.
.
“She was fine. Perfectly fine.”
“Applejack, are you sure?”
An ugly silence smothered the dining room of Sweet Apple Acres.
“Course I’m sure.” Applejack glowered at her through drying tears. “She was fine when she came over, she was fine when she was sorting out apples with Apple Bloom, she was fine when she was helping Sugar Belle with lunch. If that ain’t fine, I don’t know what is.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense—”
“Do you want it to make sense or do you want the truth?”
“Applejack, darling, please—”
“Because the truth, Twilight, is that one moment, she was fine, the next, she wasn’t. One moment, Fluttershy was serving us lunch, the next, she fell right here—” Applejack stomped a shaking hoof onto the floor “—and she was crying her eyes out, screaming at us to help her and trying her darndest to breathe, and then she stopped. She just stopped. She stopped crying, she stopped screaming, she stopped breathing, and if all that doesn’t make sense to you, Twilight, that’s because it ain’t ever going to make any gosh darned sense in the first place!”
“Applejack, stop it!”
“No, no, she’s right, Rarity, I—” Twilight let out a shrivelling gasp, her forehead wilting into the bosom of her shivering hooves. “I’m sorry, Applejack, I just wanted to, I just...”
A feverish sigh, before she turned towards Rarity.
“H-How was she? What did Nurse Redheart say?”
“Still not breathing. They’re trying their best to keep her ala—” She swallowed and tried again. “To keep her safe. Nurse Redheart said they’ve never seen anything like this before. They’re not sure if she will…… if they can…... but they will try.”
“Do the others know about it yet?”
“I talked to Pinkie about it,” Applejack spoke up. “Asked her to join us but she wants some time alone. Rainbow’s still at Cloudsdale. Was gonna write her a letter later. Don’t know what to say, but I’ll try.”
“Twilight, do you have any idea what this is?” Rarity asked, trembling. “Anything at all?”
Twilight racked her brain again. Sure, it didn’t work the past two hundred times, but it might work now. Who knows? The eureka moment might just come springing out like a blossoming orchid from the cracks of the floorboards beneath her hooves, and when it does, they could then all go home, sleep soundly and by tomorrow, they’ll come back here, plan things out, do whatever it is they have to do and everything will go back to normal.
That’s how it’s always been.
That’s how it should be.
“I’m sorry.”
Rarity tried to smile. “You don’t have to be.”
“But I have to figure it out! I have to, otherwise Fluttershy—”
“We have to, Twilight. Not just you. Us.” Rarity gave Twilight’s hoof a light squeeze. “Fluttershy is every bit a friend to us as she is to you. If you need our help, dear, whatever it is, you can be sure that Applejack and I will be there. Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash too, once they join us.”
“I’m sorry for yelling at you, Twilight,” Applejack spoke up. “I-I was being…… I knew you were just... you were trying to figure things out and… and…”
“I’m sorry too.” Twilight stepped forward to hug her, with Rarity promptly joining them. “We’ll fix this, girls, I know we will. We’ll fix this and we’ll bring her back. We’ll bring Fluttershy back, whatever it takes.”
“Applejack?”
The new voice was faint. Feverish. All three mares turned around to find Apple Bloom standing in the darkness of the doorway. Wrapped around her rear hooves like a cocoon was her blanket, which she had dragged from her bedroom to the dining room. Her eyes were swelling red and shimmering with tears, darting between Rarity and Twilight before finally falling upon her sister.
“Nightmare, huh, Apple Bloom?” Applejack let out a weak chuckle, standing up and trotting towards her. “Can’t blame ya. Don’t think I can sleep much tonight either. How ‘bout you sleep with me tonight? C’mon, sugarcube, let me tuck you in—”
“No,no, don’t!”
The filly’s outburst stopped everyone in their tracks. Hooves trembling, Apple Bloom stumbled backwards into the dark, away from Applejack, away from everypony else. Her jaw slackened, fresh tears spilling forth from her eyes and dripping onto the floor as she frantically shook her head.
“Apple Bloom?” There was a crack in Applejack’s voice. “Sugarcube, what’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry, Applejack,” Apple Bloom whimpered.
Her panting grew louder.
“For everything,” she whined. “For all the things I—”
Faster.
“I’m sorhhk—”
With a strangled cry, Apple Bloom collapsed.
.
.
.
.
“They were the first of many.”
For the past several minutes, Twilight had been staring into a swirling whirlpool at the bottom of a sink.
“There could be more. There will be.”
She wasn’t sure what she had been looking at. She just stared into the black. Listened too, for the gurgling in the pipes, though they could just be the ones in her stomach. Slowly, she reached towards the little dark, the tip of her hoof tracing the silver edge. Once. Twice. Thrice, for good measure.
“This is going to be difficult. For many of us, these are going to be the hardest times of our lives.”
She winced, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth as her head began to throb again. She had migraines before, many times in fact, yet nothing quite like this. It was as if a scorpion had clambered into her head through her ears, curled itself into a ball and slept in the darkest corners of her skull, its stinger lightly scraping the wrinkles of her brain every time she threatened to conjure up a thought.
Once more, Twilight twisted the faucet open, the water hissing and splashing against the porcelain. With a sprinkle of magic, she rinsed her face, her hefty sighs melting into the running water and joining the last of the tears dripping down her chin.
“But we have to have courage. We have to stay strong and stay vigilant. Every creature afflicted now, our friends, our family— we have to do this for them. They’re waiting for us. All of us.”
When she was done, Twilight gave one last glance into the mirror above the sink.
“We're going to fix this. We’ll figure this out and we’ll fix it and we’ll bring everyone back. I promise.”
Her reflection glared back, bleary eyes burning black.
“I promise.”
“You look terrible, darling.”
Twilight laughed as she emerged from the bathroom, sinking into Rarity’s hug. “Glad I’m not the only one who thinks that,” she said. “Where’s Rainbow Dash?”
“She went ahead to see Fluttershy,” her friend answered. “They’re waiting for us.”
Throughout their journey, Twilight made sure to keep her head down. Ponies of all shapes and sizes crowded the hospital corridors, yet apart from some plaintive sobs and restrained sniffles, only the eerie shroud of silence hung over them. Most were too absorbed in their clustered dread and grief to notice the princess walking by. Those that did, however, said not a word. They just stared at her with empty eyes that followed her down the hallway, and should Twilight be so unfortunate as to stare back, she would find herself once more on the cusp of crumbling into an inconsolable mess.
They don’t want her to fake a smile. No exhausted apologies, no redundant words of reassurance, no promises she couldn’t keep, certainly not another reminder of the safety measures put in place.
They wanted a miracle.
She knew that because she wanted one too.
She just didn’t have the heart to tell them it won’t be coming from her.
“Applejack isn’t coming.”
The news from her friend had Twilight biting her lip. “I wouldn’t blame her,” she said after careful consideration. “Pinkie Pie?”
Rarity dolefully shook her head. “She wouldn’t come out of her room, no matter what.”
“It’s fine. As long as she’s safe, it’s fine.” Twilight didn’t know how convincing she sounded when she said that. “How about you, Rarity? Are you doing okay? Do you need me to get you anything?”
“I’m fine, Twilight. I’ll have you know Sweetie Belle is too.” Rarity was smiling despite her haughty tone. “If anything, I’m worried that you’re not getting enough rest, Twilight. You tend to take things a bit too far for your good. Be honest now. What time did you sleep last night?”
“Uhh… early?”
Rarity sighed. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Twilight. How many times have I told you already, a lady needs her beauty sleep, and before you start nagging at me about it again, Twilight, you are a lady, no matter what you think.”
“I didn’t even say anything,” Twilight said, pouting like a scolded child.
Rarity giggled. “Not only that, you’re the ruler of all Equestria,” she continued. “If there’s anypony that Equestria needs right now, it’s you.”
“But I’ve done everything I could! I’ve organized research teams, I’ve scoured the archives, I’ve even asked Spike to issue curfews and dispatch the royal guard to every town and city all over Equestria! It’s not like there’s anything else I can do!”
“You can be brave.” Her smile, though heartening, was subdued. “Between you and me, Twilight, I think Equestria could use one of those right now. A brave face.”
Twilight sighed exasperatedly. “Rarity, I don’t know if I could even—”
“You can.”
Rarity rested a hoof on her shoulder when she said that, looking at her with an intensity Twilight had only ever seen from when she was working on her most important orders.
“Twilight, I’ve known you for years. Being brave is just the tip of the inexhaustible list that is your virtues. All the same, do you know what else you are?”
Dumbly, Twilight shook her head.
“You’re inspiring.” Rarity’s smile flourished alongside her warm words. “You’ve been that way from the very start. Whenever you do something, it compels the rest of us to do the same. Now, I know I’m asking a lot from you, especially since you’ve already done everything you could, but if I have to be selfish, for once in my life.”
The words that followed came with a forlorn sigh.
“Be brave, Twilight. For us.”
To that, Twilight glanced down at the space between her hooves and closed her eyes.
Of course.
She exhaled through clenched teeth.
Of course it had to be her.
There was a time where she would heed those words. There was a time where she would put on her best smile, maybe tear up a little, and promise her friend that she would do her very best. This time, however, Twilight wanted to shake her head. She wanted to be forthcoming and tell Rarity that she couldn’t bring herself to do that, that she was expecting too much from her. She wanted to tell her friend that she’s just as afraid as everypony else because of course she was afraid. Everyone else is, so why can’t she do the same? Why does she have to be the one to put on the brave face while the rest of the cowering world look to her for courage?
Why can’t she be afraid?
Yet when she finally had the half-strung fortitude to look at Rarity and give her response, she chose instead to lie.
“I will.”
“Thank you.” Rarity’s tender smile was such a painful sight. “And remember, if you need anything yourself, you need only ask. And if you do ask me, Twilight, I’d say I can make an especially menacing mochaccino.”
Twilight laughed. “I appreciate it, Rarity, but you know I can’t possibly—“
She stopped when a stampede of doctors and nurses scrambled past them and raced down the hallway. Shouts and shrieks erupted soon after, prompting Twilight and Rarity to break into a frantic gallop, and when they turned the corner, their hearts immediately dropped once they saw where it was coming from.
Fluttershy.
Twilight could hear it even before entering her room.
The yawn of crumpling bones.
Fluttershy was caving inward. Her skin was sinking. Her flesh, receding. The whites of her patellas seeped through growing patches of mauve. Her rib cage unfurled soon after, bulging against her chest as it curled outwards like parting curtains. Hair drizzled from her scalp and tailbone, the strings of pink piling around her bed. Similarly, feathers trickled from her wings, only to be interrupted with a loud snap when her left wing broke apart from its scapula and fell onto the floor in a splatter of red.
Her jawbone emerged from her flaking chin, her lips peeling back to reveal a rictus crumbling as teeth by teeth began to fall off and tumble into her bubbling throat. Crimson hisses filled the room when her cartilages finally punctured her crumbling chest, jutting out briefly before slumping back down like fallen trees in a bog. By then, rivers of blood and pus had drooled into the bedsheets, wrung out from the crackling bonfire of flesh and bone as if it was from a wet rag.
What terrified Twilight the most, however, was when one of her eyelids dissolved away.
Fluttershy was staring at her.
All this time, she had been staring at her.
All this time, she had been awake.
“Twilight, do something!” Rainbow’s voice tore into her head, the pegasus frantically shaking her by her shoulders. “Do something, anything!”
All eyes in the room turned to her.
“We're going to fix this.”
Yet all Twilight could do was look on.
“We’ll figure this out and we’ll fix it and we’ll bring everyone back.”
All she could do was watch as Fluttershy decomposed before her very eyes.
“I promise.”
A muffled wheeze was all Twilight could give before she buckled over and vomited.
.
.
.
.
Fluttershy.
Twilight had made a list.
Apple Bloom.
The names of all the victims so far, in order.
Cheerilee. Pipsqueak. Featherweight. Tree Hugger. Blossomforth.
She wasn’t sure when she started writing it.
Bon Bon. Vinyl Scratch. Rumble. Cloud Chaser. Thunderlane. Zephyr Breeze. Silver Spoon. Twist. Diamond Tiara. Snips. Snails. Autumn Blaze.
She wasn’t sure when she’d finish it either.
Flitter. Lyra Heartstrings. Tender Taps. Sandbar. Maud Pie. Mudbriar. Filthy Rich. Mayor Mare. Octavia. Lotus Blossom. Aloe. Silverstream. Fleetfoot. Scootaloo. Wind Sprint.
It still mortified her every time she came back to study it.
How young so many of them were.
Soarin. Spitfire. Smoulder. Terramar. Zecora. Cranky. Matilda. Roseluck. Berry Punch. Minuette. Amethyst Star. Twinkleshine. Daring Do. Quibble Pants. Clear Sky. Harshwhinny. Mr. Shy. Mrs. Shy. Vapour Trail. Mr. Cake. Mrs. Cake.
Big Mac.
He had collapsed while shifting hay in the barn.
Sugar Belle.
She collapsed while trying to carry her husband back into the farmhouse.
Pinkie Pie.
Twilight closed her eyes and stifled a sob when she recalled the state they found her in.
Spread out on her bed, starved to the point where the shape of her ribs were protruding her chest.
Her hooves blistered from clawing at her neck.
The frozen look of terror as she desperately gasped for air.
“You could’ve at least told me now’s a bad time, Your Majesty.”
Quickly, Twilight wiped away her tears, craning her neck upwards to find none other than Discord leering down at her. There was nothing left in his jaundiced eyes. No crooning sickles nor cranberry stars. None of his silver mischief and golden wit that would light the world up like firecrackers. All that’s left was the darkness of the night, coalescing in the whites of his irises like roosting ravens ruthlessly pecking away at what flicker of hope that dared to remain.
“Well? What did you want from me?”
Trapped in the mire of his fluorescent shadow as he slithered overhead, Twilight persisted. “Answers,” she said. “Or something to that effect.”
“So you come to me?” His fraying cackles pirouetted between her ears. “You do realise that if I had the answers, I could snap all of this away. I could bring her back. I could bring everyone back.”
“No.” Twilight shook her head. “No, of course, I just hoped maybe you might—”
Her voice withered into a sigh.
“Of course. I’m sorry I asked.”
“Don’t be,” he replied with surprising warmth. “I’m sorry I couldn’t answer.”
Discord sank down to join her, his serpentine form stretching out to take up a row of the hospital’s waiting chairs.
“I wish I could though. I sincerely do. It would certainly be nice to rub it in your face, for one.” The two shared a laugh. “That’s really the problem here, isn’t it? I’m the Lord of Chaos. Pandemics and the turmoil that comes with it—I’ve seen more than my fair share, even started a few myself. All you have to do is blink and I can make them disappear. But this here is different. This is something beyond even my control.”
“But there’s a way to stop this, right? There has to be.”
“I suppose.” The draconequus managed a grin. “Then again, does it really matter what I think?”
The smile she returned was equally sullen. “Shouldn’t it? You’ve said it yourself, you’re the Lord of Chaos, after all.”
“And you’re the ruler of all Equestria. Yet here we are.”
Discord snapped his talons. Nothing.
“I tried to change things, Twilight. The moment I heard what happened, I tried. I really did.”
Another snap.
Nothing.
Another snap.
Nothing.
“Then I thought maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough. Maybe if I put in a little more effort, change could happen. So I tried harder.”
Snap.
Nothing.
“And harder.”
Snap.
Nothing.
Snap.
Nothing.
“And harder and harder and harder.”
Snap.
Snap.
Snap.
Nothing.
“I’m tired, Twilight. Of trying. And now, with Fluttershy gone, I have a good reason to stop.”
One last snap, before Discord slumped back into the waiting chair. His gaze fell through the window looking into the morgue, with Twilight reluctantly doing the same.
Applejack had just crumbled onto her knees, howling in anguish before the blanketed remains of her sister. In the room with her were Rarity and Rainbow Dash, both of whom immediately knelt down to hug their friend despite crying themselves.
Twilight couldn’t bring herself to join them.
“Aren’t you tired too?” She could feel Discord’s stare grazing her cheeks. “Of trying?”
An overwrought sigh. “Discord, we’re all tired.”
“Celestia had taught you well.” He slipped out a tenebrous chuckle. “How many has it been so far? Dozens? Hundreds? A thousand maybe?”
“I’ve lost count.” Twilight lied—she just decided one day to stop counting. “Even so, there’s still the rest of us to save. You know I can’t stop trying just because I want to.”
She glanced back at her mourning friends on the other side of the window.
“If I stop now, what’s going to happen to everyone else?” she asked. “Who else is going to stop this?”
“It’s not like you haven’t tried.”
“That doesn’t mean I should just give up.”
“And if nothing changes?”
“You don’t know that, Discord. None of us know that.”
“But does it have to be you?”
“It’s always been me!”
Her declaration was loud enough to make the draconequus wince.
“It… it should be me,” Twilight continued, shaking. “It has to be me. No other creature should have to do this. I have to be the one who stops this. To save everyone.”
To that, Discord had only a mere snort. “You should know, Twilight, I’m not asking you to give up. It’s below me to make you do something that you can’t bring yourself to do. Chaos can twist and warp every fibre of your being, but it can never bring about something that was never there in the first place. That being said, I can see it. I know what you’re planning.“
“And?” Sparks flickered around Twilight’s horn. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Something, ideally. Anything to make sure it never comes to pass. I’m sure Fluttershy would’ve wanted me to, were she here right now.” And yet, all Discord did was to let out a mangled laugh that was thunderous. Taunting, almost. “But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Fluttershy’s not here. Not anymore.”
With a paltry shake of his head, the draconequus stood up and made his leave, this time for good.
“Do what you wish, Twilight Sparkle. And once you’re done?”
His parting words would haunt her in the days to come.
“I pray that you can find the peace you so desire.”
.
.
.
.
In the darkness of the library of the School of Friendship, Starlight Glimmer held a crumpled parchment up into the candlelight. At the very top was a single word, scrawled in black ink.
“Panatrophia,” she read it out loud, before casting a tentative glance up at Twilight Sparkle, who was seated across her with her head buried in her forehooves. “You named it.”
“Mm.”
Starlight continued reading—quietly to herself this time—her frown growing more pronounced the further she went.
Without further ado, Twilight stood up and strode towards the window, staring into the murky silhouettes of her crumbling kingdom as it slept. She closed her eyes to harken the silence, to behold its coagulation and inhale its stench in the unfurling absence of all the world’s lights and sounds. It was something she should’ve been familiar with by now, though she knew these things take time. After all, when you’ve spent every hour in the sun listening to Equestria in freefall, when you’ve been accustomed to the garish shrieks of mothers and the glaring wails of fathers every day, it would be hard for anyone, even the Princess of Equestria, to adjust to the dark.
“So it was never a disease in the first place?” Starlight’s voice gently pierced through the emptiness, the mare trotting up to her side after finishing with the report.
Twilight shook her head. A simmering sigh left her lips; a shambling smile festered in its wake. It had been terribly easy to believe it, that all of this was something Fluttershy had unknowingly contracted from one of her animal friends. That what they had been fighting was not a disease, frankly, was a conclusion she should’ve arrived at sooner. After all, she was there when Apple Bloom caught it. By all accounts, she shouldn’t be fighting this right now. She should’ve been done. She should’ve been in the morgue with the others. Resting.
“What do you think this is?”
“I don’t know.” Twilight pressed her forehead against the glass. “In fact, I’m not sure if it’s in our place to know.”
From the corner of her eye, she could see Starlight furrowing her brows. “Twilight, is everything okay?”
“Hah. I’m fine, it’s just… sorry, I guess I’ve been thinking about it a little harder than I used to. About how to stop this. All of this. Once and for all.” The swelling vigour in her eyes danced to the candlelight. “You know, sometimes I wonder what they would do if they were still here.”
“Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie?”
“Celestia and Luna,” Twilight clarified. Her gaze shot to the starless sky. “I’ve thought about asking them. Not about what this is or what I should do about it—I doubt they’d know the answers either. I just wanted to ask them how they’d do it. How did they handle being this… wrong.”
“You could always ask me,” Starlight sheepishly pointed out. “What could be more wrong than enslaving a town and messing with time travel?”
The gentlest, most genuine giggle in a while weaselled out from Twilight’s lips. “Yeah, I guess I always could,” she remarked. “But I was thinking of something more along the lines of how they would face everyone. All the creatures that lost their family? Their friends? What would they say to them? What would they do for them?”
“Well, you tried your best, didn’t you? Everyone knows you did.” Twilight felt a hoof on her shoulder. “Listen, we’ve all lost someone we know to this. I’ve lost my friends too—all of them, Maud, Trixie, Sunburst... b-but that doesn’t mean I blame you for it. It’s not your fault. It never was. And you said it yourself, remember? We have to be brave for them. We have to stop this. For them.”
“But see, what if that’s it? What if we can’t stop this?”
Twilight could hear it.
Lying in the dark, clear as day.
“W-What do you mean?”
“What if we’re not supposed to stop this?”
She could feel it staring at her.
She could feel it closing in.
“What do you mean ‘not supposed to’?”
“We tried everything, didn’t we? Yes we did, I know we did.” Twilight had turned to Starlight when she said that, her eyes brimming with fresh tears. “We look around, we see all our friends and families suffering, and all this time, we’re thinking that something somewhere went wrong. That all of this wasn’t supposed to happen to us. But what if it’s the other way around?”
“Twilight.”
“What if it always meant to happen this way?”
“Twilight, you know that’s not true—”
“What if we could never fix it in the first place? What if we never stood a chance?”
“You don’t believe that… you can’t…”
“Then tell me what I should do, Starlight! What can I do?”
Starlight said nothing. Twilight knew she had nothing. She knew from the start that all the unicorn had left in her was restless denial. After all, she was in that position herself not too long ago. It was only after Twilight looked back on it, on how everything she had done up to that point never even mattered in the first place, that she could finally bring herself to laugh again. That she could find comfort in the fact that, for once, everything was finally making sense. All the pieces of the puzzle were falling in place.
“I tried my best, Starlight. I knew I did. You never needed to tell me that.”
That was when Twilight cantered up to Starlight and pulled her into a hug.
“Twilight, what are you—”
“I found a way,” she whispered into Starlight’s ear. “To fix this.”
“Twilight, we should talk about it first.” The unicorn struggled in her grip. “Twilight, please let me go.”
“I did the math, Starlight. All of this can only work with your help. It will.”
“What could work?” Starlight felt her squeeze harder. “T-Twilight, please, you’re hurting me—”
“Like I’ve said, I’ve been thinking about it.” A fizzle from Twilight’s horn, before a wisp of her magic emerged to swirl into the air. “I can’t fix this, I know that now. I can’t stop this from happening. No one can.”
“Twilight, what are you—gah!” Starlight yelped when Twilight’s magic plunged downwards and punctured her horn. The searing pain erupting in her head seconds later was enough to send her hooves flailing. “Stop it, stop it, stop—”
“I can’t, Starlight. I’m sorry.” Twilight spoke over her friend’s choked screams. “It’s going to happen to everyone, you know? We’re all going to suffer. We’re all going to choke and decay, one way or another. I can’t stop that from happening, ever. But I get it now, what I’m supposed to do. It’s clear to me now.”
“Twah…” Starlight couldn’t speak through gritted agony. Her convulsing hooves rose up, before diving down to slam against Twilight’s sides in a vain attempt to free herself from the alicorn’s grip. “Duh… don’t! Don’t!”
“I’m not supposed to stop the suffering.” Twilight smiled in delight at her epiphany even as tears slithered down her cheeks. “I’m supposed to ease it. I’m supposed to spare the rest of you from it. It’s the right thing to do. It’s the only thing left to do. So please.”
“Please!” Starlight pleaded through her gasps, fruitlessly beating Twilight hard enough to leave a bruise even as sparks began to leap from her horn. “Please! Please! Ple—”
“Be brave, Starlight. For me.”
With an earth-shattering crack, a flash of violet and turquoise engulfed the world.
Seconds later, tranquillity.
It took her a full three minutes before Twilight dared to open her eyes to the new world.
The first thing she did was to gently set Starlight Glimmer down onto the floor, taking care not to drop her. She had fallen limp in Twilight’s embrace in the aftermath, her stare seized up in the final throes of terror. With nothing more than a muted sigh, Twilight quickly ran a hoof over her friend’s eyes, closing them for good.
The first rays of sunlight had just splintered from the horizon when she finally emerged from the school. In between, a flurry of shadows—the bodies of pegasi, griffons and dragons alike, dropping from the clouds like morning rain. From the mist, Ponyville emerged, yet there was not a scream or shout to be heard. There was only silence. There remained only peace.
In celebration, Twilight Sparkle exhaled away every ounce of frustration and worry that had been curdling in her stomach, settling down upon a hillside as she soaked in the sun rising over her kingdom of one. She closed her eyes and, for the first time in a long time, resigned herself to the painless quiet, relishing it even. Letting herself fall backwards, she stretched herself out across the grass and beheld the sky, just in time to watch as the endless blue parted the clouds and reached for her with glassy, amniotic claws.
She smiled.
Even as its tessellated hooks combed the hairs of her cheeks like centipedes.
Even as she felt it gently press her throat down into the earth.
Even as she was smothered underneath an ugly silence, Twilight closed her eyes and smiled.
She was fine. Perfectly fine.
.
.
