s allergy season! All this is going to do is make the Gala a fiasco. Pollen attracts pests, and pests carry diseases, and diseases worsen asthma! Stupid, uhmph—nature…and its stupid flowers!”

She rubbed at her nose as if the decorations were already making her uneasy. Pinkie threw a look over her shoulder and gave her reply.

"It's traditional to have the most beautiful and bestest flowers for the Gala. If allergies are a problem now or in the future, I'm sure Twi will fix it."

“I have allergies!” Pinkamena whined, her lip sagging.

“You’re made of air,” Pinkie argued, ducking under a banner with still dripping paint slathered on the surface.

“Yeah, air swarming with pollen!”

She dismissed Pinkamena’s querulous demands, mentally plugging her ears to the grumbling complaints behind her.

“No one cares about how I feel!”

Pinkie hunched forward in annoyance, eyes narrowed, while counting the steps until they hit the courtyard. Hopefully, Fluttershy had a remedy to cure the physical headache following her around.

Two double doors were propped open which invited fresh air into the castle. The breeze carried with it a brisk aftertaste of pollinated scents. Only the flowers were to blame for the aroma that wafted around them. Perhaps Pinkamena was right in the sense that it could be awfully overwhelming to creatures with sensitive noses.

Pinkie stepped out into the veil of sunshine. Although the fall had a healthy balance of warmth and cool, it still had the foreshadowing chill of oncoming winter.

“Brrrr,” Pinkie vocalized, wiggling her shoulders in discomfort.

“…Stupid fall,” Pinkamena complained, tightly hugging the wall as if cursing the moment she’d have to cross the double-door threshold. "Stupid fall and its bipolar swings between hot and cold. Why can't Equestria be tropical?"

Pinkie threw a look over her shoulder, “it’s not that chilly, Ms. Grumpy Pout. Equestria always takes a dip in temperature this time of the season. Actually, to be honest, the cold is playing pretty nice this year.”

Pinkamena’s teeth were clattering like a teacup forced to endure a train ride on unstable tracks.

“You act as if I’ve somehow experienced the cold every year,” she hummed, finally stepping down the concrete steps to rejoin Pinkie. “It’s almost like you’ve forgotten my previous state of immobility.”

She jingled her wrist in crude humor. The Element of Laughter frowned with a tad bit of sympathy only to have it ignored. Pinkamena swept past her, a smirk still lingering on her lips, while she rolled her gaze over the gardens.

“Got to give it to the landscapers,” Pinkamena complimented, gesturing toward the sculpted bushes. “It’s a breeding ground for allergies, but at least the display makes up for the suffering.”

Pinkie Pie scouted for Fluttershy. It wasn’t hard to find the pegasus when using her ears as an audible guide. She found her friend spread out in solitude by following her tuneful hums.

Her hoof gently ran through her mane, brush gliding through the velvet strands as if it were a hot knife through butter.

“...Ooo, Flutters, hey—hey, you got a minute for a chit-chat?”

The recognizable tune of her voice caused Fluttershy to tip her head up. A smile parted her lips, hoof raising in a wave, while she ushered her over.

“Of course, actually, I was meaning to talk to you earlier, but I got a little caught up in something." She admitted, revealing her frazzled wing feathers nearly twisted into knots. "The raccoons got a little nippy when I wouldn't allow them to gorge themselves with treats.”

Her laughter was feeble, but of good spirits.

Pinkie approached, "yikes…you look like you got in a food fight. Wait a minute, did ya? Did you really get into a food fight and not invite the national champion? You should have. The coons woulda never seen it coming."

“Well—” Fluttershy sat the brush on the concrete fountain ledge, “if I give them too many treats, they’ll be unhealthy. Raccoons aren't very good at regulating themselves and even less at understanding why that’s bad.”

Pinkie flopped down beside her friend before reaching over and picking an apple peel from behind Fluttershy's ear.

“Oh yeah, coons can be real mean trash pandas. They used to hang around Sugarcube Corner near the dumpster. They’d lurk around, backs all hunched like a kitty, and they’d hiss at me until I gave ‘em the bag. They’re really good at getting what they want. Well, that was until you gave them that scary stare of yours.”

Fluttershy chuckled while Pinkie continued to pick out the remains of her tussle with the raccoons. The pegasus watched her flick an orange peel toward the sidewalk where it was scooped up by a hovering finch.

“You know—you really shouldn’t call them trash pandas,” Fluttershy advised with a giggle.

Pinkie stopped, leaning over Fluttershy’s shoulder, “what else would I call them? They love trash, eat a ton like pandas, and they’re fluffy but deadly.”

“…Trash pandas,” Pinkamena muttered, hiccupping when she tried to suppress a laugh. “You didn’t have to call them out like that.”

She chortled, but only Pinkie Pie could hear the ringing laughter.

“They don’t like being called that, Pinkie,” Fluttershy warned with a growing smile. Even though she couldn’t hear Pinkamena, it appeared her laughter was contagious. She pressed a hoof to her lips to suppress a giggle, “anyway, what appears to be troubling you lately?”

Pinkie observed her follower take a seat by a bush and hug her ribcage. Pinkamena still appeared to be fighting with the season's temperature, huddling into a ball while tenderly rubbing her shoulders.

Without moving her head from Pinkamena’s direction, she replied. “Somehow, a little someone-someone decided to slip out of her mirror like an eel. I'd hate to spoil the mystery for ya, so I'll give you a hint. The first part of her name is a color I really, really, like, and the last part of her name is something we used to describe Gilda."

“…Mean?” Fluttershy questioned, watching as Pinkie vigorously shook her head in agreement.

“Correctamundo, just add an ‘A’ at the end. Now, what’s my favorite color? Come on, come on, you know this one.”

Pinkamena suddenly shot up with a hoof in their direction, “I know this one, alright—alright, it’s definitely magenta. No, wait, that’s too dark. Okay, it’s a type of very light blush bubblegum. Come on, meet me halfway here.”

Fluttershy stuck out her bottom lip before puzzling it together, "oh, you mean Pinkamena? Oh my, is that why you've been so distant and less perky than usual?”

"I'm guessing you've heard about what I've been up to lately. I really have been trying my best. I just don't feel my best, you know?"

She inched closer to her friend so that the pegasus could drape a feathered wing around her shoulders. "You know Applejack would never talk badly about you. She genuinely told us out of concern, Pinkie. I know you don't want to talk about The Mare in the Mirror yet. But maybe—”

She trailed off when noticing a look of fear skitter across her face. Pinkie's eyes swiveled elsewhere, clearly uncomfortable with the suggestion.

“—Maybe it might be time,” she finished.

“There’s something weird about her, Flutters. Remember Zecora, and remember the whole ‘Evil enchantress who does evil dances and if you look deep in her eyes—”

“—She’ll put you in trances? Yes, I remember well, you made me sing it.” Fluttershy reminded with a gentle nudge into her friend’s shoulder. “What about Zecora?”

“…Pinkamena does things differently. She always has. There's gotta be some kind of evil magic she's got. How else could she control my mind like a gloved hoof with strings and popsicle sticks? My whole life has kinda been a puppet show.”

Fluttershy hummed in thought while Pinkamena interjected, “oh please. Not the whole ‘Mena has voodoo powers’ again, I hate to break it to you, but hallucinations aren’t that overpowered.”

Pinkie continued, "this morning she was propped up on my bed like nobody's business! You shoulda seen it Flutters, it's never happened in the history of forever—dare I say, five-ever, if you want to know how sure I am.”

“I believe you,” the Element of Kindness said, resting a hoof on the mare’s shoulder. “What has she been doing lately to make you assume she has complete control over your mind?”

Pinkie took in an overly obnoxious inhale, "pretend her personality is like a needle, okay? Okay? Alright, now pretend I'm a happy little balloon, all inflated and minding my business. Now—now, here comes Pinkamena…pop! Pretend you heard the loud pop. Now listen to the whooooosh coming out of my body as my mood deflates. She squeezes the life—"

She put up a hoof before filling her lungs back up with air.

Pinkie rambled on, “—out of what makes me Pinkie Pie. I can’t be Pinkie without laughter and I don’t want to laugh when she’s around. No laughter, no balloons, and no caffeine-fueled energy equal zero Pinkie Pie. It’s basic math.”

“Hmmm,” Pinkamena contemplated. Her forehead puckered while she tapped her lips, “that’s a very poetic way of calling me a prick. I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“Well, that is what she’s created to do, remember? She's supposed to make you feel insecure. That's why it's so important for us to find a way to help you start feeling yourself again. Which actually reminds me why I was going to try and find you after I cleaned up.”

Underneath her left wing she revealed a plastic container. There were dozens of scratches and bites decorating the outside, but it seemed as if the barrier fought the aggressors off. Within the transparent tub lay something wrapped in aluminum foil, untouched.

She placed the container upon the grass before turning the opening toward Pinkie. The earth pony cocked her head at the sight of it before glancing back up to her friend, bemused.

“What kind of goodies do you have, Fluttershy?”

The pegasus flicked open the latch with a pop, “well—when I was training the raccoons for the Gala, they found it in my bag. They got really upset after telling them they were for somepony else and that they couldn't have any more treats. You probably know what happened after that.”

Pinkie grimaced when reviewing her disheveled appearance. Raccoons could be merciless at times, but if she had to place a bet on who would emerge victoriously, her bits would be in Fluttershy's favor.

“Do you remember Tree Hugger? She’s the mare that I took with me to the Gala. Discord brought The Smooze that year, you know, the giant glob of green slime we had to wash out of the walls for a week?”

“Oh, her!” Pinkie exclaimed, “Yeah, Discord was a very sour lemon that day. Tree Hugger was as calm as a cucumber and much sweeter than I expected. Funny though, since sweet and sour normally get along just fine. I guess those two will never be lemonade in each other's presence."

“Depends on the balance between the two,” Pinkamena added, draping her hoof over a forelimb and resting her head on her wrist. “Discord appears to only care for one pony. You call me sour, but at least I hate everyone equally—and I don’t favor one over the other.”

“Saucy,” Pinkie commented. The mare shrugged in response.

"Hmm?" Fluttershy asked before noticing where her eyes had landed. "You can hear her right now, can't you?"

"Mhmm, today she's a real chatty catty."

“Cathy,” the Mare in the Mirror corrected.

“Oh—right, Cathy! I meant Cathy,” Pinkie continued sheepishly, a blush filling her cheeks. "Sometimes, I get the phrases all jumbled up in this brain of mine."

“Did…did she just correct you?” the pegasus asked, brows crimping, while she began to unwrap the foil. “What has she been doing today? Where is she now?”

Pinkie nodded toward the path of grass the mare laid on, “right now she’s kind of just glaring at me—oh wait, now she rolled her eyes, okay nooooow she’s kind of annoyed.”

Pinkamena gave her a glare fit to be tied. She then lugged herself somewhere far from Pinkie Pie’s narrating.

“Everyone always asks ‘what is Pinkamena’ and ‘where is Pinkamena—” the illusion groused. “—No one asks, ‘how is Pinkamena?' Because if they did, I'd have a lot to say!”

She slumped onto her ribcage, twitching an ear, before rolling to display her back to the mares. Pinkamena normally commented with no regard as to how it would be taken by others, and usually, Pinkie wouldn't bat an eye with some things she said. Lately, her knowledge about the Mare in the Mirror started to fill some pages in with ink. Her brazen personality was a trademarked tradition of hers, but it was beginning to dull. It appeared as if she was using sarcasm to deflect, and Pinkie Pie was noticing it.

The posted note with scribbled thoughts no bigger than a grocery list about her—was now expanded to a full-fledged notebook.

Pinkie Pie was about to call out to her, but reality hooked her back into the present. Fluttershy was tugging at her shoulder, nudging unwrapped brownies toward her so that she could comb over them.

“…Here, this should help with her. I know it’s hard to concentrate when she’s whispering to you all the time.” Fluttershy passed the brownies into her hooves and Pinkie brought them to her nose for a sniff test. "They have a little…odor to them, but Tree Hugger uses natural ingredients that serve as relaxants and anxiety relievers. I tried not to reveal too much since I know you want to keep it between us, so I only asked for something to calm your nerves.”

Pinkamena’s eyes suddenly appeared from behind blades of grass. She had already rolled over to peek at them both with an animated face that was quite expressive. The dessert had completely ushered in her attention.

“I don’t like things that smell fishy. Those definitely smell fishy in a figurative and literal sense.” Pinkamena alerted, her eyes solidifying with an edge that was as stern as it was concerning. “Pinkie, don’t eat those.”

"What are they made with?" Pinkie asked, weaving through the batch with a pickiness she never realized she had. "They do smell kinda weird, everypony has their recipe, but I don't think I've smelled a smell this smellie. Usually, brownies are supposed to smell smelly in a chocolatey way."

"…That was an ear full," Fluttershy replied in amusement. "Well, Tree Hugger is quite vocal about her passion for organic ingredients. She uses secret remedies to cure lots of things, and believe me, they work wonderfully. She gave me a few bath bombs, some fragrances, and since she was here at the Gala, she was more than happy to give you a few of her personal remedies. She’s pretty hush-hush about the mixture.”

"Well, nothing can be as smelly as Zecora's potions. Phew, gotta remember to take a clothes' pin when we ask her to make a brew. Many things are smelly that taste really good, though, like…like, kimchi! The Tasty Treat here in Canterlot serves it. I tried it once and it was terrific, but stunk up the place like no tomorrow!"

“You two are too oblivious for your own good—” Pinkamena was interrupted.

“—So this will help my Mena problem go from Chatty Cathy to slightly-silent Sally, right?" Pinkie asked, taking another whiff but shivering from the odor when she did so. "Oof, it’s going to take a little while to get used to, yeesh!”

"Don't feel like you have to eat them. It's just there if you decide to try it. Tree Hugger is pretty care-free, so whatever she has must work wonders," Fluttershy said with a playful wink in her direction. She then began to gather her stuff as she continued, "I've got to get back. Break time only lasts twenty minutes for me. That's about as long as I can leave the animals alone before they get into mischief."

Pinkie gave her a loose wave, "alright, I gotcha. See you later, alligator. Hey, if you run into Tree Hugger before I do, tell her we can swap tips about baking. Preferably ones that aren't so smelly."

She nodded, “will do.”

Pinkie’s beaming gratitude had the warmth of the sun. She was highly thankful that Fluttershy went out of her way to nab something that would drown out Pinkamena's voice. Sure, The Mare in the Mirror wasn't shy when it came to butting heads, but the real problem was her urge to plant seeds of doubt. She was consistently making a note of Pinkie Pie's failures to later use them as weapons. Why she felt the need to do it was left to mystery.

She hoped not to reap what Pinkamena had sowed.

Placed on the grass were the brownies. Pinkie couldn't stop staring at them as if they were foreign. Her nose knows, and something about the smell of it left a bad taste in her mouth.

She hovered a forelimb, casting shade over the foil.

"…Uhh, I'd…erm," Pinkamena warned before she was spotted shoving a hoof into her mouth.

“These really make you uncomfortable, don't they?" Pinkie tested, teasingly moving a hoof back and forth. "They're just brownies. They won't poison me—well, I don’t think they would.”

“No, they won’t exactly poison you per se…I just—” Pinkamena ceased for a moment and took a breath, “listen, you and Fluttershy are both kind of….inexperienced with exotic behaviors. I'm not entirely sure about the written laws of Equestria… but…um, well sometimes—”

Her mouth remained open, but words failed to come out. Pinkie narrowed her eyes, it didn't appear that Pinkamena was disingenuous, but she was definitely beating around the bush about something.

“—Sometimes…ponies do things that aren’t exactly accepted worldwide. Not to say it's wrong, but these behaviors can be debatable within political grounds. Anyway, sometimes ponies like Tree Hugger have…eccentric methods to take it easy. You see, Fluttershy has a bit of a habit when it comes to making friends with hobbies that are considered an abnormality."

"You don't like any of my friends. I can totally see through what you're trying to do here. You know these brownies will keep me from losing my marbles!"

Pinkamena snorted, "no, that's not at all what I'm trying to say."

“It totally is!”

“…No.”

"Yes, indeedy times infinity. You can't argue past infinity."

“Believe me when I say your problems won’t be cured by those brownies. I'm not saying this because I dislike Fluttershy. I'm telling you this because she's a bit clueless about these things, as are you." Pinkamena gestured toward the foil Pinkie had clutched to her chest like a pearl necklace. “Those little treats you’re holding with the strength of a vice are suspicious. Fluttershy's friend Mary Jane who made those for you, clearly has no idea how innocent you are.”

Pinkie’s glare tightened, “her name is Tree Hugger. You need to keep your mean nicknames to yourself.”

“Oh, Pinkie, if only you understood that I wasn’t the mare who gave her that nickname.”

She broke into a guffaw that almost caused her to choke. Now, Pinkie Pie was the Element of Laughter and she was fairly educated with jokes—but this one flew right over her head with a whistle. Ah yes, Pinkamena, the guileful master when it came to pushing her buttons. Truly an ace in the hole.

“Why do you feel the need to do that?” She asked, with more of a snarling rebuke than out of curiosity. “You could try, you know. Even just a little.”

She smirked, “do what? Have a jest? Listen, your humor may be customary among ponies. I personally find it relatively boring and dry. It's just my taste as you have yours. Relax, enjoy the circus. We're all clowns here. Your makeup is just a little different than mine."

The only clownery Pinkie noticed was Pinkamena’s.

She exhaled with a bit of force before dismissing her. If she fed the little devil what she wanted she'd only be encouraged to recycle the same behavior. It was just so difficult to bite the bullet and keep her head down.

She was notorious for proving that Pinkie had untrained patience.

Her eyes lingered on the foil. It smelled horrible, but Tree Hugger appeared entirely unbothered by the world. Pretty often, actually. If she gave her word that they would help clear her head, maybe she should try it.

After all, doing the same thing and expecting change has just led to more insanity.

It crinkled while she slowly pawed it open. They looked pleasing. Pinkie would happily call it eye candy. They were soft, puffy, and slathered with thick icing on the top. Oh, what the heck, they were only brownies.

Pinkamena lifted an eyebrow with a mute snicker.

Pinkie Pie decided to rip it off like a band-aid. It wasn't like she couldn't spit it out if they didn't fit her standards.

She popped a piece into her mouth. Her senses were immediately overcome with chocolate and a hint of vanilla extract. Chewy, a little gooey, and they had a nice texture to them when going down. Surprisingly acceptable, considering how they smelled.

Pinkamena melodiously hummed a response, “you’re going to regret it if you swallow.”

Her words were an irritating tease but unsuccessful. She swallowed, hard. Pinkie locked eyes with the Mare in the Mirror before slowly bringing another piece to her lips.

“Right, because eating Tree Hugger’s brownies really puts me in my place,” the illusion scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She then sat with a throaty snort, hooves crossed, watching intently.

Her defiance sure didn't seem to be bugging Pinkamena. Maybe she didn't fully understand what they'd do. Even Pinkie Pie didn't really know. All she knew was that Fluttershy recommended them. She trusted her.

—And so, she ate them. All of them.

All Pinkamena cared to do was observe, unresponsive, with a little foreboding glimmer in the corner of her eye.

Sprawled on her back, was Pinkie.

Remnants of the brownies carpeted the grass. They were only crumbs. Even in small pieces, they caked the ground around her. Most of it was sitting comfortably in Pinkie’s stomach. Although she was tranquil, the world around her was far too docile.

Her brain felt slow as if it were moseying along. Typically, her brain had the pace of a jackrabbit.

Her eyes were wide open, face solemn, while she continued to stare blankly at the clouds overhead. There was a curious red hue fogging her eyes. Not just that, but her limbs felt strangely weighted and equally as sluggish as her head.

It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it was definitely…odd. She couldn’t piece two and two together even if Sugarcube Corner depended on it.

She just felt like…lying there. Doing nothing.

Did she have something to do? She couldn’t tell you. Everything just seemed to drift away as if she were aboard a theme park’s lazy river.

Pinkie was smiling a little, a bit lopsided, but a smile nonetheless.

“How’s the air up there?” A voice called, spiced with mockery.

She turned to her chin upward to view her companion, who was humorously upside down to her. “I’m on the ground, on the grasss—”

Her voice dragged while she slowly made a snow-angel in the vegetation. She rolled onto her side, scooped up the grass, and smushed her face in it.

"I'm pretty sure you aren't grounded. Actually, I'd argue you're quite high."

Pinkamena chuckled, but it didn’t bother Pinkie.

“I’m not in the sky goofus, I’d be a pegasus if I were. Just enjoy the sun, and the grass, everything is just so—”

Pinkie Pie stopped, losing her train of thought.

“—Relaxed, I assume?” Pinkamena asked.

“Yes, that’s the word! Relaxed…” She trailed off again, rolling once more on her back before lazily casting a hoof toward the sky. “Shhhh, Pinkamena…listen to nature, learn from it.”

“I’d be able to listen to it more thoroughly if I had some wine,” she replied, rubbing her forehead with enough force to cause a bruise. “I cannot deal with all of this sober. Tree Hugger is an absolute moron.”

"You can't solve problems with alcohol. You've gotta deal with your problems emotionally. You can't keep it bottled in. It'll burst like a shaken soda."

“Alcohol could solve this problem. Hopefully drink and forget,” she retorted, wrinkling her nose with distaste. “Now I understand alcoholics.”

“That’s a bad habit to start—”

“—You’re the reason I have bad habits!” Pinkamena accused, suddenly pulling back and swallowing the rest of her brusque outburst. She cleared her throat and continued, “If you keep making my blood pressure rise like this, I’m going to pop a blood vessel.”

Pinkie’s eyes lolled, “…have you ever wondered why there’s a light in the fridge when almost every pony scolds you for sneaking in a midnight snack? Especially when you’re on a diet.”

Pinkamena gave a sigh that showed she was quite irritable, "No. I've never wondered because, unlike you, I have a sense of self-control with food."

“…But then why did they put a light in my fridge? They do it so you won’t fumble in the dark like a bat trying to snag some desserts to quell your munchies.”

"Mmm," the Mare in the Mirror grunted, "or perhaps it's a warning to those that indulge in shameless gluttony. It is a sin, you know. Both sides of the afterlife announce their presence in a light. One is a divine and golden warmth, the other, is heat from a blazing inferno."

Pinkie failed to crack Pinkamena’s code. “There aren’t any infernos in heaven.”

“No—” Pinkamena stifled her laugh with a hoof. “No…there’s not.”

Pinkie rested a hoof on her stomach, where she felt a light buzz. Weird…she just ate about thirty minutes ago. Once she felt the rumble, it evolved into stabs of hunger. She tried to reposition herself on the grass to soothe it. She flopped a cheek on the grass and hugged her abdomen.

Her follower found the sight of her scrunched up like an inch-worm amusing.

“…Hungry,” she moaned, whimpering a starved mewl.

Now the feeling was lashing out with more strength. It was causing a strange weakness. Just a few moments ago, her stomach was tame. The pangs were making it hard to focus, and her limbs still felt like flopping ropes. Now, she craved a meal big enough to inflate the stomach of a Minotaur. Her mouth was heavily salivating and nearly cascading down her chin.

"Yeah, I'd say so. You ate like six edibl—” she visibly bit her tongue, biting back her words before reconstructing them. “—Brownies.”

Pinkamena didn't appear to be as churlish as she usually was. She actually looked a bit concerned.

The Mare in the Mirror pondered for a moment, “now that I’m thinking about it…is that dangerous? There had to be at least eight grams in that batch.”

Pinkie threw out a hoof and sank it into a patch of weeds. She dragged her body forward while marking the doors as her objective.

It was almost impossible to stand up. Maybe there was a cheese stick laying around somewhere, or some pony had a glass bowl full of mints on their desk. Anything sounded edible at the moment. She'd even chew through a belt.

However, walking all the way out of the castle and into the town square didn't sound very pleasing. She needed something now, and she needed a lot of that something.

“…Food,” she pleaded, attempting to wobble onto her forehooves to no avail. “Major…munchies.”

Pinkamena stroked her chin with a hoof. She clicked her tongue a few times before glancing down at Pinkie's attempt to lug herself toward the double doors.

“Don’t quote me on this, but yesterday, didn’t AJ get a very large order of catered dishes? Remember, you know, before she reminded you of your utter failure to retrieve the herbs she needed?”

Pinkie Pie slapped her hoof on the concrete steps making a loud clap, “didja have to bring that up?”

“Hear me out for a moment,” Pinkamena persuaded, resting one hoof alongside The Element of Laughter’s. “Unless you somehow hid cotton in my ears, I believe I heard her say she ordered a plethora of plates that were unusable. She threw quite the tantrum when the price didn’t match her pocket depth and she tried to cheat the Gala by marking off herbs for a better price.”

Pinkie rested her weight onto her elbow so that she could prop herself up, “didn’t she throw them out?”

“You’d think she did,” the Mare in the Mirror hinted, “but we all know Applejack is a mule when it comes to stubbornness. I’d bet they’re still sitting pretty fresh in the kitchens. She wouldn’t waste such things unless she had a reason to. All she needed to do to fix them was sprinkle a few garnishes and be done with it. My gut tells me that’s what she’s been up to all evening.”

Pinkie Pie pursed her lips with a bit of distrust, “why are you offering advice? You never do that unless there are strings attached.”

“Consider it an investment in continuous entertainment for a mare who’s been bored out of her mind ever since we were born.”

Maybe she had a point. Yesterday AJ had deemed most of them un-servable for the Gala. Perhaps, she could swoop in and take a few plates off her hooves. It wasn’t like they were sitting around for anything else but to be thrown away.

Pinkamena never gave free advice, though. It was bothersome. Whatever she was trying to do needed to be carefully observed by a watchful eye and foiled when revealed. Her illusion was crafty and was bound to lead her down the wrong path when she got the chance.

“I’m watching you,” Pinkie threatened with squinted eyes in her direction. "I know you're hoping for me to slip up again, but I won't. I know your plan."

Pinkamena’s pearlescent smile was a picture of innocence to the untrained eye. Pinkie, fortunately, could see right through the double-sided glass.

Mhmm, definitely up to something, and the bad thing was—she gave her that smile on purpose. Her poker face was unrivaled, and she could easily hide her intentions if she wished. She wanted Pinkie to be uneasy.

"I'm not gonna let you win," Pinkie Pie mumbled while steadying herself on her four hooves. "I'm going to get a quick snack so my head isn't so foggy, and then I'm gonna run this Gala so hard—”

Pinkamena followed suit with an easy gait, “—like you have been doing? Noted.”

Pinkie stopped abruptly, and if her follower weren’t made of air, she would have had a muzzle full of haunch.

“I—” Pinkie Pie shivered back her frustration with a visible roll of her shoulders. “No, no…you’re not doing this to me. Bad Pinkameanie, you’re not gonna make the crazy Pinkie come out, nope… nope.”

“Oooo, I’m positively quivering in anticipation,” the mare quipped with a sharp chuckle. “You’re loosening your grip on the reins there, bud. Giving me the classic cold shoulder isn’t enough of a punishment. I wonder what else is on your ongoing lists of ways to hush me up other than bondage.”

What she'd give for earmuffs. Why weren't the brownies working? Something in Equestria had to work. Why was she immune to everything? It wasn't fair!

Get to the kitchen, get to the kitchen—

Pinkamena was heartily laughing, “get it, get it? Ha, cause like—oh, right, you’ve got the maturity of a yearling. Wasting my breath here.”

Her hooves echoed freely throughout the hall. Her pace was alarming to some bystanders, but they kept their heads low. Her stomach was doing summersaults, her brain was pulsating with rage, and her cheeks were puffy.

Now she understood Rainbow Dash when she told Pinkie that silence is golden. How in Equestria’s nation could Pinkamena drive her up the wall this much?

It wasn’t long before the longed-for kitchen was in her grasp, as to be expected when whipping through the corridors like a ravaging cyclone. Her hoof rested on the golden knob. Her heartbeat slowed while she slowly commanded them to move with a tug.

“…Speaking of boredom, for such an oddball, your subconscious is quite boring. It's about as exciting as watching paint dry. Have you ever watched paint dry on a wall? Wait—scratch that, you weirdly have—”

“—We’re here,” Pinkie interrupted, pulling the handles to her chest to crack open a sliver of light from the kitchen.

However, instead of light, it revealed an aroma.

"We've got to be quiet here. The kitchens are kind of off—" the smell had sown her mouth shut while her nose filled in the blanks.

No wonder it was off-limits. That smell would attract a hungry hoard for miles! There was no dignity left when it hit her. The temptation overthrew any and every lesson she was ever taught about self-control.

She pressed her cheek against the cold metal and surveyed the area. It was abandoned, strangely. Not one soul occupied the entire province. Instead, the only bodies happened to be hulking piles of freshly baked pastries.

“Oh…sweet motherlode of toothaches that’s a lot of cavities!” Pinkie whimpered, her rump bouncing like a filly at a candy store.

“Scooch, I can’t see your consequences I predicted come to fruition at this angle.”

No contact was felt, but Pinkamena had found a way to smuggle herself through the crack as well. Her forelimbs draped themselves over Pinkie’s shoulders and her chin rested between the mare’s ears.

“Oh wow,” she breathed, “pftttt…ick, your ear got in my mouth. Stop twitching it so much.”

Pinkie was so excited her entire body was practically spasmodic.

“I’ve gotta—” Pinkie bit her lip, “I’ve gotta—”

“You were born for this,” Pinkamena enabled, “this is what you were made to do.”

“All I do is bake…why…why wasn’t I assigned to taste test these? I—I coulda made a few too.”

“You’re darn right! How dare they neglect you of this! Criminal.”

The icing was sloppy, the leveling mediocre, the craft looked rushed. Of course, no pony took their job as seriously as Pinkie Pie, but this was a field she exceeded in. Why didn’t Twilight ask her to help here? Applejack was in charge of the food, but by the look of it, maybe that wasn’t the best plan.

The donut tower's icing was sweating. The kitchen's temperature needed to be aired out or the heat from the ovens would melt them. The smell was undoubtedly seductive, though. She’d assume the dusted truffles were the culprit alongside the fresh vats of cooling caramel.

She noticed the gathering wad of saliva on her bottom lip.

“They won’t notice if you indulge yourself with two or three,” Pinkamena huskily invited.

She spoke with the devil's tongue. During the years of her life, not once had the mare's words ever been so inviting and convincing. They may be honeyed, but they weren't of a lie, necessarily. They wouldn't notice a few missing it was virtually impossible. There were too many.

She smacked her lips, “AJ…AJ will be really, really, mad if I do.”

“What she doesn’t know won’t kill her, right?”

Darn this mare. Darn her and her persuasion.

Pinkamena had almost ensnared her, but she pulled through. “Nope, absolutely not. Can’t do it, no-siree. Under section seven of Canterlot’s Gala Guidelines, Pinkamena Diane Responsibility Pie is not allowed near the desserts under any circumstances unless given direct permission from a higher authority.”

"You memorized the entire three-hundred-page guideline?"

“Yes indeedy, every page to make sure this Gala has Pinkie Pie’s official party stamp of approval.”

"Impressive," she admitted, "but you are the higher authority. Are you not?”

“Well I—” Pinkie Pie’s will began to unravel. “—I may be one of the leaders, but Twilight banned me from the desserts because I had one… and then I had one more, and then I had three—”

“—and three turned into seven, yes, I’ve heard this unfortunate tale.” Pinkamena said with a sarcastic roll of her wrist, “but that was…what? A year ago? You’ve grown, you’ve changed, and now you’re at the top of the food chain. You’re a monarch now, aren’t you? Even if you don’t take advantage of your ability to do whatever you please, are you really going to sit there and let them serve…oh, I don’t know…that?”

She gestured toward a leaning cake, which was so disproportionate, it was slowly sulking off the table. It broke in half and splattered its top onto the floor with a wet plop. Pinkie Pie grimaced with a sharp breath in between her teeth.

“It isn’t personal,” Pinkamena continued, “you just have to uphold your title as Ponyville’s best baker, right? You don't need coddling. You know how to manage yourself, am I correct? So that little rule in the book is insignificant.”

“They do need a little…erm…just a little sprucing up. Looking a little rough around the edges over there.” Pinkie chomped down on her hoof, hoping to nibble her skepticism away. “Just in and out, two-minute errand, right? Right?”

She wasn’t exactly confirming with Pinkamena; she was more so beating it into her head that she couldn’t stay. She couldn’t stay.

The mare agreed with a swift nod.

That was all the push she needed to open the door the remaining way. Resting on a table nearby was a frosting spatula which was quickly taken into her possession. She brushed a strand of mane from her eye while she approached the display of cakes.

Pressing her tongue to the side of her mouth, she got to work.

Carefully she collected a swirl of icing before pushing it back into its original position. Pinkamena had taken a liking to the shadows where she had parked herself by the sink to observe Pinkie's craft.

Such a fluffy interior, she couldn't help but examine the puffiness of the cake within. While she pushed the first one back into a straightened stance, Pinkie felt her stomach grumble.

Her hoof had a little splotch of icing on it, and she promptly popped it into her mouth without a second thought. That was a mistake.

Their eyes met, Pinkie’s hoof still in her mouth.

“You shouldn’t have tasted the icing,” Pinkamena said.

“I shouldn’t have tasted the icing,” Pinkie repeated.

Her stomach had released a monster. It was vocal about its hunger to the point where it gnawed down her common sense. Pinkie couldn't eat this cake. She could not, under any circumstances, eat this cake. Applejack would buck her so hard she'd be on the moon for ten thousand years. Alone. She would not disappoint her friend. No, she was stronger than this urge.

Pinkie’s eyes strayed to the dripping icing as it began to lean again.

This one was too far gone to save. AJ wouldn't need it. She wouldn't need it.

“I’m not eating this cake,” Pinkie slurred, slinking her hoof from her mouth and slamming her chin on the table.

Such a waste of a perfectly edible morsel. At this angle, she could view it in all its mouth-watering glory. A triumph of sugar and goodness, a thick coat of buttercream, with a tantalizing parade of fruits and designs.

Pinkamena leaned in, resting her chin in a hoof with a growing smile.

“I….I—” Pinkie stammered.

So sophisticated, a cake meant for high-class echelons. This leviathan of desserts must fetch, ten, a dozen, a hundred bits in price at least. A titan of its kind, a magnificent golden egg among the rest—

“—I’m eating this cake.”

“There it is,” Pinkamena celebrated.

Pinkie gouged the heart of it with booth hooves. There was no stopping it when it happened. She cupped as much as she could into her mouth and swallowed it without a second’s remorse. So good, sin tasted soooo good. This was wrong on a multitude of levels, but it was right in so many shameful ways.

“I’m a failure!” Pinkie Pie wailed, continuously going back for more.

She had to recognize it, and she did, but that didn’t mean she was stopping. No, it just meant she knew it was wrong and she fully embraced it. She once more dove into the cake, but the eaten support failed to keep it upright. It plopped onto her head, coating her ears and muzzle to the extent to where her mane was dyed white.

She ran her hooves through her mane, flinging the debris all over the place.

This felt good, this felt so good. Maybe this was a form of stress eating, perhaps it was, but this was what she deserved. She deserved this cake.

It wasn’t controversial. The last few months have had a strain on her. She needed a distraction—good, clean, fun.

Speaking of what she deserved, she deserved to taste those griffon scones over there. Pinkie was the one who taught them how to properly infuse flavor. Without her trick, they had the appeasing taste of straight-up dirt.

So, she took a bite out of those too. They weren't bad. The griffons were definitely improving, but how about the dragons?

Gem-stones…she’s never had gemstones.

Pinkie heard they were crunchy. Why wouldn't they be crunchy? They were rocks, weren't they? Heavy, tasty-looking stones. Maybe she should taste a little of the dragon stash. Dragonlord Ember was supposed to be coming, Pinkie had to make sure they were up to standard.

Pinkamena couldn’t stop laughing.

No…no, biting a rock was a bad idea.

Pinkie Pie spat out the gemstone, rubbing a hoof across her lips. Why would dragons even eat those? Maybe she wouldn’t be here debating about it if Twilight would have let her be the taste tester a long time ago!

“…Glutton,” Pinkamena commented.

“Uh’m nawt a gluten,” Pinkie sputtered between a gulp and a gasp for air.

She then proceeded to contradict herself by eating a hole through the room.

One might have thought an earthquake ransacked the place. The fondue fountain had been lapped up dry. Cans of whipped cream crackled while Pinkie swirled the contents onto her tongue—swallowing heaping mouthfuls.

Pinkamena had been positively howling the entire time. Her hoof had been slapping the flooring, repeatedly, in an involuntary spaz.

Her laughter was raucous, ribcage clutched tightly, while globs of fat tears lingered in the corners of her eyes.

Pinkie internally growled while throwing the can of whipped cream to the side. It clattered on the flooring and rolled toward a table’s leg before bumping against it. She ripped a hoof across her lips, smearing the residue across her cheek before she turned to scold her.

“It’s. Not. Funny!”

Pinkamena wagged her hoof toward Pinkie mid-laugh, “look at you! You’re covered head to hoof—and the best part is, you don’t even realize the hole you’ve dug yourself in.”

"I can clean it up in a jiffy. No pony will notice."

“That’s a tall order, Ponk.” Pinkamena challenged, her eyebrows wiggling as her hoof displayed the room. “You’ll need a whole team to cover your tracks, hun.”

Pinkie felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. While her eyes tracked the hoof's wake, she came to realize what Pinkamena had meant.

The entire place was trashed.

Her throat became taught. She could only imagine that this was what it felt like to be literally choking on your own worry.

Bottles were spinning aimlessly, rugs of flattened cake were on the floor, and curious icing stalactites hanging from the ceiling.

Before anyone asked, no, she had no idea how that happened.

“…What did…I do?”

“Ah yes,” Pinkamena began, “your greater zeal for baking has led to some…rather, unavoidable habits. Every creature has a weakness, dragons have a lust for riches, every bibliophile with an extensive collection of books gathering dust—and you—”

She looked her up and down before vanishing into wisps and appearing beside Pinkie. She leaned against her before rolling a hoof to summon a thought.

“—Your weakness speaks for itself, does it not?” Pinkamena said, gently flicking her nose with a contactless gesture.

Suddenly, the pieces clicked. This was a set-up. She knew this would happen.

“You…You—” Pinkie’s face was beginning to brighten with a heavy red tint swelling into her cheeks. “You cupcake-choking, cross-eyed, cheesy-slimeball—”

“—Woah,” Pinkamena frowned with a hesitant step back, “you didn’t have to pull out a gun in a knife fight.”

“You KNEW I'd do this. You set this whole thing up!"

She thrust a hoof into her chest and Pinkamena shrugged it off.

“I did nothing of the sort,” she argued with a deceivingly calm demeanor. “Repeat to me what I said you should do.”

“You told me to go to the kitchens and eat all these yummy—”

Pinkamena cut her off by poking her muzzle "—wrong.”

She swatted her away, "I'm not a liar! You totally did say that—”

“—Nope, you’re wrong.” Pinkamena debated, with a sardonic grin. “As I recall, I told you to eat the plates that Applejack wouldn’t serve, or if not that, take two or three small pastries. I never told you to eat everything in the room.”

The Element of Laughter grit her teeth. Debating with her was futile because the evidence stacked entirely in Pinkamena’s favor. Playing her like a fiddle was what The Mare in the Mirror did best. The fault was her weight to bear and hers alone. There was nothing she could do but kick herself in the teeth and bite back her searing fury.

Pinkie was overwhelmed with chagrin. After consistently warning herself of the mare's trap, she had willingly fallen victim to it.

“…I can’t believe this,” she whispered dejectedly.

Pinkamena parted her lips and leaned closer to her ear, “you better start making it believable. This party of one is about to be a party of two.”

She snapped back to reality when steps began to clatter behind the door. Some pony was coming, and even though her brain told her to move, she was rooted to her spot. Her heels snapped together, shoulders pinched tightly, and her face bleached.

The doorknob started to twist. The atmosphere was daunting. It wiggled, grunts emerging from behind. A shoulder pressed against the metal, the hinges screamed, and the silhouette was revealed.

Applejack looked up from her clipboard.

The pen from her mouth fell. It bounced on the floor and rolled before coming to a complete stop at Pinkie's hooves.

“Caught with your hoof literally in the cookie jar,” Pinkamena jested.

“Ah…what—” she was unable to speak while she heavily swept her eyes around the kitchen. “Everything ‘round here is ruined!”

Pinkie’s lips stuck together when she tried to open them. Her mouth was dry, but her neck, forehead, and cheeks were uncomfortably damp.

Applejack prodded a half-eaten pie which squished when touched. Her face was knotted, and a thick vein throbbed across her forehead. She wet her lips before suddenly smacking the pie off the table. Pinkie Pie flinched when the sound echoed through the room.

The Element of Honesty’s temper was beginning to become really concerning.

The dessert fell face-first behind the table and gave a fresh coat of mess to the floor.

Her breathing was ragged. Pinkie could only stand there in complete and fearful silence.

“Did ya do this, Pinkie?” She asked, in a very low and near raspy monotone.

“I…well, I—”

“—Ah’m gonna ask one more time, did ya do this or not?” Her tone was a bit sharper this time, face growing tighter by the minute.

Pinkie tapped her hoof awkwardly on the tile. She dodged AJ’s eyes and continued to find solace in areas vacant of her glare.

All she could do was tell the truth.

She took a shaky breath, "Flutters gave me some brownies and I got really, really, hungry. I've never been so hungry in my life AJ, so…so…I came here to see if I could get anything to eat and a little bit of icing got on my hoof. I licked it off, and it was just so good, so I had one little bite…and then I had three more—”

“—And then ya did ‘xactly what got you banned in the first place.” Applejack finished.

“….Yeah,” Pinkie deflated, hanging her head.

The country mare slowly nodded, her eyes glacial, before making her way toward the door. Without a sound, she opened it. A shadow fell over her face while she turned to address Pinkie, who had still not moved from that exact spot.

“Ya got tah go, Pinkie. Ah’ve got tah clean up all this.”

“AJ…” Pinkie called, hopeless in trying to gain a positive response.

She put up a hoof, “Ah can’t, ah really can’t talk about this or ah’m goin’ to say somethin’ ah’ll regret.”

“But I—”

“—but nothin’ Pinkie, there’s nothin’ to say. It would be better for all of us if ya wait in your room until ah can figure somethin’ out.”

It was best not to stoke the fire. As much as she wanted to defend this until her tongue was raw, she wasn't going to earn any empathy from the mare. So, Pinkie accepted her exile without a fight. Applejack jutted her forehoof out the door, almost expecting a march. She passed her up, timidly brushing gazes, before settling on the other side.

The door slammed shut, causing a cloud of dust to blanket her mane.

“…Ah don’t even know what to do,” a voice expressed sorrowfully from behind the metal.

Pinkamena appeared like a devil on her shoulder moments later. There were no words to describe how gross she felt inside. She didn't mean to do Applejack dirty twice in a row, now. She was flummoxed by how she did worse than the day before. How could she let this happen? Why was she so careless?

"How could you do that to your dear friend? Despicable. After all the blood, sweat, and tears she poured into her work. Impressive how she's able to pull her weight and yours at the same time, but in a way, not really. She is used to plowing fields, after all. Her legs are cut!”

Pinkie didn’t waste a moment in getting up and leaving Pinkamena alone. She couldn’t…not right now. Her spirits were already dead and she didn’t need a vulture picking apart what was left of it.

Pinkamena didn't appear to like being brushed off.

"Hey, where are you going?" Pinkamena called, ignorant of Pinkie's weakening tolerance. "You can't blow me off like that. This isn't my—"

“—Don’t talk to me,” Pinkie snapped.

“I will do whatever I darn well please!” Pinkamena rebelled with sudden animosity. “You always throw a bit of blame my way when you can’t bear to accept the fault. For a pony that claims responsibility is in their name, I’m starting to think it’s only there for a punchline.”

Her steps were beginning to morph into stomps.

No matter how far she ran, no matter how fast she thought she was going—she couldn’t escape her. If her body had been lost in the distance between them, her voice remained an echo in her head. Pinkamena’s words had an insatiable hunger to them, always nipping at her heels with a sharp tongue.

It never stopped and it never would.

She didn't realize she had been running until she felt the grueling strain in her legs. Pinkie was heaving, nostrils flaring, while she bent over to catch her breath. Within the reflection of the polished rails, she could see Pinkamena's eyes illuminating within them. Her breathing was steady.

Pinkie Pie looked back at her with gasping pants.

You couldn’t escape the Mare in the Mirror. The miles put between you and her were only inches to Pinkamena.

“…Why are you doing this?” Pinkie rasped finally succumbing to her fatigue.

She was tired of running. Tired of fighting.

For a moment, Pinkamena's jaw tensed. No words were said. There was a flicker, not a complete spread curtain into her emotions, but a single crack. It was a shred of softness that had revealed remorse behind the wall of ice.

She felt bad. This wasn’t an estimated guess. A wince was all the evidence she needed.

The moment was spoiled when Pinkamena retreated behind a veil of mane over her eyes. She turned her cheek with a pensive stare, drilling holes into the floor.

“Look at me,” Pinkie coaxed, her anger dissolving when noticing there was a break. "Just…talk to me. We don't have to fight all the time."

She wriggled like a worm on a hook. Pinkie could tell the mare felt cornered, and when she was backed against a wall—her inborn instinct was to lash out.

“You know I'm the bane of your existence, quit pretending that you don't. My sole purpose will always be the inspiration behind my actions. Every once in a while, you approach me with this same conversation, and I entertain you with the same answer. This is how I will always be and this is how our relationship will forever stay.”

It was as if her hope was drained like that of a squeezed wet rag. It was washed down to the pit of her stomach, leaving an emptiness where it once resided in her heart. As always, Pinkamena had disappointed her by sticking to her ways and never allowing room for change.

“Fine,” Pinkie responded, hammering the final nail on the coffin.

If she didn't want to live in harmony, that was her choice. She had done what she could, but it appeared Pinkamena was here to stay as the odious being she always knew. If their destiny was to detest each other for the rest of time, so be it. She had thought, maybe…maybe Pinkamena had finally started to see the damage she was causing.

The rest of the walk to her room was painfully silent, and honestly, it was refreshing. The bickering, the games they played, and the blame was too much for one day. It was too much for one lifetime.

She placed her hoof on the door and swatted it open. It obeyed, revealing her untouched room in view. She kicked it closed behind her. Without a sound, she moved toward the window and pushed it open. The breeze immediately ruffled her mane. Resting her chin on the window seal, she sat onto the plush pillows giving her a generous view of the castle.

The sunset created a fiery display in the sky. Orange and red warred within the airspace creating a beautiful mesh of color. The sun peeked above the hills from miles away, but the stars were beating it down to make way for the night. The entire day had been wasted.

The garden rested below her. Tables were set up with elegant silk cloths blowing freely in the wind. A few ponies quietly chatted with some bursts of laughter here and there to complete the mood.

“What strings do you think they had to pull to get an invite to the upcoming Gala?” Pinkamena asked, throwing her own forehooves over the window. “None of them look important, dare I say, commoners in expensive clothing.”

“Leave me alone,” Pinkie Pie said with vacant strength in her voice.

“Smell those bits burning. Say, how much do you all have in your budget? Everything is just so prestigious, you even thought of setting up oil tiki torches for the night.”

Her ear flicked. Tiki torches? This wasn't a beach party. Lanterns were being strung about, but no tiki torches.

They also didn't give off a smell like sulfur. They actually had quite a pleasant aroma even when used to keep mosquitoes away. The air…the air had a bit of heaviness to it and a faint whiff of stench.

Her head perked up, “is something burning?”

“Probably the arrival of the dragons. They’ve never been very stealthy, probably because you can smell them coming from a continent away.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it.” Pinkie denied, leaning farther over the edge to get a good look at the scenery. She took another sniff, “I know that smell. It’s a stinky smell I’ve never forgotten. It’s sulfur, easy to identify.”

“Sulfur? Yep, dragons.”

“No, you don’t get it. I recognize this smell—”

Something fell on her nose. She wiggled it before brushing it off onto her hoof to examine. It was a crinkled black speck, warm to the touch, that had a glowing outline around the edge.

Ash.

More began to fall. Like gentle snow, it fell in thin flakes. Pinkie couldn’t stop looking up to where a plume of smoke was beginning to gather in the distance.

She knew what this was. Deep inside her gut, she knew it.

“Making quite an entrance, aren’t they?” Pinkamena spectated, while heads began to lift upward to view the falling flakes.

"No…no," Pinkie Pie croaked, "they told me it wasn't real and that it was a cinnabar vein. My sisters wouldn't lie. They never lie to me!”

Something crackled. A crunching noise emerged, followed by a heavy exhale. The castle was trembling, but it was no earthquake. Something was scaling the side of the tower. Black scales sliced through the marble as if it were wet paper, and an eye as bright as the moon followed them.

A foggy breath emitted vapor as thick as a cloud, while a head peeked out from behind the coned roof. There was a cacophony of mutters, the creature’s sudden appearance mystifying the crowd. It looked at them, the slit in its eye being refreshed by its thin third-eyelid.

It arched its neck, throat grumbling, teeth bared—and roared.

The screech was stentorian! Pinkie ducked, the volume of it causing her to crash onto the floor with her hooves barricading her ears. The chandelier above her jingled, helplessly, putting a concerning strain on the plaster holding it up. No bout of thunder could hope to belittle the wyrm’s screech. It was the sound of a battle horn that raked over Equestria with unmatched dominance.

Like a python on a branch, it coiled the tower. Its size and appearance were gigantic but nearly invisible against the darkening sky. Ropes of saliva flung from its jaws when it faked out the audience with a lunge, snapping aimlessly in their direction. Pinkie was stone-cold, ashen, and quaking so hard Pinkamena noticed.

"Chill, you know it's not real. Relax, enjoy it."

The wyrm released its hold, divebombing toward the ground where it collided with the garden. A shockwave caused the tables to be blown into the wall, with some ponies smacking against them. The beast’s tail flipped up, head burrowed in the grass, before digging beneath the earth’s crust.

“…I stand corrected,” Pinkamena admitted.

It had enough strength to rattle the ceiling. Pinkie shielded her head as chunks of the roof came crashing down onto the floor. The entire castle was shivering! Dust shot into the air, furniture was damaged, and the door to escape her room was blocked with fallen debris. So much for getting out.

Its muzzle suddenly popped out, nearly gouging a stallion trying to flee. He was flung into the air, squabbling to the point of tears. Bushes were torn, a wave of dirt flared into the air, while the creature tore through the ground with a destructive magnitude.

It was chaos, and many ponies were left behind. Others were stranded without the energy to move and some were unconscious.

Pinkie’s stomach felt like she had ingested spoiled milk. What should she do? What could she do? What was this thing?

Pinkie flattened herself against the wall under her window. She hoped to avoid more cascading damage, “I think he followed me here!”

A stallion screamed as he was flung toward them both. His face smacked just below the window seal, limbs sprawled, with his body bouncing off the rock like a rubber ball. He fell into the bushes below.

“Oh my gosh!” Pinkamena gasped, looking downward toward the print he had made. “Twilight’s insurance plan is going to need some negotiating.”

The stallion groaned.

“Take this seriously!” Pinkie shouted, watching more of the ceiling start to crack and spew puffs of dust.

The wyrm was met with resistance when it was walled by a puff of fire. Grinding his teeth, he used his meaty tail to clear the flames. The light was smeared, the smoke dimming, while a small turquoise dragon leveled herself in front of his eyes. Her sword hardly stood against the size of the wyrm’s teeth, but she still wielded it with near-foolish bravado.

She raised her weapon and it caused a rallying cry.

Without delay, she jabbed it forward and skewered the flesh between his jaws. The wyrm reeled, gumming the toothpick lodged between his lips, before shaking his head to fling it off. It hadn’t punctured very deep only because Ember had the courtesy to give him a warning first.

She barrel-rolled forward, mid-air, before catching her airborne sword within her claws.

The creature didn’t appear to have as much finesse and agility as Ember. The draconic overlord was swift while the wyrm blundered with every move.

“I tugo ne laukkopj fiht chea, zah I fipp xowouh chea,” he said, pulling back to draw distance between them.

He opened his jaws. First, there was a spark in the back of his throat. It warmed into light as big as a football before expanding into a mass that dwarfed just about every creature there. The fire gushed forward, sizzling when pouring out with the strength of a pressure hose.

“Woah!” She cried, batting her wings with two quick beats to maneuver away from it.

It drank up the garden. Leaves browned, the grass caught fire, and metal fences bowed when curling to the heat.

“I’ve got to get down there and help!” Pinkie cried, throwing a hindleg over the seal before growing nauseated when viewing the height. “Oh, that’s so very high…mmgh, so high.”

There was no way other than this to get down. Unfortunately, the height's view would kill her faster than the crushing weight of the marble falling from her ceiling.

Ember continued trying to escape the vortex, but it had surrounded her. A rugged tail swept out into the open from the cage of flames and clipped her without warning. The sucker punch caught the dragon off guard. The surprise alone caused her to crumble and her wings to buckle.

She dropped out of the air like a fly, spinning down like a corkscrew into the lake of fire below. Unable to right herself, her wings flailed around like a tattered flag. Her sword slipped through her claws. She tried to grasp at the hilt but to no avail. There was a snap, crisp as a bullwhip, before a group of balloons secured her fall. With a grunt, her body collided with them, but the impact wasn't harmful. Pressing her claws against them to test the stability, she wrinkled her brow.

“What in the—”

“Yoo-hoo,” a voice greeted, only accompanied by disembodied eyes. “Forgive me, my memory isn’t as profound as it was six millennia ago. Have we met?”

Discord materialized beside the wyrm, leaning an elbow against his horn. He knocked on it before levitating in front of his muzzle and snapping on a rubber glove. With a sagged lip, Discord pulled down his own horn, which stretched into a stethoscope—that he pressed against the wyrm’s scaly plating.

“Interesting, I don’t believe I can detect a heart under all that ruthlessness. I had to check for myself before believing such rumors. Ruining a Gala after these ponies put such passion into it, how heartless.”

The wyrm’s lip curled. He then spewed dry smoke into Discord’s face.

Waving the wisps away, he responded, "I'm afraid you've wandered onto private property without an invitation. You see—”

Between two claws, an envelope appeared.

“—I’ve been invited, you on the other hand, have not.”

A shadow fell over Discord as the wyrm arched his spine. Opening his jaws, he prepared another round.

The draconequus was unaffected, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Politely of course.”

His body suddenly twisted into a cannon where a detached eagle claw lit a fuse. It ate its way down the string, sparkling, as the wyrm’s throat expanded with heat. He released his lethal breath which bloomed into a cloud of fire. The fuse burnt down to the wick and snapped the cannon into firing. A cannonball rolled through the air with a whistle, before lodging itself in his throat.

The flames never left his teeth. The leviathan choked and smoke billowed from his gums. The force knocked him onto his back with a mighty crash.

He flailed, hacking on the metal in his esophagus, while Discord reverted back to normal.

“Please do come back when you receive an invitation.”

Pinkie grappled her back hoof into a crevice. Vines had crawled their way up the stonework which passed as emergency make-do rock-climbing gear. It could support her weight. She tested by tugging at them with all her strength. She could climb down, but she had to be careful. At this height a fall could be lethal.

Especially since a wyrm was causing quakes with every move.

“Why am I so high? I’ll never get down,” she said aloud.

“Quit your bellyaching,” Pinkamena rebuked, “you’ve been much higher than this today. This is a breeze compared to what Tree Hugger put you through.”

Pinkie entangled herself with the thickest vine closest to her. She wrapped it around her wrist and hoof. Giving it an extra tug, she then lowered her body downward. There was a dull thump, the castle shook, and Pinkie was juddered to where her grip loosened.

She cried out, quickly securing her footing by scrambling her back hooves onto rocky ledges sticking out.

Small pebbles fell and clinked on her head. The wall steadied.

The sky crackled, and a rainbow trail lit up the darkness. Something sliced through the haze with the speed of a bullet—causing a sound that mimicked sharp thunder.

Dash emerged while delivering a solid kick into the wyrm’s cheek.

Pinkie slipped, and a stone was pulled out from under her. She dangled, clutching the vine by pulling it close to her chest and face.

She couldn’t watch the battle unfold thanks to her position, but she could hear the snapping of jaws.

Rainbow Dash cried out, or grunted, she couldn’t tell.

Something unfurled from behind the tower of smoke. A purple beam with the accuracy of a laser pointer stormed past her shoulder. It caused a fierce wind to kick up, blowing Pinkie away from the wall. The vine thinned, unable to support her weight, forewarning a snap. Pinkie Pie screeched, and in the nick of time, was able to grab another vine before it broke apart.

Her face was sweating. She was never going to make it down!

“Could you guys dial it down, please?!” She hollered over the raging war happening below. “Cause, there’s gonna be no more parties if Pinkie Pie breaks her spine! I’m serious, I really, really, don’t want to break my spine!”

Twilight vigorously flapped her wings, horn smoking, as she shot past Pinkie with another gathering wad of magic.

“Are you seeing this? This is nuts!” Pinkamena commentated, levitating as if she were leaned back in a chair. “Discord is proving to be the real MVP.”

As if on cue, the draconequus' cannon went off. There was a thud from two things colliding before Pinkamena’s eyes widened.

“Duck,” she barked.

“Goos—" Pinkie was cut off as a deflected cannonball smashed into the rock beside her head. The vines snapped and she was immediately dropped a little lower.

The shockwave caused her hold to weaken. She held firm, nose scrunched, and eyes tightly sealed shut while waiting it out. She could feel a thick dust cloud swallow her. It burned her nose, and her lungs gasped, causing whooping coughs when she tried to seek fresh air.

“Why didn't you just wait under a table until the shockwave was over? You're going to fall," Pinkamena asked.

Pinkie fanned her face, “ugrgh…so much dust. I have to help, Pinkamena! I can use my Pinkie Senses to get out of this...I don't have a choice! If there's a twitchy-twitch it means—"

Her tail twitched. She looked up, and her senses were correct.

A large gargoyle had been knocked from its pedestal. Its rugged head was tumbling right down toward her, causing the wind to howl around it! She looked around quickly. There were no vines to cling onto and no rocks close enough to change positions. She was trapped and the shadow was growing larger by the second.

"Jump!" Pinkamena suggested, "there are bushes below you. It broke a pony's fall not too long ago. Aim for them!"

Pinkie pushed herself off of the wall immediately. She didn’t know why Pinkamena’s urgent tone made her listen, but it did.

She was airborne, and while falling, the gargoyle had scraped a gash in the side of the tower. In its wake, it left a path of sparks that had created scorch marks. If she hadn't listened to The Mare in the Mirror, she would have been flattened on the ground below. Pinkie Pie’s back hit the bushes, while the statue slammed on the grass in front of her—splitting in two.

The gardens were overtaken by noxious fumes. Pinkie had to plug her nose by slapping a hoof over her muzzle. The sharpness of the smoke coaxed tears from her eyes and it washed some of the ash shelved on her cheeks. Spitting out some leaves in her mouth, she poked her head above the bushes.

Shaking his head like a mad dog, he had Ember's wing caught in his jaws. She was flung around like a battered chew toy. Sharply flicking his head to his side, she was released and tossed into a tree trunk.

He roared, moving forward and flattening fences with his weight.

Ember rolled onto her shoulder, and his stomach slithered past her, missing her completely. She had taken refuge behind a boulder and peeked out with a cautious gaze. Smoke snaked from the wyrm’s nostrils while he eyed the nimble Wonderbolt buzzing around him. She was using her speed and flight as a distraction to deter attention away from the Dragonlord.

Unfortunately, she was as big as a rabbit to him, and her kicks and punches went mostly unnoticed.

While Dash acted like a fly swarming the wyrm's ears, it followed her through the air before being led to rest its gaze on Pinkie.

The two stared at each other.

His lip twitched. Pinkie squeezed her thighs together to keep from wetting herself.

Pinkamena casually sauntered from behind her and sat on the grass, "if you stand completely still, he probably can't see you. Lizards detect movement with that weird flicking tongue thing—I’m pretty sure. Well, about eighty percent positive. Either that or they detect thermal heat or something.”

Worming out of his closed jaws, a slimy tongue fluttered in Pinkie’s direction.

“Ha, so they can do that! Who knew? Go me for remembering herpetology! But that means two things—” Pinkamena stopped for a moment so that she could approach Pinkie further, “—he can smell you and he sees you. What's your top running speed? For scientific purposes, of course."

“H-H…help me,” Pinkie said with a painfully high-pitched beg.

“Oh, so now you want my help?

His mouth parted, teeth partially visible from behind his lips. He moved forward, and Pinkie tried to tug her legs away, but they wouldn't move. She was caught like a deer in headlights and frozen from the waist down.

Tipped over tables crunched and burst in a firework of splinters when he slithered over them. Anything in his path was crushed like an egg. Pinkie couldn’t begin to guess what her bones would do under that weight.

A blue smudge in the sky voiced concern, “is that Pinkie down there? He’s going to flatten her!”

“Mmmgh,” Pinkie wheezed, paralyzed from doing anything but watch the beast crawl toward her with a gaping maw.

Rainbow Dash did a back swoop, putting her hooves forward while tightening her wings against her sides to gain speed.

The wyrm noticed, and when Dash tried to cut his path, he headbutted her. Knocked out of balance, she spiraled out of control. She landed head-first into a boulder and plopped onto the grass, unmoving.

He did not stop. Outstretching his jaws with the intent to swallow her whole, the ground bounced and shook with his approach. When he was meters away, the beast turned his head and crashed his teeth into the dirt.

Pinkie’s vision went dark. All she could see were the ridges from inside his mouth. Her rump was scooped up into his maw. Dirt and grass enveloped them both while she felt the prison-like jaws snap close.

There were muffled screams and cries. Her hooves stuck out instinctively and pressed up against his gums to barricade herself. Pinkie could feel the damp and sticky floor beneath her writhe like a beheaded snake.

“Ewwww, ewwwww!” She wailed, lifting her forelimb to reveal a coat of saliva dripping down it. “Pleeeeease don’t swallow me!”

Pinkamena appeared leaning against a canine as big as a pillar, “look on the bright side.”

Pinkie’s lip was quivering, “what bright side?’

“You could have died by drowning in elephant diarrhea.”

There was bitter silence initiated by Pinkie. She couldn't believe this mare! She didn't have time to entertain Pinkamena's comment because it appeared the wyrm had, abruptly, taken his meal to go. He lurched forward, and it caused Pinkie to sprawl backward and bump her head on his front teeth.

He was digging. The sudden drop in temperature gave it away.

Suddenly, moonlight was welcomed into her toothy cave. He had spat her out onto a hard mound of dirt. Her body plopped onto the ground with a moan and a wet slap. The first thing she noticed was that the castle was nowhere in sight. She was surrounded by trees. Not a soul joined her in the grove.

Shakily bringing a head up, her muzzle met that of the wyrm’s.

His eyes were otherworldly. A curious heat radiated from them. They had an ominous glow and a waxy shine that reflected Pinkie’s own stare.

“Jmour iw chea tugo—” he stopped, tipping his head and poking Pinkie’s ribs with the tip of his nose. “—fekxj fekht hto pijhoninv?”

"I-I'm sorry I don't know what you're saying! I have a friend…S-Spike, y-yeah, he knows how to speak to drakes. Why don't we just relax here, play a little game of I-Spy, and get to know each other until Twilight finds us? S-Sound fair?"

He blinked. She didn’t think he understood anything she just said.

“Okay, I’ll start…I spy with my little eye—” she hastily looked around before squinting at something in the sky. “—Celestia?”

The wyrm looked confused.

There was a sound as if the sky itself had split. A combined twirling spear of magic spiraled toward the behemoth. It impaled him with such force his scales shattered and fell like rain upon the grass. He mewled, falling heavily onto his side with an agonized groan.

Two alicorn silhouettes blocked the moon. Their faces were hardened, horns expelling a bit of smoke, while their sturdy wings kept them in the air.

Like a unit from a disciplined cavalry, they worked as one. Luna took to the ground, volleying spikes of magic taking a physical form. Celestia casted a spell that looked more like a swamping wave of light.

This overwhelmed the wyrm. He shied away from the prickling barbs Luna used to back him into a corner. He was then pushed into the side of a rocky hill by the sun Alicorn’s ribbons of luminescence.

His spines broke the stone behind him. He couldn’t fight against it as if he were swimming against a current.

Princess Luna slammed her hooves into the dirt, securing her stance with a twist, before discharging advanced arcane magic. It was so powerful, it caused the wyrm to collapse out of exhaustion on the spot.

He fell forward, stomach still glowing from the attack, before crashing on his jaw.

A fang popped out of his gums and bounced on the grass. With a slice, it landed tip first into the dirt at Luna’s hooves.

His breathing was labored while Celestia landed. Her wings neatly tucked themselves away while she tentatively approached.

“Zkuinfujtox jpugo—”

Celestia interrupted him, “—don’t you dare utter those words. They are forbidden, you are forbidden!”

His lip peeled, revealing gnashed teeth behind them. Pinkie swallowed thickly. It didn't appear he was ready to admit defeat.

“You forget your place, old foe.” Luna reminded, “your master perished eons ago, and to provoke a war that was laid to rest is quite foolish. It will only result in your own demise.”

“Why now?” Celestia mused, “two thousand years of silence. Why do you emerge? Why now out of all those years? Unless—”

She looked deep into his eye. His loathing bled out from his expression with such a thickness, the tension could be cut with a butter knife. Pinkie could see Celestia's back bristle, her feathers ruffled, and a bit of perspiration dribble down her neck. The princess was afraid, terrified, and it left a sour taste in the air.

Nothing ever shook Celestia, but records were meant to be broken.

“—She can’t be alive,” the alicorn whispered feebly.

Without warning, the wyrm retreated into the ground faster than the princesses could counter. Gone.

When the earth had settled, the group still remained shaken.

Celestia immediately went to drape Pinkie in a secured wing. The two didn't speak. Words were unnecessary. While she listened to the hammering drum in the alicorn's chest, her eyes wandered to a mare in the shadows.

Pinkamena's frame was tense and her eyes had drastically darkened. Following her line of sight, she found it lingering with hostility on one pony, and one alone.

Celestia.