The Entity of Chaos

“See, Tantalus never achieved the escape of death. Because the fruit on the branches were just always out of reach, ever eluding his grasp. And the water in the stream receded every time he stooped down to drink. So that’s why we say things today, like…”

Miles pauses to let out a wistful sigh as he stares off into the distance.

“Just look at that tantalizing—“

Fluttershy abruptly interrupts by clearing her throat in mild embarrassment, hiding her face behind the tea cup in her grasp.

“What?” Miles deadpans, feigning a clueless act of innocence — his eyes still gazing ahead at the figure working behind the espresso bar locked in conversation with a blonde mare.

“Well, a thousand pardons if I don’t find it wrong of me to admire one’s eye-catching aesthetics from a distance. A stallion can admire whomever he pleases, can’t he?” He scoffs into his cup of coffee.

Fluttershy meekly shrugs her shoulders and slightly nods in simple reply with a brief raise of her brows, occupied with the task of taking sips from her tea in silence. But Miles was restless, still nursing his coffee and spewing odd remarks here and there in his odd moment of neurasthenia.

Nervousness creases his brows as he seemingly mulls over his thoughts in silence, his hindleg restlessly bouncing up and down underneath the table.

Then —

“I’m going over there.” He suddenly says.

Fluttershy practically sputters into her cup. She immediately whips up a napkin from the table to press to her mouth and shoots a confused look at him, but she’s barely able to spare a word before Miles is already out of the booth, heading over to the bar.

Worrying her bottom lip, Fluttershy throws back the rest of her cooled tea in one swig and abandons their table to reconvene with him at the bar, where Miles has taken occupancy in a seat in his own company. Fluttershy quietly slides onto the stool beside his own, exchanging a fleeting look of hesitation, but Miles simply inhales proudly in response and politely clears his throat, straightening up when a familiar voice pipes up cheerfully from behind the mahogany counter.

“Welcome to The Espresso Room, glad ta’—” The barista whisks around to greet Miles, but stills the second their gazes meet. “Hold on, you look a might familiar. I’ve seen you here before, haven’t I?”

“Ah, well you see—“ Miles starts, trying arduously to suppress every socially awkward tendency he felt rising to the surface.

“You’re the one who always orders the uh, the fruitcakes, right?”

Miles gives a small timid chuckle at the remark and slightly nods his head, averting his crinkled eyes down at the wooden bar table instead.

“Yeah, that’s me. I come here quite often — my good friend here, not so much. She’s more of a tea enthusiast.” Miles rests a hoof on Fluttershy’s shoulder in a weak attempt to coax her into the conversation, but she only smiles shyly, gives the barista a small wave and averts her gaze at the artwork on the walls in distraction.

“Sorry, she’s a little shy.” Miles adds, casting her a side glance. “But this gal here — she’s my partner in crime.”

“Ah, I see.” The comment earns a chuckle from the barista and an acknowledging nod of his head. “Pleasant to meet you, dear. It’s good ta’ have the both of y’all here. The name’s Cider Tart, by the way. Pleasure to officially meet you, sir.” Cider extends his hoof out in a mindful manner, and Miles practically overflows with joy as he accepts the hoof shake, trying to refrain from being too over enthusiastic with it.

“Sir? Oh please, no need with the formalities.” A warm laugh escapes Miles as he parts from the touch, waving a hoof dismissively in the air. “Muse Silverdrop, but you can call me Miles.”

“Oh, of course. Will do, Miles.” Cider gives a small nod of his head with that same charming smile etched into his demeanor, and Miles couldn’t help but let out a small exhale at the sight of his features lit up by the early morning sunrise flooding in through the windows. Even Fluttershy seems to pick up on Miles’s moment of unmistakable infatuation, that she hides her face behind her hair to direct her playful tease of a smile in his direction, to which Miles sees and reacts with a poorly restrained blush and a discreet nudge of her hind leg underneath the table to get her to quit it.

This only made Fluttershy grin wider.

However, in an effort to keep Cider’s interest and evade Fluttershy’s teasing gaze, Miles hones his attention back to the bar instead, tucking his hoof underneath his chin to lean in closer to the bar in a display of interest.

“So... Cider Tart, huh?” Miles regards questioningly in a manner of playful intention. Cider lets out a small, charming laugh as he tilts his head to the side in a partially shy nod.

“Yeah, I know. What’s a pony with a pastry cutie mark doing in a coffee shop? Well, what I lack in coffee expertise, I make up with whipping up one helluva’ pastry. It helps the business, y’know. The apple turnovers are my specialty here, but I dabble.” Cider cracks a smile as he gestures a hoof at the espresso machines behind him, and Miles nods his head in acknowledgement with a smile just as wide to match his.

“So, anyways, what can I get y’all today? The house special?” Cider grins with all teeth and dimples, thick on his country accent. Even the way his thick curly brown hair curls over his forehead, bringing out the vibrant emerald of his eyes is charming and so tantalizing, Miles thinks to himself.

Miles doesn’t even think to say anything in response — so caught up in his infatuation that he doesn’t snap back to reality until Fluttershy firmly nudges his leg underneath the bar to redirect his attention to the question left unanswered.

Miles nervously clears his throat, trying to play it off with a bashful laugh.

“Ah, ahem, no sorry — I’ll just have the usual. Two to go this time, please.” Miles briefly turns his head towards Fluttershy, wearing a bright smile. “Can’t go wrong with a classic.”

“Right ya’ are.” Cider says with a gentle huff of laughter and nods, turning quick on his hooves to fetch a brown takeout bag. “Two fruitcakes, comin’ right up.”

Fluttershy could only watch from the sidelines in silence, casting Miles what is clearly a very confused glance. He leans down to her side, whispering to her a hasty “just go along with it, for me”. And if it was for the sake of her friend, well... There was nothing else she could really do but cooperate for his own sake.

“It’s ah, a little indulgence of mine.” Miles starts up again, leaning over the bar table to address the stallion. “Can’t possibly be good for me in the long term — what with my sweet tooth and all. But you can never really cut it out these days, y’know?” He chuckles lightly, the small spark of a conversation giving him a little glimmer of hope.

But Fluttershy wanted nothing more than to lay her head on the wooden table in defeat. What was he trying to do — bore him to death? She couldn’t stand to listen to much of the conversation out of sheer embarrassment — not that she would’ve been any better in a similar confrontation, though that didn’t mean it was any less painful to have to listen to her friend struggle though it while sitting in her little corner of quietude. So much so, that she eventually finds herself fumbling with the folded napkins as a distraction instead, trying to tune out the sounds of Miles’s blundering amiability.

“It’s a mighty fine indulgence, indeed.” Cider replies, neatly folding over the top ends of the bag to fold over and scoot over to Miles. “Quite unlike any other, if I say so myself.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly agree more.” Miles says gently, making eye contact with the barista for a little longer than he anticipates, and Miles abruptly clears his throat when Cider stares expectantly, starting to shift his features into a slightly more confused one.

“The — The cakes, I mean. A very fine indulgence, yes. Indeed.” Miles plays it off with a breathy laugh as he slides the brown takeout bag to his side of the table, glancing over to Fluttershy to signal it was time for their departure. She couldn’t look any more eager as she slides down from her bar stool, already making her way to the front door.

“Hey,” Cider suddenly pipes up, and Miles whips his head back around to attention with a slight curious quirk of his brow. “I put a little something extra in there for you two. On the house.”

“Oh,” Miles sighed out with a delighted raise of his brows, a trace of genuine gratefulness shifting his features. “You shouldn’t have. Goodness — you’re too kind.”

“Nonsense.” Cider waves it off nonchalantly. “It’s a new recipe I’ve been workin’ on, figured I’d let you have the honor of taste testing it for me.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to report back with my findings.” Miles coolly salutes in acknowledgement, however just before he could get himself wrapped up in another conversation, Fluttershy takes him by the hoof and urges him out of his seat. Indolently leaving his spot with a small grumble and an “okay, okay, we’re going now,'' Fluttershy spares a polite smile at Cider before gently coaxing Miles towards the diner door with a slight tug.

Miles bids him a chaste farewell, and Cider reciprocates with a small wave of his hoof in return.

“Y’all come back now, ya hear?”

_____

A heavy sigh carries through the room.

“Do you think he really meant it?” Miles says out of the blue, poorly-restrained worry dripping from his tone.

Fluttershy glances over at him from her hardly-eaten slice of fruitcake, partially clueless to what he meant.

“Y’all come back now…”

She raises her head in a moment of understanding to what he meant, but finds herself struggling to come up with some kind of pragmatic response. But Miles starts again before she could even construct one good enough.

“He noticed me.” Miles says, staring down at the fruitcake on his plate with a gleam in his eye as if it were the most precious thing in the world. “Like — really noticed me this time. You saw it too, right?”

Fluttershy nods gingerly as she pokes at her fruitcake in disinterest.

“Still, that did not go nearly as well as I’d hoped it would.”

Fluttershy takes in a slight breath fully intending to second that claim, though instead, scrunches up her face at the awkward taste on her tongue from the fruitcake on her plate. Miles notices this right off the bat and can’t help but let out an amused chuckle at the sight.

“What? Is the taste too much? You don’t have to finish it if you don’t like it.”

At that admission, Fluttershy politely pushes the plate away on the coffee table and takes a napkin to try to discreetly spit out the remains in her mouth, turning away to at least try to spare Miles the shame of it. But all he does is snicker amusingly.

“Well, since my refined tastes clearly don’t agree with your taste buds, should we try... the mystery pastry?” Miles comically pauses for dramatic effect, passing her half a slice of a turnover wrapped neatly in brown wax paper. She accepts it with a grateful smile and a hum of admiration, the scent of freshly baked pastries wafting through the small apartment air immediately lifting her spirits.

“Cheers.” They playfully tap their slices together before taking a bite. Almost immediately, their eyes widen in astonishment at the piquancy of flavor that burst across their taste buds.

“Wow.”

A moment of awe passes before they turn to glance at one another and right away, they bubble up with laughter and exchange contended hums of approval, hardly sparing any words as they indulged on their pastry’s abysmal sweetness.

“Ah, well.” Miles starts, sighing happily as he finishes off his half of the pastry. “At least we got something out of this whole mess, right?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it a complete mess.” Fluttershy answers gently, crumpling up the wax paper and discarding it on the coffee table near his. “He did smile back at you, even though your conversation was, um… maybe a little lackluster in some parts.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Or a lot of parts.”

“Gee, thanks.” Miles says flatly, slightly furrowing his brows at her but playing it off with a growing smile. Fluttershy counters with a shrug and her own demure smile, leaning back quietly into the couch cushions.

“I see how it is.” Miles playfully retorts, scoffing into his other plate of now-crumbled fruitcake. “I try to get somepony to like me, and that’s mystifying. And what about you?”

Fluttershy slightly quirks her brow in confusion, turning her gaze to Miles.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” Miles gently bumps his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, practically staring her down with that analytical gaze she knew of him well. That look Fluttershy knows she’s about to receive a lecturing in. But she merely sits still in silence, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone and turns tense with being tossed under the spotlight suddenly.

“You’ve been acting real strange lately. You’ve barely even spoken a word today. I know you’re naturally quiet, I get that, but this — this isn’t really like you.” Miles tenses his brows, tilting his head at her. But Fluttershy instinctively dips her head down with chagrin, purposefully avoiding eye contact with Miles.

“And It’s clearly more serious than fruitcakes, I can tell.” Miles’s voice dips softer in tone, and worry is clear on his face. “Is someone bothering you? Did something bad happen?” His tone of voice instinctively lowers in caution.

Right away, Fluttershy quickly shakes her head in denial and habitually fidgets with her mane.

“No, no. It’s — It’s nothing like that. It’s just — ” She stutters over her words, pausing briefly to take a reposing breath to ease her nerves before continuing. “I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

An incredulous scoff breaks the silence.

“Never mind me. Look at you, Dear.” Miles implores, worry ravaging his tone. “You look like you haven’t slept in millennia. I notice you don’t even smile as much as you used to. It’s like you’re… retreating back into your old self again. I can tell you’re hiding something like you’re scared to death of it. This isn’t like you.” He emphasizes his point by pressing a hoof to his chest, his bright eyes crestfallen. “This isn’t the you I know.”

A heavy sigh slips past her, and she swears she could feel her heart crumble.

“I’m sorry.” Is all Fluttershy musters, resulting in a defeated silence from Miles. But she takes an unsteady breath, hesitating with the words struggling to come out of her. Unsure of how to explain anything.

“It’s, um…” She starts, her grip unconsciously tightening into her mane. “It’s been these bad dreams. They’ve been keeping me up at night — I haven’t really slept.”

Miles’s ears flicker with interest, his brows rising slightly as he turns his head over to her.

“You’ve been having nightmares? For how long?”

Fluttershy nods and swallows, visibly tense just talking about it.

“For a while now.” Her voice shifts into a whisper, hiding her face away. “I can’t even begin to tell you what they are because I— I don’t even know what it is myself.” Her chest rises and falls with heavy sighs, feeling a tingle creep through her head with just trying to recall details of the nightmare. It makes her temples ache with a familiar pang.

“But It’s always the same. Every night.“ Her grip slowly falters from her hair, and she rests her hooves in her lap, staring down at them.

“I think It’s because I saw something I shouldn’t have at work.” She confesses, her tone of voice tensive. “In sector thirteen. I was assigned to clean the testing labs a couple weeks ago, but I heard them in the other room with something, and I heard… Oh, I heard the most awful noise. I think they were torturing a creature.”

Miles looks taken aback at her confession, mouth slightly parted, though quiet in waiting until Fluttershy comes to a short halt in her story to reflect in mild distress.

“Are you serious? What did you do?”

“I tried to see what was happening and I saw something. I don’t know what it was — I could only make out the shadows on the wall at first, but it saw me and looked at me with — with these piercing red eyes. I was so scared, I ran. But ever since then...” Fluttershy suddenly trails off, looking down into her hooves without another word to say next. Her mouth closes, and her tense shoulders sag.

“That’s when the nightmares started.” Miles finishes the sentence for her, putting the pieces of the puzzle together on his own.

“And they won’t stop.” The rosy mare says wearily, fidgeting with the feathers on her wings and mindlessly brushing them out as they talk.

“I’ve worked there for a long time, Miles. It’s a thankless, terrible job, but I need the wages.” Fluttershy sighs as her voice wavers. “But I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this. It’s gotten so bad, I’m having nightmares. I’ve never felt like this before.” Fluttershy lets her shoulders drop, and her voice raises an unusual octave higher, heated with worn out frustration consuming her frazzled nerves. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve made a huge mistake working here.”

A sigh slips from Miles in a wave of sympathy, his eyes wrought with heartache as she pours her heart out.

“Tell me—” She pleads, though pausing as if she were unsure of the words of the words that came from her. “Miles, what do I do?”

Miles hesitates, mouth parted in an incredulous manner but also with an indecisive answer stuck on his tongue.

“This is... My dear, I don’t...” Miles starts in uncertainty, his gaze stuck to the floor as he wracks his mind for some sort of resolve. But eventually, he winds up turning his gaze back to Fluttershy, reaching out for her hoof to give it a reassuring squeeze as he scoots closer to her, seeking her attention.

“I can’t tell you anything that will be worthwhile.” Miles confesses, but adds on posthaste. “As far as any real advice goes. But you know — when I was going through the exact same thing you’re going through right now, do you know how many times I wanted to throw in the towel and call it quits, but didn’t?”

Fluttershy furrows her brows, giving a terse shake of her head.

“Many times.” Miles shakes his head in ponderment. “Many times. There were so many days I spent wanting nothing more than to just run and hide and never look back. But I didn't, because eventually, you realize you can't just run away from your problems and expect them to disappear. That's the burden of the truth. You have to recognize the difference between wanting to give up and being fed up, though. And you know what I see?”

Fluttershy slightly shifts her brows in revelation, and Miles reaches out to extend a hoof for her to draw near. At first, she only casts it a side-glance, but eventually accepts the offer without complaint.

“I see somepony who's fed up and upset over the institute's transgressions. That's completely justified. Doesn't necessarily mean you want to give up, right? I can tell. Deep down, you know you don't want to."

Tugging her forward gently, Miles envelopes her in a hug, easing her head against his chest. She wordlessly accepts the embrace, settling in with a sigh.

“You’re a clever, clever girl.” Miles starts, uttering sincerities with that same fatherly worry written on his face. “You still have your youth — you’re so full of potential. Don’t let this world ruin such a beautiful thing.” He gently strokes a hoof through her rosy hair, then gives a small nudge of her shoulder to get her to sit up momentarily.

Fluttershy does, albeit reluctantly, and Miles could hardly restrain a small sigh at the disheveled sight of her. After a bit of silence, he even makes an effort to preen her messy mane out of her face as he carries on.

“You know, if I were young like you again, you know what I would tell myself?”

“What?” Fluttershy asks softly with piqued interest.

"Don't ever underestimate yourself. Always listen to your gut. Trust your instincts. I promise you, it will never lead you down the wrong path. But most importantly, listen to this: Don't take anypony's bullshit — I mean it, take it from an old stallion like me. I’ll tell you, in the end, it’s worth it.” Miles says with an exaggerated wave of his hoof, and he doesn’t expect the small laugh that bubbles up in Fluttershy’s throat. The small sound from her makes his heart want to burst with joy, but he carries on nonetheless.

"I'm not here to tell you how to live your life, but I will help you get through it. You're not crazy for having these nightmares, you know. You have such a soft spot for creatures and I think that's a wonderful trait, but it could easily become your downfall. You can't always save them all, my dear. You mustn't let it consume you." Miles rests a hoof upon her cheek, giving a tender tap in gentle reassurance in wake of the woeful expression changing her demeanor.

"You'll pull through this. I know you will. You really are stronger than you think you are. I mean, just look at how far you’ve carried all of this weight on your shoulders. Four years? I’ve known stallions who couldn’t put up a day of what you do. That’s the main difference between them and you — your strength of mind is unmatchable. It’s fucking incredible.” He says, amused to see the look of surprise on Fluttershy's face at his choice of words, and oh how he wanted nothing more than to be assured she would never become anything different than this.

“Pardon my language, but you know I’m right, don’t you? Of course you do. You’re Fluttershy. The most remarkable mare I’ve ever met in my lifetime, and I hope you never get tired of hearing that because I fully intent to tirelessly remind you of the fact. But I meant what I said, my dear."

Fluttershy tenses her brow in thoughtful ponderment, fidgeting with the locks of rosy mane in her grasp in quiet fretfulness.

“If there’s one thing you should do, you know what that is?”

“What?” She perks up, finally breaking her gaze away from her mane to cast them upward at Miles in wholehearted interest in what he has to say.

A proud smile crosses Miles’s face at that tiny glimmer of light anew in her bright blue eyes.

“You, my dear, fight like hell.”

_____

RING

RING

RING

A hoof slams over a blaring alarm clock, and Fluttershy sighs herself out of bed.

The stove boils hot water.

The bath runs warm water.

The animals are fed.

The calendar is changed.

Fluttershy flips over the small paper to read the quote of the day as part of her daily routine. Though this time, it stirs a cognizant smile from her.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY

Study the past if you would divine the future.

_____

“You two would not believe the day I’ve had.”

As Fluttershy’s soiled mop sweeps over the surface of the glistening bathroom tiled floor, the mare keeps her head down as a scientist walks up behind her and Zecora from the bathroom entrance with a clipboard in his grasp. She’s not sure who it is, and frankly, she's too nervous to glance behind the fallen locks of her mane occluding her vision to find out.

“And it’s only the crack of dawn. Crazy, ain’t it?” He comments idly as he washes his hooves in the sinks, smearing something inky-black all over the silver faucet without care. And Fluttershy swears she sees him purposefully drag it all over the clean counter surface too, pretending not to notice as he reaches for the towel left there to dry his hooves on.

The mare’s eyes just slightly widen and budding frustration flickers in her chest. She clenches her jaw and looks away, scrubbing the floors just a little harder.

She knows she can’t say anything.

“Sure is somethin’, huh.” The scientist mutters under his breath as he cracks a grin at the two mares, haphazardly tossing the used towel back on the counter.

“Oh, my bad. You’ll clean that up, wontcha?” The scientists cracks a condescending smile before sauntering out the door. And once he’s out of ear-shot, Zecora is the one to huff loudly in disapproval, matching Fluttershy’s same level of unspoken frustration.

And once Fluttershy draws near the counter — once sparkling clean, now a soiled mess — Zecora shakes her head in disapproval as she throws the soiled towels in the caddy bin.

“The greatest minds of a generation with no manners.” Zecora utters under her breath and snatches up a rag from the caddy to help clean up the mess. “At least for some of us, having a little common courtesy does matter.”

Fluttershy reacts with a nod and a light scoff as she gets to work on the counters, switching the sink on and wiping the viscous black fluid down the drain. What is this stuff, anyways?

She furrows her brow as she scrubs it down.

In the silence of the room, Zecora makes small talk in normality, exchanging life stories and jokes with one another to pass the time. Fluttershy spares her idle speculative comments here and there, her occasional small chuckles turning into laughter when Zecora recalls something especially entertaining.

With the counters fresh and new, Fluttershy begins to replace the soiled towels one by one until the sound of the bathroom door opening again catches her attention. This time she glances over, and the pleasant smile on her face vanishes, the laughter immediately dying in her throat.

Zecora awkwardly trails off in her laughter as well, clearing her throat politely in acknowledgement of a familiar stallions presence.

“Mr. Strickler. Excuse us—“

“Oh, no, don’t let me interrupt. You ladies seem to be chatting enjoyably.” Strickler says plainly, hardly any trace of hostile intention in his voice, however still ever so visually intimidating. “Don’t mind me.” He insists, waving a hoof in the air dismissively. “Carry on with your girl talk.”

His polished hooves click and echo against the tile as he wanders over to the sinks, relinquishing his hold of a strange black apparatus to set on the edge of the counter.

There’s a silver glimmer of light that shines in Fluttershy’s vision as she moves closer to the object, her eyes glued to the object in morbid curiosity as she moves close to restock the sinks with clean towels.

”Look. Don’t touch.” Strickler suddenly says as he washes his hooves, and Fluttershy instinctively tenses up at the sound of his tone of voice and immediately moves away when she wanders a little too close for his liking.

Heart pounding much too hard in her chest, Fluttershy re-assumes her spot near Zecora, the small towels in her grasp pressed to her chest insecurely.

After Strickler is done drying the water off his hooves, he steps into one of the stalls, but carries on talking regardless. It makes the entire exchange even more uncomfortable.

“That lovely thing right there is Calfabana-made. Hand crafted molded rubber grip, low-current, high voltage shock picana prod.” The words roll right off his tongue without hesitation or a single pause, clearly proud of this so-called “thing of beauty”.

“The name is Strickler. Security.” He says just as the stall door opens. Pulling a small carton of candies out from the pocket of his black coat with his magic, he steps to the sinks to glance at himself in the mirror, tilting his head back and forth from side to side to acclaim his appearance. A neat and short comb-over mane, black as coal and immaculate, not a single hair seemingly out of place. His light grey complexion intensifying the vivid golden hue of his irises. Lifting a hoof to spruce up his slicked back hair and flattening the strays around the base of his horn, he gives a contented hum. But just before he pulls away from the counter, he catches Fluttershy’s gaze through the mirror, making accidental eye contact.

Fluttershy quickly looks away in silence when she’s caught. Instead, staring down at the towels in her tight grasp.

Strickler slightly shakes his head as he casually pops a candy into his mouth, still staring at her reflection in the mirror. “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” He says through a half-hearted smirk.

Fixing his gaze on the cattle prod, he snatches the wand off the counter and slides it back into the Velcro holster strapped to his waist before sauntering off towards the doors. But just before he departs, he turns around, sparing a slight farewell wave.

“You ladies have a nice day now.” Strickler says, obviously feigning a real smile.

And just like that, he’s gone.

Fluttershy’s shoulders fall as she lets out the breath she didn’t even know she was holding, easing her tense hold on the towels pressed tight to her chest. She glances over at Zecora, who is clearly just as disturbed from the unexpected encounter. They exchange brief exasperated glances before going back to the task at hoof, though the air between them this time is tensely quiet.

Zecora gestures at the counters for Fluttershy to hurriedly tidy up, and the mare does so obediently in her silence. But as Fluttershy reaches out to set a fresh towel on the edge of the sink, something glistening catches her eye.

Blood.

_____

The sound of a wet mop sloshing against the tile ground disrupts the quietude in the halls — an eerie silence casting over Sector 13 as the scientists had long since dispersed to their duties in the laboratories and gone on their lunch breaks. Only the occasional on-duty guard briskly passes by to monitor the corridors, but even then, they didn't spare any passing chit chat.

As the afternoon lull dawns on them, Fluttershy sweeps and mops in silence, her mind completely disconnected from the menial task as she moves on autopilot. Instead, razing over swarming thoughts. As is Zecora — who's occupied with scrubbing a stubborn oil stain on the ground while lost in her own mind. Despite the silence, neither of them talked, still trying to contend their disconcerted nerves from the unexpected encounter with Strickler earlier.

Leaning herself against the stick of the broom, Fluttershy sweeps the back of her hoof across her forehead to dry the sheen of sweat forming on her temples from the laborious work on her haunches. Turning to face Zecora, she spares a modestly relieved smile.

“I’m finished.” Her voice comes purposefully gentle, as to not disturb the placid quietude of her friend’s own work. This gauges her attention and Zecora lets out a satisfied hum.

“Alright my dear, I’m just about done here. We should grab some lunch now, yes?” Zecora says, leaning back on her hind legs to glance up at Fluttershy with a reciprocating smile. “I think we’ve earned the right to some rest.”

Softly giggling behind the broom to which Zecora spares her own airy laughter, Fluttershy steps over to the caddy to shelf her cleaning supplies, hearing her friend rise with a small grunt and toss her own scrub brush into an empty bucket. But their exchange of smiles and laughter were fleeting.

Instead, replaced with sudden fright.

A conspicuous noise interrupts their moment of palaver — something sounding suspiciously like a gunshot echoes through the halls. It startles them from their stupors with a jolt, their eyes drawing towards one another with confusion and fear etched into their faces. Though before Zecora could get a word out, the facility gives a sudden tremble beneath them, drawing a frightened gasp from Fluttershy.

Even the fluorescent hallway lights momentarily fail, flickering in and out from a strange power fluctuation that leaves them temporarily stranded in the tenebrous dark before the lights are able to kick back on.

Fluttershy finds herself trembling where she stands, feeling her throat clamp up with that familiar creeping of anxiety. Struggling to formulate a sentence in the presence of fear, she's cut short when she hears a shrill scream emanate from down the hall.

She instinctively drops the broom from her grasp and rushes to Zecora in fright — who winds up standing in front of her as a line of protection. As they peer down the hall together in curious regard, their question as to the source of the quandary eventually answers itself.

The scream had come from T4.

Fluttershy flinches in alarm as the vault door opens with a loud clamor, a blare of emergency alarms basking the hallway in an ominous red tone. A figure slowly emerges from the doorway, limping and stumbling into the middle of the hall — and until the odd figure stepped into the light, everything came into full clarity.

It was Strickler.

The arm of his suit coat had been violently ripped apart, three deep claw wounds slicing his left forearm wide open. Blood spurs down his uninjured arm in rivulets as he grips tight at the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding with pressure, but it was to no avail. His once cold, intimidating eyes were wide with shock, donning a thousand yard stare.

As Strickler unsteadily emerges from the shadows of the hall and into the overhead light, there's a rough, ragged fracture where his horn used to be.

Losing the strength in his back legs, Strickler collapses in the middle of the hallway right before their eyes, unable to keep himself upright any longer. That’s when Fletching comes rushing out from inside T4 to hurriedly drop at Strickler’s side, his face as pale as a ghost as Strickler’s blood trickles and smears against his white lab coat.

“Help!!” Fletching shouts, frantic over the clamor of alarms going off. “We need help! He’s bleeding out!”

As a plethora of armed guards come hurriedly marching forth, a team of medical staff in their trail, Zecora backs away and urges Fluttershy with her — who is cowering wide-eyed, face just as pale as Fletching's.

“Don’t look, don’t look.“ Zecora whispers to Fluttershy with unease as she tugs on her pinafore, trying to draw her away from the sight. Eventually, Fluttershy gives in to Zecora’s insistence and she tears her gaze away from T4, following Zecora’s leave as she hastily rolls the caddy in tow down the hall in the opposite direction.

With alarms blaring and whistles blowing in a state of ubiquary panic, they hurriedly flee the scene with their hearts racing in their chests.

____

“In all my years, I have never seen anything like it.” Zecora reflects in a hushed tone, leaning in close to Fluttershy to avoid eavesdroppers from listening in. “What do you suppose it was? Surely no ordinary pony could have been the cause.” She speculates in idle conversation.

“I— I don’t know.” Fluttershy shakes her head and shrugs unknowingly, reflexively stroking the stray locks of her light pink mane. “That was a lot of… you know. Do you think he…” Fluttershy trails off, letting the unspoken implication speak for itself.

Zecora catches on fairly quick to the mare’s connotation and looks down at her lunch, picking at her food with her lapsing appetite.

“With a traumatic injury of that nature sustained, there’s no second guessing the fact that he must be extremely pained.” Zecora notes, giving a slight tilt of her head in thought. “However to answer your question, yes.” She adds, discussing the situation in a hushed whisper. “He’ll survive, albeit under severe duress.”

Fluttershy nods in acknowledgement of Zecora’s claim, but her mind is still reeling with thoughts, theories, and questions.

“Hey Zecora,” Fluttershy suddenly pipes in, brows slightly furrowed together. “You don’t think—”

“Hey! You two!”

Fluttershy and Zecora perk up and instinctively whip around at the loud voice calling across the span of the cafeteria, only to meet the sight of a familiar stallion running up to them in a hurry — Mr. Fletching, with glasses askew and blue mane a mess.

Zecora is the first to rise to attentiveness, her concerned features casting attention to the seemingly frazzled stallion. He approaches them practically out of breath, eyes only sparing the cleaning mare’s a second’s worth of a glance before his gaze immediately darts back behind him in what seemed like a matter of most pressing importance.

Fluttershy, although quiet from where she sits, is keenly aware of this and swallows fearfully.

“I need both of you to come with me right now.” Fletching demands, waving a hoof at the both of them in a gesture for them to follow immediately.

“Now?” Zecora presses in confusion. “Sir, no disrespect, but it’s the middle of our lunch — we’ve barely ate! This could not possibly wait?”

“No, It’s urgent. There’s nopony else available in the sector. Just come with me— Now, please.” Fletching insists with hardly a tinge of tolerance in his tone, clearly not willing to put up with any more than he already had on his plate.

Without question, Zecora lamentably abandons her cafeteria lunch and urges Fluttershy to rise from her seat with a hasty wave of her hoof, a look of indignation portrayed across Zecora’s demeanor. Though Fluttershy knows it isn't directed at her, she still rises from her seat quietly and assumes her usual spot at her friend's side in compliance, not wanting to put up any more of a hassle for either one of them.

“Come. The sooner we go, the quicker we’ll be done.” Zecora presses unenthusiastically, already making her way out of the cafeteria in haste.

By then, Fletching is already halfway down the hall before they have to sprint to catch up with him.

_____

On the periphery of the vault's entrance, the stench of blood is unmistakable.

Fluttershy is keen to keep her eyes down-turned elsewhere, avoiding the lurid sight of Strickler’s freshly smeared blood trail on the floor. Even the smell of it was fetid — the hallway air heavy with the stench of a strange conglomerate of blood and mysterious fluids. Even Zecora was no less unaffected — seen scrunching her nose up in revulsion. Despite neither of them saying a word, they were both undoubtedly thinking the same thing.

Fletching wastes no time in handling the whole ordeal, extremely careful to avoid the mess on the ground by standing on the tips of his hooves as he hastily reopens the vault door with a firm swipe of his key card. When the vault door pulls apart for reentry, the blood trail could be visibly seen continuing into the center of the room.

Fluttershy winces at the sheer amount of it, going slightly weak at the knees in dread of the task to render it spotless. While she’s cleaned her fair share of questionable spills since working here — including that of some rather obscure fluids — never has she ever seen anything quite like this.

“You two have twenty minute to clean this up. I want it pristine. Spotless.” Fletching says demandingly, and as he glances down at the sheer mess of blood, even his face wrenches up in utter disgust.

“Jeez.” He idly mutters under his breath as he turns away, pulling a handkerchief from his lab coat pocket to press against his nose to staunch the smell. “When I come back, I want all of this gone.” Fletching wildly gestures his hoof across the expanse of the floor, and on his way out, yells over his shoulder without sparing a parting glance at all. “Twenty minutes!”

“Yes, sir.” Zecora says in response, though it earns nothing but a dismissive wave by Fletching in return. He disappears around the corner in seconds without another word.

Left to tend to the mess, Zecora wordlessly pushes in the cleaning caddy with a frazzled exhale, fetching the cleaning buckets from the bottom compartment to fill with clean water. But when she turns to address Fluttershy’s task, she stills.

Fluttershy is frozen in place, standing statuesque still at the brink of the massive vessel in the room, eyes fixated on the bioluminescent fluid's swirl and flow, small bubbles rising to the top from the oxygen exchange mingling with a strange effervesce of magic. Even the vessel itself seems to buzz with energy, giving off a consistent background hum from the generators they're all connected to.

But that wasn’t really what her attention was drawn to.

Fluttershy finds herself gazing into the wide open tank built into the ground, exposed and accessible to where she could touch the mysterious fluids. Tempting her, beckoning.

“Fluttershy?”

Caught up in her daze, Fluttershy doesn't respond or acknowledge the voice behind her at all.

Something draws her near — something indecipherably enticing, a strong invitation luring her in. She tries to wade through the deluge of muddled whispers fading in and out of her subconscious, trying to grab onto the vestige of the call that just feels familiar. But just as she would come close to taking hold, it would slip out from under her grasp.

Such a familiar call, she swears she’s heard it before...

The waters were too murky for her to see very far into, and Fluttershy is left feeling more addled and confused now more than ever when her reverie is harshly severed by the grounding sensation of a hoof on her shoulder, pulling her back to attention with a start.

”—Fluttershy! Are you alright?”

Turning to Zecora in haste, Fluttershy blinks, shaking off the odd feeling wracking her nerves.

“Y—Yes. Sorry.” She stutters, habitually messing with her hair to push away at the stray strands occluding her vision. “Um, I was just—” She fumbles over her words, gesturing a hoof at the vessel to imply she'd been observing.

“Is that all? You appeared to be in somewhat of a fright.” Zecora’s tone is questioning, skeptical. Fluttershy stands by her answer and merely shakes her head, trying to look anywhere else but the blood smear in the middle of the room.

“No, I’m— I’m fine.” Fluttershy says quietly, averting her gaze elsewhere to avoid confrontation.

“In that case, come help me fill these buckets with water, will you? We have much to do.”

Fluttershy nods in complaisance as she makes her way towards the built-in water line near the entrance, grabbing the bucket handle in between her teeth and dropping it down right underneath the spigot. Twisting the faucet and letting it fill with water, she idly watches the water swirl and slosh around inside, her mind still reeling with the all-encompassing feeling of discomfiture.

The confounding haze lingering inside her head leaves her struggling to grasp onto her own string of thoughts as she absently gazes into the bucket of water, the buzz of phantom whispers in her head making it hard to focus on anything else but them. It felt intrusive — as if a figment of some delusion was trying to breach the expanse of her subconscious. It makes her temples ache with a dull pain, unable to shake the unsettling feeling from her cognizance.

She doesn’t realize the water begins to overflow until it starts splashing at the ground, drenching her hooves.

Startled back to reality, Fluttershy hastily twists the spigot shut and shakes off the excess water from her hooves, glancing over at Zecora to make sure she hadn’t seen the small mishap. Gone unseen — the other occupied with the task of pulling over her own caddy of supplies to the other side of the room — Fluttershy lifts the bucket by the handle between her teeth, grunting by the weight of it as she strides over to the center of the room and dumps it over the smeared mess of blood.

It washes away immediately, swirling and dissipating into the grid drains channeling into the floors. The miasma of a metallic sting and decrepit dampness immerses the room after the wash, basking the vault in a strange camphoraceous musk that leaves Fluttershy wrinkling her nose up in distaste.

But then something catches in the corner of her periphery, glistening from the water.

Setting the bucket down, Fluttershy carefully traverses across the damp floor to inspect the obscure object. She furrows her brows at the familiar apparatus strewn carelessly on the floor near the ground tank, recognizing it as the cattle prod she saw Strickler with earlier in the bathroom.

Phased with apprehension, though more in disgust at the unidentified black tar-like fluid staining the tip of the prods, Fluttershy handles the cattle prod by gently kicking it across the floor to the other side of the room in repulsion, wiping her hoof off on her apron and refusing to give it another glance after that.

Retrieving the discarded bucket, Fluttershy makes her way back to the waterline in silence when she suddenly hears a shrill yelp come from Zecora, followed by a clatter of the broomstick against the tile floor.

Fluttershy immediately drops the bucket from her grip and whips around to Zecora, her eyes wide with fright and concern.

“What? What is it? Are you alright?” The words frantically rush out of Fluttershy, already making her way over. But Zecora suddenly outstretches her arm at her, urging her to stop in her tracks.

“Don’t come near! Mungu wangu.” Zecora raises her voice — even resorts to her mother tongue out of sheer horror, her eyes shifting between the spot on the floor and Fluttershy’s disconcerted gaze. “Fetch me a container, a bag, anything will do.”

Fluttershy, albeit confused, turns to the caddy near the front entrance to rummage around for something to use as a receptacle. Eventually, she finds an empty brown lunch bag still tucked away inside one of the drawers and decides it'll do, rushing over to Zecora as close as she could get with the bag between her teeth. But when she draws near enough, she’s able to see what Zecora was so aghast by. Her eyes widen right away and she nearly runs off right then and there.

The severed piece of Strickler’s horn.

Feeling sick to her stomach, Fluttershy hands the bag over to Zecora and turns away at the sight, repulsed as she feels the weight of it hit the bottom of the bag. Right away, she shoves it to Zecora, wanting nothing to do with it. Zecora takes it without much disgust, though there is a tinge of shock and urgency in her mannerisms as she discards it on top of the cleaning cart and approaches the threshold of the vault door.

“I’m going to go find Mr. Fletching. You stay here and keep an eye out for anything else you might find, you hear?” Zecora orders, already swiping her key card through the door mechanism and waiting for it to open back up.

Fluttershy vehemently nods her head in understanding, slightly backing away from the door in consternation as she watches Zecora flee around the hall, and Fluttershy is left on her own, forced to endure the silence that fell over the room once the vault closes shut on its own accord.

Taking a breath, she wanders over to the cleaning cart to retrieve the mop, standing on her hind legs to start washing away at the leftover traces of fluids still stuck in between the tiles of the floor. Anything to busy her mind, even with a menial task of labor. But half ways through the task, something strange begins to nudge at the vestige of her subconscious again. That exact odd feeling from earlier, but returned tenfold.

Leaning her weight on the mop, she tightens her grip on the wooden handle, brows furrowing as her eyes bears the weight of undulating fear and dread. Swallowing tensely, Fluttershy lets out a shaky breath, struggling to collect herself. The murmur of whispers and voices in her mind returns, making her wince and shake her head as if that would make it go away. She couldn’t even make out what the whispers were saying. It sounded like gibberish, a twist of tongues she’s never heard in her lifetime before.

But just as fast as it had come, it vanishes.

The silence succeeding it becomes unbearable. Overwhelmed with a sense of trepidation, Fluttershy whimpers, and on a considerably more clean area of the ground, sits herself down to try to ease her shaken nerves. Resting the mop flat on the floor in front of her, she presses her hooves to her face and utters into them, muffled and hardly audible to anyone else but herself.

“What is happening to me?”

Something interrupts her reverie, however — a sound that doesn't come from her own subconscious. It softly vocalizes and echoes lowly throughout the room, catching her attention. It urges her to lift her head from her hooves, her eyes curiously seeking out the source of the sound.

That’s when she sees something shift in the shadows of the glass vessel in Tank #2.

Something in her changes — a fire of curiosity taking over her movements as she rises back to stand in sudden awareness. She hears a guttural groan, muffled through thick fluids though audible enough to hear it for what it was. It sounds like a howl of grief or pain, indiscernible between the two. She couldn’t decipher it in certainty, but she’s keenly aware of the fact that now, she is no longer the only presence in the room.

Fluttershy approaches the vessel in caution to avoid the slew of black cables scattered about the floor, heart racing in her chest. There’s a shadow that shifts in the distance of the bioluminescent fluid, lingering far away as if it were hesitant — afraid of her presence.

Pressing a gentle hoof against the glass, Fluttershy gently taps the cold exterior of the vessel, trying to draw its attention and lure it out from the shadows and into the dim overhead light. Regarding the presence as she would an injured animal in fear, she ever slightly tilts her head to the side, the wispy stray pink strands of her mane drifting across her face as she modulates a ream of gentle hushes in assurance, even kneeling down lower to the ground to regard herself as harmless. Less intimidating.

That’s when it begins to slowly emerge from the shadows.

The light shines and reflects against the creature’s serpentine body — the most prominent feature that catches her eye. It’s tail flickers and undulates within the vessel’s fluid, a pair of mismatched wings taut in a display of alarm, clearly on guard at the sight of her. It was difficult to see any sharp details of the creature — only able to see its outline in the dim light, but the one thing that stood distinct was the sheer height of the creature.

From Fluttershy’s place on the floor, it loomed over her from the opposite side of the glass. Tall, imposing, trying in might to be the superior figure. She noticed in perplexity that the creature’s hands were mismatched from where they pressed against the tank’s glass barrier — one a distinct proportion of a lion’s paw. The other, what seemed to be the same anatomy of an eagle’s claw. Both chained tightly by the wrists and bound to some unseen fastener inside the tank. And as her gaze draws upwards, the shadow of two misshapen horns at the top of the creature’s head sends an immediate chill down her spine.

Though as her gaze strives to analyze every aspect of the mysterious creature’s physique, her gaze falls on an open laceration dealt to the center of its midsection, a dark fluid she assumes to be blood seeping out from the wound and suffusing with the waters it was submerged in.

Fluttershy gasps at the sight, her mouth parting in wordless shock.

The ultimate question of “who did this to you?” stung deep in her mind, though remained unspoken when the series of events throughout the day began to connect and make sense.

The cattle prod she had seen Strickler with this morning in the bathroom. His wound. The severed horn. The traces of strange blood on the end of the apparatus...

“...He did this to you, didn’t he?” Fluttershy whispers in realization, looking up from the creature’s wound to try to seek out its face, but she couldn’t make out much of it in the dim light.

She presses her hoof more firmly against the glass, the overwhelming instinct to help triggering a ripple of remorse for having to leave the creature behind in a state like this, injured and utterly helpless.

It makes something in her snap.

The creature even seems to lose some of its grandiose display of superiority, trying weakly to curl in on itself in weakness and exhaustion as it were struggling to breathe correctly. But the thing that baffles her the most is that it doesn’t move away from the tank — it comes closer, pressing its paw against the glass in precise alignment with hers.

It was a display of trust.

Though just as she’s about to open her mouth to speak to it, the vault door gives a noisy grind as it opens from the other side, startling her and the creature from their musings. Snatching her hoof away from the tank, Fluttershy whips around and rises to stand in haste, her attention redirecting to the sight of Zecora and Fletching emerging through the entryway.

“Where is it?” Fletching demands, barely even giving Fluttershy the chance to inhale.

Being the closest to the caddy, Fluttershy immediately fetches the bag from the cleaning cart and passes it over to Fletching, watching him hold it by the bottom to peer inside from the opening. He immediately furrows his brows and glances at Fluttershy.

“Really? An old lunch bag, that’s all you had?”

Fluttershy nods timorously, averting her gaze away from the unnerving sight of his. He spares a disgruntled sigh and closes the bag up.

“Finish cleaning this mess up. You don’t speak a word of this to anyone. Both of you. Understand?”

Fluttershy and Zecora both furiously shake their head in understanding, too shocked to even spare verbal acknowledgement.

“Good.” Fletching utters, rolling up the bag small enough to shove it into the pocket of his stained lab coat. “Back to work.” He says, leaving the two alone in the vault a final time.

With an exasperated sigh from Zecora, she leans against the cleaning cart and glances to Fluttershy. Although neither one of them spoke a word out of sheer fear, they exchange looks of understanding with one another, vowing to keep this an unspoken secret between the two of them.

And once Zecora catches her breath well enough to resume her duties with refilling the water bucket to finish scrubbing the grounds, the silence in the room hangs thick and heavy.

Fluttershy glances back at the vessel to see if the creature had lingered, but it had long since disappeared back into the murky waters. And for some reason, it leaves her feeling inexplicably empty.

_____

“My God. Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” Fluttershy cries, pacing back and forth within the small space of Miles’s living room in a frenzy. “I know it sounds crazy, but there’s something seriously wrong going on in that place, Miles. There’s something they’re hiding.”

“Isn’t that what they’re supposed to do, though?” Miles counters, though there was a look of uncertainty across his features as he glances over his shoulder to address Fluttershy. “They hide the unknown — such as that thing — to keep us safe. To keep Equestria safe.”

“Don’t call it that.” Fluttershy chastises, her tone dropping to a warning level. “It’s not a thing. It’s a living creature, just as alive as you or me.” Fluttershy tersely furrows her brows at him in an embittered manner.

“Right, I apologize.” Miles corrects himself, slightly shaking his head. “But I’m not wrong about the other thing, am I?”

Fluttershy sighs.

“No, you’re right, but—” She pauses as she plops down on the couch, her gaze distant with the memory still settling fresh in her mind. “I don’t know. The way it looked at me, Miles. It was hurt.” Her voice slightly wavers, and she has to take a breath to ease her emotions starting to crack at the surface.

“Why would anypony hurt a creature?”

Miles sets his paintbrush down on the drafting table and adjusts his glasses, rising from his chair to fully face Fluttershy with a grim look upon his face.

“My dear, there are some things that just can’t be explained.” Miles says as he plops down next to Fluttershy on the couch, giving her a gentle tap underneath her chin to gauge her attention. “And I think you’re looking at this from the wrong perspective.”

“What do you mean?” Fluttershy tilts her head at him, and Miles sighs.

“We don’t know what that creature has done. It could be there for a reason. Look what you said it did to Strickler, for pony’s sake. Any creature that’s capable of doing that is extremely dangerous and should be contained.”

A breath hitches in her throat as she rises to speak, but the words falter on her tongue. Perhaps Miles was actually right in that regard — she was essentially clueless about the creature’s origin and what led up to the events of its capture and transfer to the facility. It was dangerous, no doubt. But still… something about all of this felt off, rubbing her the wrong way. There was still that nagging voice in the back of her mind, intent on defending her reasoning for wanting to uncover the truth. That the creature she saw looming over her in T4 wasn’t a monster, but accidentally misconstrued as one.

Fluttershy exhales, sitting upright to attention.

“Maybe you’re right.” She says, her tone conscientious. “Maybe the creature is dangerous, but I’m telling you, there is still something horrible going on right under our noses. I just can’t figure out what exactly it is or what any of it is for.” Her expression falls with worry, and Miles spares a delicate pat to her shoulder, trying to usher her back to reality.

Fluttershy in turn, leans over to lightly rest her head on his shoulder, discernibly exhausted.

“Well, until you do, I think you should get some rest.” Miles says gently. “You still owe me a game of chess from the other night. Who else but me will defend my honor?” He teases playfully, clearly trying to lighten the mood. And somehow, It seems to work like a charm.

Fluttershy lets out a small huff before it turns into a faint chuckle, as she playfully throws a nudge at his side, and Miles grins.

“There’s that smile.” Miles lightheartedly teases, and the acknowledgement only makes her smile wider until it completely breaks her from the somber trance she was stuck slumped in.

“Tell you what. Make some dinner, enjoy a bath, spend some quality time with your animals. Try not to stress yourself out too much over this, alright?” Miles says, effortlessly stepping into his role of paternal authority. Fluttershy merely gives a small nod against Miles’s shoulder, never one to turn down his invaluable advice.

“Just—“ Miles intervenes, but sighs when Fluttershy meets his own gaze, completely oblivious to his level of unease at the state of her. “Take care of yourself. I hate seeing you like this.”

"Oh I know, I’m sorry I make you worry so much.” Fluttershy expresses her remorse with an apologetic glint in her gaze, and Miles couldn’t help but gently pat her cheek at the absolute puppy-dog expression she had cast his way.

“Well, you are notoriously good at making me worry.” Miles chuckles, and this compels a scoff to rise from her, however, led by a small bout of stifled laughter behind her hoof.

“Someone’s gotta worry about you, otherwise who else will?”

Fluttershy hums in thought. “Believe me, I can think of a few.”

“Well then, that’s six you have to make sure don’t worry their heads off over you.” Miles gives the mare at his side a gentle nudge before rising from the couch, making his way over to his drafting board and manifesting his magic to meticulously roll up the poster artwork and slide it into a protective sheath.

“I have to go drop this off to a client before the office closes. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, I just ask that you make sure my little troublemaker of a cat doesn’t get into the paints again. You know the little devil. You’re always so good with him, I don’t know how you do it. I’m actually a little envious.” Miles jokes through the crack of a smile as he wraps his favorite red scarf around his neck, already making his way towards the front door.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got everything under control.” Fluttershy assures, giving him an innocent closed-lipped smile.

“Thank you, dear. As always, I bid you adieu!” Miles bows his head with a magically-charged tip of his hat.

Fluttershy smiles widely, leaning her head back against the couch to glance back at him as he waves goodbye, steps into the hallway and closes the door behind him with a soft ‘click’.

Left to bask in the presence of his empty apartment, Fluttershy sighs as she turns her gaze up to the ceiling, letting the ambient melody of Miles’s record player spill through the quietude of the living room as his elder cat hops up on the couch with her, curling atop her lap with the intent to nap. It rises a smile to her lips, giving him a gentle scratch behind the ear as he settles into a comfortable position with her.

But even with the complacent euphony of sonatas and the illusion of ease tricking her mind into a false sense of security, Fluttershy couldn’t impede the urge to linger on the memory of the creature. The recollection of it all stuck at the forefront of her mind.

But soon, as her eyelids flutter close and the sound of a soft melody fades into aught, all that’s left in the shadow of her subconscious is the familiar buzz of a whisper crawling about in her mind, only finally falling asunder when she slips into an exhausted slumber.