The Twining

The Overlook Hotel’s ballroom was large, opulent, and resoundingly empty. Twilight wasn’t sure what made large spaces so susceptible to feeling lonely, but there was definitely some kind of correlation. An entire ballroom without any other ponies in it seemed so much more desolate than any of the other rooms she could have found herself in.

Along the far wall stretched an enormous bar, a dark wood counter reaching almost entirely from one side to the other, and it was at this bar that Twilight found herself, staring out at the emptiness and wondering how she had gotten herself into this mess in the first place. If this was a test (and Twilight was beginning to doubt the veracity of Celestia’s claim), it was not a very good one.

She shouldn’t have asked Shining. That was a bad idea. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time: get him away from the rigorous demands of parenthood for a while, have some time for himself to unwind, and they could catch up and he could be her BBBFF again, at least for a little while. When Celestia had suggested it, Twilight had jumped at the chance. Hay, even Cadance had agreed it sounded like a good idea. But a little while had turned into a whole lot of while, and the snow kept falling and the hotel remained so empty.

And now they were fighting, and if anything was going to make the time they had left here even more unbearable, it was arguing. She’d hoped bringing Shining here was going to improve their relationship, but now it seemed as though this may be the final nail in the coffin instead.

“Forgive me for saying so, Princess, but you look as though you could do with a drink.”

Twilight turned her gaze back behind the bar, towards the earth pony standing behind it. Her coat was light grey, her mane short, straight, and so barely purple that it threatened to leach out the last of its colour all together if one focused a little too much on it.

“You know what, Maud?” Twilight smiled, at least a little of her hurt momentarily fading. “A drink sounds pretty great right about now.”

Maud nodded curtly. “A bourbon, perhaps?”

“What? It’s only three in the afternoon; what kind of pony do you take me for?”

“Ah, my apologies.” Maud didn’t seem particularly apologetic, but then again she never seemed particularly anything.

“I’ll take a milkshake,” Twilight said.

“Of course, Miss Sparkle.”

Within moments, Maud was pushing a perfectly presented shake across the counter, a single, bright red cherry perched on top.

“Thanks, Maud. You always know how to make them just right.” Twilight’s smile suddenly dropped. “Oh, I just realised, I don’t have any bits with me.”

Maud simply stared, a picture of impassiveness.

“Could I…” Twilight tried, trailing off at Maud’s blank expression.

“I’ll put it on your tab, Miss Sparkle,” Maud said, accompanied by another of her slight nods.

“Thanks, I knew I could count on you.” Twilight’s smile was back again, and then she pursed her lips around the straw, enjoying the sweetness on her tongue. Maud stood there with her usual bored apathy, as if she had nothing better to do than watch Twilight enjoy her drink. A glance around the otherwise empty ballroom suggested that may indeed have been the case. “A little slow today, isn’t it?” Twilight asked.

“Yes,” Maud agreed. “The winter always is.”

Twilight nodded at this immutable truth and took another long slurp from her straw. It was perfect. It was always perfect. And yet still Maud stared, although for some reason Twilight didn’t really find it uncomfortable. She never did, although as the silence stretched on, Twilight felt as though she had to at least try to fill it. “I don’t think Shining believes me,” she said, eventually.

Maud maintained her silence, although she raised an eyebrow slightly, prompting Twilight to continue.

“I just thought it would be a great excuse to spend more time with him, you know? I wasn’t even thinking about… well, all the things Celestia told me about.”

“Of course not.”

“But he thinks it was some of… ploy. Like I tricked him into it for my own reasons. As if I would ever do something like that to him.”

Twilight stared deeply into the swirl of cream atop her milkshake, but for some reason it was starting to seem somewhat unappealing. A little too sweet. A little too perfect.

“I don’t think he ever forgave me,” she said, quietly. “But it was just a mistake, that’s all. A stupid, spur of the moment mistake, the kind everypony makes sometimes. And it was years ago. That’s long enough to forgive someone, isn’t it? Especially for something so meaningless.”

Maud said nothing, but she didn’t need to. She was always such a good listener. The best bartenders always were, in Twilight’s admittedly limited experience. Simply listening, without comment, without judgement. That was enough.

“And I mean, it wasn’t even a real kiss,” Twilight said, bitterly. “Not a proper one. It was just a stupid thing from a stupid filly filled with hormones, and surely that doesn’t count, does it? A peck on the lips. That’s no reason to vilify your own sister, is it? Nothing more than a foalish mistake, back when I was too young to know better.”

“Twilight!”

Shining’s voice ripped through the ballroom, and Twilight spun around to find him practically cantering towards her, his hooves clacking hollowly against the floor. His eyes were wide and wild, his mane plastered to his forehead, and as he skidded to a halt beside her she could see the panic so clearly on his face.

“Someone’s here,” he panted. “In the hotel.”

Twilight frowned. “Yes, I know. You and me.”

“No, I mean, someone else.”

There was a moment of quiet, and then Twilight couldn’t help but laugh, couldn’t even try to stifle it.

“I’m not kidding, Twilight. This is serious.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “We both know nopony can get in or out of here, not with the snow.” She spread her hooves wide to gesture around the empty and desolate ballroom. “It’s just us, all alone until the melt.”

“But I saw them.”

“Saw who?”

“Well…” Shining hesitated. “I saw Mom.”

Of all the things Twilight had expected him to say, it wasn’t that.

“But it wasn’t her though,” he continued. “Just like it wasn’t you. Not changelings, either, something else. I don’t know what.”

“What are you talking about?” Twilight reached out a hoof for his shoulder, but he flinched away, and another twinge of despair rent through her. “Slow down,” she said. “Explain.”

“It’s that room, Twilight. Something’s wrong with that room. With this whole hotel, but that room especially. Like it’s more concentrated there.” He growled in frustration at her confusion. “Can’t you feel it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Hey, Shiny, look at me.” And he did, and she could see the rings of red at the edges of his eyes. He wasn’t sleeping well, or maybe it was stress. Probably both. “It’s okay,” she told him. “I’ll go have a look and make sure no one’s there.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” he insisted. “Neither of us should. We should just leave, Twily. We have to get out of here. Find some way to get to the nearest town, and then… I don’t know, but it isn’t safe here.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, firmly. “Now, which room are you talking about?”

***

237.

The copper numbers gleamed in the dim light of the hallway, strangely ominous. Shining’s story had made no sense, at least what little of it he’d told her, but perhaps it had put her more on edge than she’d realised. Twilight was fairly certain he’d been leaving large chunks out – it didn’t quite add up – but she’d decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He must have had his reasons, and so instead of asking further questions she’d sent him to get some rest and made her way to the room by herself.

Shining had been right about one thing, at least: the door was open. Every room was supposed to be locked up tight, but this one had apparently been missed, a dark gap between the door and the frame. Stranger still was an incessant hissing sound that filtered out into the corridor, quiet but clearly emanating from the room.

Perhaps something was happening here, after all. More likely the ponies in charge of locking up the place had overlooked this one, and Shining’s imagination had run wild. Or perhaps it was all a very elaborate prank at her expense, his way of getting revenge for all the impositions he felt she’d bestowed on him.

Only one way to find out, she decided, striding up to the door and pushing it open. Shining had told her it slammed shut in his face when he tried, but for her it swung freely, and she was able to step right inside.

Nothing happened. As far as she could tell it was just like any of the other hotel rooms here; all the bedding had been stripped and stored for winter, and the bed frame lay bare to one side. There was the usual arrangement of dressers and wardrobes, but nothing unusual. No ominous feeling like Shining had told her about. Simply an empty room with an unlocked door.

Oh, but not quite. That hissing sound continued, much louder now that she was inside, and as Twilight determined its source as the bathroom she suddenly realised what was making it.

The shower was running.

She did feel it, now. That sinking sensation, low in her stomach, that feeling that everything was not quite right here. As though the world had been slanted ever so slightly, subtle enough that she could only notice deep in her subconscious.

The bathroom door was open, too, again just a crack. A mirror of the outside, just wide enough for that hissing splash to leak out. A lead weight in Twilight’s chest as she crept closer and closer.

You are a princess. An alicorn. You’re not supposed to be scared. Not over something as banal as a running shower.

But she was scared, even as she stepped right up to the door, her heart hammering as she reached out and pushed it open. It swung all too easily – she had expected it to be heavier – and so she pushed too hard and it clattered loudly against the bathroom wall.

At the sound, the shower stopped abruptly.

The bathroom seemed to stretch out a little too far, a little too long, but otherwise unremarkable. The bath itself lay at the far end on a slightly raised section, like some kind of strange altar. The half below the shower was shielded by misted glass, and Twilight’s gut twisted a little as she saw a dark, pony-sized shape moving behind it.

Her legs frozen in place; she couldn’t move, couldn’t run, couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t even bring herself to call out to the shape. Her throat felt like it had sealed itself shut, dry and coarse. The shadow moved again, and although Twilight could see no details she could make out the unmistakable silhouette of the pony behind the glass slowly turning its head to face her, to stare right at her through the mist.

And it was with that same, strange slowness that the pony twisted itself around and began to move towards the edge of the screen. A dark blue hoof reached out around the glass, the first hint of colour, dragging out the rest of the pony behind it as he clambered into view.

And as the stallion (for there was no mistaking them as otherwise, now) passed the misty glass and stepped into the open, Twilight recognised him. Instantly.

After all, he was her father.

That settled it. This wasn’t real, couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be here. And yet as Night Light’s hooves set down against the pale bathroom tiles with a soft clink, they sounded real. The steam that poured off his damp fur seemed real, real enough to mist the mirrors beside him as he smiled at her, running a hoof through his wet mane to keep it out of his eyes. Piercing eyes, staring right at her, that easy smile beckoning her closer even as he closed the gap himself.

Still with that strange, slow gait, as though entirely unconcerned with the passage of time, Night Light moved towards her. Twilight remained transfixed in the doorway, unable to breathe, to blink, to look away. Her eyes travelled across his body, the way his fur, flattened with water, hugged his muscles, every single one of his movements making them roll under his skin. Perhaps that was why he was moving so slow, to accentuate them. To show off.

And then her eyes were drawn irresistibly lower, and they went wider still as she saw his thick length, hard and excited, and still Twilight could do nothing but wordlessly stare as he approached. She wasn’t supposed to look, she knew. He was her father. It was wrong. She was supposed to be disgusted, and horrified. Supposed to cover her eyes and run.

But she didn’t.

She didn’t even want to. And he didn’t want her to, either, or he would have made to cover himself, to hide his excitement from her. But instead he simply drew closer and closer, and if anything he was trying to exaggerate it, allowing her to appreciate and admire him. Close enough now that she could feel the warm steam pouring off of him, smell that damp but not unpleasant scent of freshly washed fur. And then he stopped, waiting.

So close, all it would take was a single step, and he didn’t have to say anything for Twilight to know what he wanted. His stare did that, his smile did that, his stallionhood so stiff beneath his barrel did that.

Come here, he said without speaking. Come here, kiddo, you know you want to.

And Twilight did.

Almost without thinking, bypassing the part of her brain that was supposed to work out if she should or not, Twilight took a step forward. Her hooves clicked sharply against the tiles, and then Night Light swept her up in an embrace and pulled her tight.

His lips went to hers, or hers went to his, she wasn’t entirely sure, and then there was nothing but a deep kiss, one more full of passion and lust and love than Twilight had ever felt before. He tasted and smelled of whatever he’d showered with, something faintly citrus, and Twilight closed her eyes as he held her closer so she could better appreciate every moment, every inch of him.

Whatever doubt or dread she’d been feeling had vanished in an instant. There was nothing to fear here. Just her father, just this kiss, just his growing passion as it grew more aggressive and she stumbled back a little from the sheer forcefulness of it. Her tail flicking relentlessly back and forth in anticipation, a rising flush in her cheeks.

He’s your father.

The though ebbed low in the very back of her mind, barely enough to register, let alone concern her. It should have concerned her, she knew. It should have made her gag, push him away, run screaming. But it didn’t. It couldn’t. Not when this felt so right, so perfect, so full of love and desire and want. This was okay because nothing in the world had ever felt more okay before.

Was she going to give herself to him, here in this bathroom? Would he take her, throw her up against the wall, rut her until she couldn’t even walk straight? Twilight didn’t know, but she was beginning to believe it was exactly what she wanted, and if Night Light’s firm hold of her and his proprietorial kiss were any indication then it was exactly what he wanted, too.

Twilight opened her eyes, ready to give him all of that and more, and then she caught a glimpse in the mirror behind him and that lead weight returned in full force. The stallion in the mirror, kissing her so passionately, wasn’t Night Light.

His coat was pale as the snow outside, his mane electric blue, and even from behind Shining Armor was instantly recognisable.

Twilight broke the kiss, pushing him away as she staggered backwards, and Shining simply smiled that same, easy smile, and again her eyes were drawn down to the jet black length beneath him, and if anything it was only bigger and harder, only more excited for her.

That was enough to finally shatter the illusion, the strange fog – or was it steam? – that had settled over her thoughts. This wasn’t Shining. It was someone else, something else. Shining would never act like this, and whatever madness had caught her was unravelling so rapidly in his wake. And even quicker as Shining – not-Shining – began to laugh at the panic on her face. A laugh that started low in his throat, almost more of a growl, and as she stumbled away from him and he effortlessly closed the distance again, it began to grow louder. Wild, crazy.

Twilight turned and fled, the only thing she could think to do, and his laughter followed her all the way through the deserted room and out into the hallway, and even when she slammed the door shut and held it with her magic, just in case, she could still hear him. Or whatever it was that was wearing his skin. The laughter crept under the door, and she could still taste citrus on her lips, and as Twilight turned tail and cantered down the hallway as fast as she could go, his ringing laughter seemed to echo off the walls.

But Room 237 stayed closed.