The Immortal Dream

The storm hit all at once, black clouds tumbling over themselves like jostling chariots as the storm wall raced across the evening sky. Lightning surged in their crevices, new clouds exploding from old ones like virulent boils, swallowing each other up and barreling from horizon to horizon.

Any airship Papyrus had ever ridden would have been hard-pressed to outrun it. Seeing it up close, the only ship he would even consider using to fly through it was Starlight's old ship, which he recalled was equipped with a supernatural weather repellent system; whether even that would be up to the task was anyone's guess. His current airship, on loan from Princess Luna and retrofitted for long-distance travel? It probably wouldn't have stood a chance. And, for a brief moment, Papyrus was grateful that Floria's cowardice had won out over Larceny's and his own insistence that flying in the storm would be fine. By throwing a fit, she had probably saved all of their lives.

Not that she needed to know that. Ergo, it was time to brag.

"See?" Papyrus placed an innocent hoof over his heart. "Just a peaceful little-"

CRASH!

His words were lost as the rain arrived, the entire mansion buckling as a wall of water struck all at once, and for a moment he wasn't even sure whether their glass rotunda had survived. A sheet of lightning blinded him as he tried to check, and for several seconds he was sure it hadn't.

But no water reached his coat, and as the spots cleared from his vision, he saw the room still standing intact: the hearth had lost its fire and now billowed cold air instead of warm, but the storm wall had passed. Rain beat against the roof, the darkness above so thick he could no longer even see the clouds.

Papyrus's fur stood on end, his heart hammering and his eyes thin. "...Just a peaceful little breeze."

Floria was trying to pretend she hadn't just been hiding under Felicity's wing, though her stubbornly raised hackles betrayed her. "A peaceful little breeze, he says," she remarked, her voice barely kept from shaking. "Of course. Just a peaceful little breeze. If this can't convince you to admit that your own ideas were foolhardy and someone else was right for a change, then I don't know what will."

"Darling," Felicity soothed, "that's exactly what he's doing. He just has a funny way of it, is all."

Papyrus glanced to Senescey and Larceny, both staring up into the darkness. Larceny looked completely unfazed, but Senescey was more contemplative than anything.

"...It was a dark and stormy night," said Gawain, turning his chair back to face Papyrus's team now that the storm wall had given way to the rest of the storm. "And two old friends meet in a mansion at the edge of nowhere, nigh twenty years since their paths last crossed. I sincerely apologize for interrupting you earlier, but the atmosphere is much riper for tales now than before, wouldn't you agree?"

His words circled on the wind from the drafts blowing from the dead hearth, backed by the rain's hammering and the wind's hollow echo. Now this was the atmosphere Papyrus had imagined the place having.

Senescey sidled up beside him, whispering under cover from the rain. "Is it just me, or have we walked into the setup for a classic murder mystery?"

Papyrus raised an eyebrow.

"Until this storm clears, everyone is stuck here," Senescey whispered. "And that griffon has to have at least a dozen karmic anvils hanging over his head. I might even become one of them, depending what he says. Bets on whether fate has a sense of dramatic timing?"

"Would be interesting if so," Papyrus muttered back. "If he were to turn up dead, I bet there would be no shortage of motives for the act. Might not even be anyone who cares to find the perpetrator! Say, does trying to be the good guys this time around mean not doing the deed ourselves, or would this be considered a noble and decent action?"

Senescey stood stiffly. "That's the life we're trying to leave behind. Isn't it?"

Felicity cleared her throat, speaking over them with the intent to be heard. "This does make for a rather dramatic stage for explaining why we're here, yes. But I'm afraid our reasons for dropping by aren't quite interesting enough to warrant it. We happened to be in the area on some other business that fell apart before it could begin, and found ourselves with a lot of time on our hooves and a trip that would otherwise go to waste. Can I be forgiven for thinking to spend that time on an old friend?"

Gawain nodded sadly. "So that's the run of it? A pity you didn't come here first. I could have told you your prospects were dim - after working this place for decades, even I am running out of ways to extract good business from Griffonstone. Though, seeing as I am fabulously wealthy, I don't suppose I could become a suitable recipient for your business instead of whomever was foolish enough to shrug it off?"

Felicity gave him a slightly edged smile. "Not that kind of business, I'm afraid."

"I see." Gawain folded his talons. "Well, whatever it was, it's become clear to me how little the griffons I am tasked with ruling have to give. Not that I could even consider breaking the code, but what meaning is there in the pride of those who wallow in the dirt?"

"Excuse me, the code?" Floria asked, mostly recovered from the storm's arrival.

"He means he hasn't cheated anyone out of their money," Felicity explained. "Griffons around these parts have some unusual beliefs about financial transactions. They see paying someone as an act of submission, you see. So there's a fine line between closing a consensual deal at unfair prices - a show of the seller's superiority - and growing rich through force or trickery. Obtaining someone's coin without the accompanying admission that you deserve it more than them comes across as muscling one's way down the social hierarchy, or worse, missing the point of it altogether."

Floria frowned. "Beliefs like those don't seem conducive to a functional economy."

"Believe me, they aren't," Gawain lamented. "Surely you saw the state of Griffonstone proper during your earlier business. 'Tis fine and good to worship one's own finances, but when that worship reaches a point where they would forego basic luxury in order to avoid paying for anything non-essential? You find yourself in a society where bread is the only thing money can buy and even owning a watertight roof is seen as a sign of foolishness."

"You say that," Papyrus cut in, "while sitting under a rather expensive and mostly functional roof yourself."

"Is big storm common around here?" Braen asked. "How do no-roof griffons survive?"

"Soggily," the batpony in Gawain's lap remarked. He responded by scritching her ears.

"Yes," Gawain said as his mare nuzzled up to him. "They live their lives in squalor so as not to debase themselves by spending money, a truth you've undoubtedly recently been reminded of... But what were you expecting?" He raised an eyebrow at Felicity. "You know our ways. Were you hoping things might have changed since our paths last crossed?"

Felicity shrugged. "As I said, it wasn't that kind of business. But I do see you've managed to escape the compulsion to remain as poor as possible in order to spend less money."

Gawain beamed smugly. "The fruits of superior intellect brought about by superior breeding... though your own generous support did play a role, as well. I am the heir to Griffonstone's monarchy, after all. 'Tis my duty to surpass the failures of my peers."

"Mhmm," Senescey said, clearly harboring her own feelings on the subject.

"Investment has long been a principle of economics that is missing from our culture," Gawain explained. "If my kin could but recognize the power of decadence to awaken the jealousy and ambition of their peers, I believe they might rediscover the lost art of investing in themselves, creating new demand and new motivations for our economy to grow, and in turn creating more wealth to convince others to surrender! Think of the new opportunities to enrich ourselves that could arise if only my subjects were more willing to translate their wealth into the material!"

Papyrus nodded sagely. "How very altruistic of you."

"Well, much of that new wealth would inevitably find its way to my talons," Gawain chuckled. "I am a griffon of Griffonstone too, after all, and as the architect of this transition I of course deserve the majority share of the spoils. But in living this way, I desire to move my country fellows to envy, and spur them to follow suit. But is this not the soul of altruism? Who stands to lose from such an arrangement?"

Papyrus weighed this. Admittedly, trying to enrich your country so they had more wealth for you to take was slightly better than the Empire's outright thieves... but that smarmy entitlement was one and the same. "Then I suppose you run a regular tour boat out here so the uncultured masses can actually see your inspirational estate?"

"Naturally," Gawain said. "That is its primary function, after all."

"And do your noble efforts pay off?" Floria pressed, indignant. "Does seeing this actually provide motivation to the common folk to better their own lots in life?"

"To an extent." Gawain shrugged. "Though I undeniably awaken envy in the eyes of my kin, many still struggle to understand the how of it." He gave her a thoughtful look. "But you sound unimpressed with every aspect of our plight. You wouldn't happen to be Floria, would you?"

Floria slowly nodded. "I was informed that you knew of me."

Gawain beamed in self-satisfaction. "I had the privilege of laying eyes on you as an infant. Griffons are an unruly race, you see, but I've heard that your own race once conquered and ruled them in the north as their gods. By birth, that might make you superior even to me. So tell me, what wisdom hides behind those sharp eyes? How would a conqueror like yourself address my plight?"

Floria looked taken aback. "I have not the wisdom nor the experience to serve up premeditated solutions to society's woes," she regally snapped. "But the surest remedy for what I see here is a mirror. Draping yourself in mares as if they were clothing inspires not envy but revulsion. And though the antidote to pride is humility, griffons looking for an example will find none of that here."

Gawain sat up straighter and shook his head, watching Floria along with both of his mares. "All of this is to stimulate the stagnant flow of goods and services, and lust can be a powerful motivator. Is this not an ideal the populace should look towards?" He put a hand on each of the mares. "Keeping pleasant company is but another form of the spending on self-enrichment that I want to encourage! I make sure to keep at least two of my wives on prominent display at all times in hopes that the lesson will rub off on my subjects."

"At least two," Floria said flatly. "How many liaisons do you even have?"

Gawain frowned, counting on his talons. "Well, there's... and then... I forget. But you speak as though my care for them is insufficient? As visual ambassadors for my agenda, I ensure no shortcuts are taken on their pampering and grooming, I will have you know. Aside from their duties enriching my image with their presence, they are free to live lives of idle luxury. Surely a young, beautiful mare of noble heritage like yourself should find such an arrangement most ideal."

Papyrus tried not to laugh as Floria visibly bit her tongue. The more Gawain talked, the harder he found it to blame himself for everything he had done in the Empire, the more easily he could see how he became what he did: watching someone like this fall into a ruin of their own making would be quality entertainment. No one would suffer who didn't deserve it. All they needed was a little push!

Of course, he had seen where that road led, and knew those reassurances didn't actually hold true.

"Either way." Gawain shrugged, continuing. "Seeing as I am the latest heir in a long line of kings, and it is indisputable that my talents are hereditary, it follows that my progeny should be well-placed to improve our society as well, no? Therefore, is it not my duty as the Forest King to spread my blood far and wide? If all of my progeny grow up to share my own economic ruminations, then the correction of Griffonstone's course is only a matter of time."

"How very noble," Floria said dryly.

"...Correct me if I'm wrong, darling," Felicity said, filling the awkward silence that ensued. "And I did notice this manor seems to have a lot of children. But can zebras and griffons even...?"

Gawain sadly shook his head. "No, unfortunately. Ponies who can sire offspring with griffons are few and far between... with some exceptions." He stroked the batpony on his lap. "But after the number of commoner griffonesses I have invited to share my bed, I don't think it counts as a betrayal of my principles to grant permanent residence here to some slightly more exotic company. After all, I do need someone around to look the part."

"Naturally," Felicity said, even her own flattery skills reaching their limit. "Of course."

Predictably, Gawain took this the wrong way. "Don't get me wrong," he protested, "I did ensure that the commoners freshened up beforehand, and on their own coin! Such was a simple price to attach to the prestigious privilege of consorting with the king, and it does prove a remarkably effective way of getting them to spend on their own-"

"E-Excuse me," Floria interrupted. "But perhaps this would be a good time to stretch my legs a little, tour the grounds? We will be here for a while until this storm abates, and it would be a shame to spend it all socializing. Not that I would interrupt your own enjoyment of the scenery. So a self-guided tour. Of rooms other than this one."

Gawain shook his head. "This mansion exists to inspire the public. Wander freely, my friends, for it is meant to be seen."

The door to the study had scarcely latched shut before Floria extended her claws and began to demolish the hallway's carpet.

"Rrrrraagh!" she growled, back arched, kneading the rug with her forepaws, each tug earning another satisfying rip and a puff of purple carpet fuzz. "That... aristocratic... imbecilic... sanctimonious lech!"

The mansion rumbled as another gust of wind hit the walls, covering her words and preventing them from drifting back to the study, even though she took no pains to be stealthy. "Is this a sphinx's blood fury?" Floria panted, taking a break from destruction once she reached the floorboards beneath the carpet, staring down at the colorful evidence stuck in her claws. "The chaos that takes your mind and... and...?"

"If it was, then the rest of us are sphinxes in disguise as well." Papyrus swaggered closer, and for once wasn't rebuffed. "Though honestly, I don't remember the old imperial nobility having quite that lack of self-awareness... Maybe Lord Gyre did towards the very end. But congratulations! Now you know why your extended family once tried to destroy the power structure of a whole continent."

Floria gave him a dark look. "You are hardly better yourself. Just because one fights monsters does not mean they cannot become one." She sighed, then started picking the carpet out of her claws. "Mother, was this... I mean..."

Felicity shrugged. "There is a reason I didn't suggest stopping here until we found ourselves scrambling for options," she pointed out. "And for what it's worth, he is showing us his idea of hospitality. Welcome to the world, though, Floria. People like this do exist outside the walls of our Manehattan penthouse, and are in large part the reason why our lives have gone as they have. I'm aware I haven't done the best job as a parent of showing you this world, but, well... here it is. He's far from the first of his type I'm sure you will meet."

"Thank you for your thoughtfulness. I feel edified," Floria deadpanned. "Now what is your plan for the rest of this evening? I would prefer to pass the time while retaining my sanity, and ideally without receiving an invite to his ridiculous harem based on my status as a member of an 'exotic race'."

Senescey gave the doors to the study a withering look. "A definition all of us but Papyrus could easily meet. Look..." She lifted her gaze to Felicity. "You realize what I've been doing over the last two days, right? Giving serious thought to the possibility that you were right two decades ago? Is this really what you want to do right exactly now, showing us an in-your-face reminder of everything about the aristocracy we hated?"

Papyrus tapped a hoof. "How do you even know someone like this, anyway? Rather nice that he's playing friendly, but is it the good old noble manners charade, or does he actually fancy you?"

"It's a bit more than a charade, or than fancy," Felicity admitted. "Actually, it's because of me that he became the Forest King in the first place."

Floria gave her a desolate look.

"Really." Papyrus raised an eyebrow.

"Admittedly, I didn't quite understand exactly what I was qualifying him for," Felicity admitted. "Or the dynamics underlying-"

"We've got your drinks," said a gruff voice from down the hallway.

Papyrus turned to look. It was the two grifflets who had met them at the doors, Glyce and Glyre... though for some reason only Glyce was carrying a platter stacked with glasses, and Glyre carried nothing.

"If you still need them," Glyre added. "Why are you out in the hallway? Got kicked out of Dad's study already?"

"Oh, nothing of the sort," Felicity chuckled airily. "Seeing as this storm won't be going anywhere for a while, he invited us to tour the estate. It would be a shame to spend all our time in just one room, don't you think?"

Glyce was more focused on the shredded patch of carpet, which Floria was smart enough to have moved far away from. "Might I inquire as to what happened there?"

Papyrus glanced at him, then at the carpet, then back at him. Make a joke? Antagonize their hosts? It was awfully tempting...

"Wasn't it like this when we came in?" Floria asked, stepping up to bat in his stead. "I distinctly remember thinking to myself that this place had better prove adequate in standing up to that storm, then finding myself dismayed at the signs of poor repair."

Papyrus was immediately on board with this. He nodded in agreement.

Glyce looked warily at the ruined rug. "I believe I would have noticed..."

Floria shook her head, pulling a comforting air of authority out of nowhere and wearing it like a robe. "It wasn't your fault. You were distracted trying to show proper hospitality to your guests. Besides, a lord's progeny are not expected to take up the mantle of janitor even if they do see a problem. I am sure you possess other staff who are actually meant to fix this."

Though her tone was reassuring, her eyes added, You do have staff to fix this, right?

Papyrus somehow found himself with nothing productive to add. Who would have thought Floria could actually act like a sphinx?

"Get Cherrabell to do it," Glyre advised her brother. "Not like she's got anything better to do right now."

Glyce looked as though she had suggested something deeply unpalatable, but was also too proud to argue the point in front of guests. "I do have your drinks. If you have been instructed to tour the mansion, might I show you to a sitting room where you can enjoy them?"

"That would be permissible." Floria gave a small, stately bow. "Lead the way."

Glyre watched them as Glyce led, so Papyrus couldn't exchange any knowing looks with the rest of his companions, but he knew what they were all thinking. How could he not? Felicity was ostensibly the face of this mission, yet had wordlessly stepped aside to let Floria take over and navigate the mansion's silly climate for herself. This was the 'adventure' she had asked for, the chance to contribute and stretch her claws.

Between himself and Senescey, he doubted there would be any mess she could get them into that they couldn't handle, and that was assuming Braen was full of it when she claimed to be equipped for combat. The only funny part was that Floria probably didn't even realize this was for her.

Glyce led them past a hallway intersection and then turned at another, walking carefully down a corridor that ended in a rattling, rain-spattered window, utterly black from the storm beyond. From there, he turned to the side, guiding them into a large, ornate room with a gently sloped ceiling.

The wall to their left had a wide window looking out over what would have been the compound's northern courtyard, were there anything to see amid the storm. The wall opposite the window had a wooden stage raised a step or two above floor level, stretching from edge to edge. The other two walls held the entrances, and in the middle was a collection of couches and low tables meant for enjoying appetizers during a performance. Rather than any live entertainers, however, the stage held a collection of easels, mostly displaying portraits of pretentious griffons, frolicking children and wild landscapes, all rendered in a variety of styles and levels of skill.

One of the paintings stood out, though, and not because of any noteworthy skill or prominent positioning: it was clearly a depiction of Everlaste's old capitol, a brown stone fortress nestled against the Aldenfold on the north side of the border.

Not necessarily surprising that a griffon calling himself king of these lands would have the resources to hire an artist who had been north of the mountains, or a merchant who could trade for art that was produced there. But still, Papyrus decided this might be worth remembering.

"Make yourselves comfortable anywhere you like," Glyce invited, depositing his platter of drinks on a nearby table and gesturing to the cushy seating. "The exhibition lounge is open for the pleasure of all of Father's guests. Please partake of your refreshments and enjoy the displays while I confirm with Father where you are actually meant to tour. Glyre, attend them."

Then he bowed, backing out the door.

"Well, that reduces the size of our entourage by half," Papyrus said, raising an eyebrow at Glyre. "I suppose we ought to aristocratically kick back and enjoy our drinks as the good and proper nobles that we are. You look like you love debating the intricacies of fine art."

Glyre gave him a deadpan look. "Love it. You wrecked that carpet, didn't you?"

Floria stared at her. "Does making accusations like that truly pass muster in Griffonstone's high society?"

"Huh. Never mind." Glyre shrugged impassively, then wandered over to the far window and sat down, staring out at the blackness. "Enjoy the art, art enjoyers."

"Thank you," Floria said, padding up to the stage with a flick of her tail. "I shall."

Papyrus followed at a distance, curious to see if she actually cared or was just putting on a show. He didn't care, for the most part. Back in his day, as far as he was concerned, noble art was a tool for unintentional self-parody that served more as a window into the commissioner's ego than a form of flattery. Potentially useful to pay attention to, but certainly not recreation.

This art, though... It wasn't so bad as to suggest it was painted by a delusional lord who had no one to point out their flaws. But it wasn't particularly great, either. A closer look confirmed what he had initially suspected: all different signatures.

Maybe it was mediocre because Gawain had been telling the truth, and Griffonstone's supply pool was just that small. Maybe these were actually the best of the best. But as he started to memorize signatures and search for duplicates, he started to realize there weren't any: these paintings were actually sourced from a decent number of artists, not just one or two. So a small supply pool didn't make sense either. What was this all about?

The obvious answer hit him at the same time as he found a signature he recognized: Cherrabell. The person Glyre had suggested to fix the carpet. These paintings were probably all painted by the denizens of the mansion themselves, as a way to kill time and earn their lord's favor.

...Cherrabell's signature was on the painting of Everlaste. Curious.

"I like this one," he announced, loud enough for Glyre to hear. "This artist... You mentioned her name before. Does she work here? Cherrabell? I think I should like to meet her."

Glyre looked up. "She's one of Dad's spare wombs. If you like it, vote for it. They're out here so visitors can decide which ones are good enough to hang in public."

"Excuse me, 'spare wombs'?" Floria gave her a withering stare.

"What?" Glyre shrugged. "You're a girl too. What do you get for dressing it up?"

Floria's claws scratched at the stage. "...You need better role models," she eventually declared. "Can your family truly judge others for living in squalor when you accept such a status quo yourselves? Learn some self-respect, for goodness sake!"

Glyre tilted her head. But before she could say anything, Glyce reappeared in the doorway.

"I am back," he announced. "And it seems as if Father does in fact consider you esteemed patronages. My apologies for doubting you. Though it seems as if I haven't even left you time enough to finish your drinks..."

"Don't worry about it," Senescey cut in with a shake of her head.

"Wonderful," Papyrus cheered, "a fellow reasonable person. Say, I was just asking if we might meet the artist of this piece I'm particularly taken with..." He motioned towards the Everlaste painting with his tail.

"Cherrabell!" Glyce brightened. "Yes, I'm a fan of her works as well! The imagination, the exotic spirit, the... I'm not sure if she's looking for visitors at the moment, but Father did say I was to show you where you want, when you want, and I'm certainly not averse to paying her a visit. Would you like to go right now?"

Glyre made a crass wing gesture at him, which he visibly tried to ignore.

"A change of scenery would be acceptable," Floria replied. "While this room is hardly lacking, I have been confined to an airship for quite some time, and would make the most of the opportunity to stretch my legs."

"Very well, then." Glyce beckoned once again, motioning for everyone to follow him out of the exhibition lounge. "Please accompany me."

So Papyrus followed, noting Glyre tagging along at the very back of the group. Glyce led them down a flight of stairs to the manor's second floor, the sounds of children at play echoing slightly more here than they had on the third floor. As they crossed into the eastern wing, Papyrus finally saw the source of those sounds: row upon row of bedrooms, probably at least two dozen in total, about half of their doors closed as several mares and griffonesses tried their best to convince the rooms' occupants that bedtime had come early.

Papyrus got a good look at the children as he passed by. Exclusively griffons, none of them were older than ten or so, bundles of fluff and feathers in all the colors of the rainbow. Were all of these half-siblings? Gawain must have been taking notes from Lord Wilderwind...

"Where are the older ones?" Larceny asked, half-curious.

"Mostly relocated," Glyce explained. "Those of us who grow old enough to comprehend Father's mission step out into the world as emissaries of his will. Many of my eldest siblings have emigrated to Equestria to attain modern educations and amass resources for our plans to rejuvenate Griffonstone. As for myself and my twin, we opted to remain here as servants of the grounds."

"Did you, now," Floria said, following behind.

"Someone must see to it that Father's wives are not the sole stewards waiting to greet his guests," Glyce told her with a shrug.

Papyrus quickened his pace to catch up. "Angling to inherit the estate when he eventually passes away without seeing hide nor hair of the ones who left and never returned, no doubt."

Glyce chuckled. "Our children will be parents themselves by the day that happens, and perhaps even grandparents. But it only seems right that we take a special role. After all, we are the last children Father's first wife ever bore, and the only ones still here in the forest. Does that not afford us status and responsibilities greater than those he has sired with other wives, or even in passing with commoners?"

"The last ones?" Floria asked. "What became of her?"

"Simply the last," Glyce said. "She bore children ten times for Father out of devotion to his cause, and after that, asked if her work could be considered complete. Had he refused, I'm sure she would have happily born ten more, but he didn't. And so we happened to be the last."

Floria looked predictably put off by this revelation, but out of the entire group, Papyrus suspected she actually felt it the least keenly... Well, her and Braen.

Neither of them had been there in the old Griffon Empire. Neither of them remembered how rare it could be to sire a sphinx when both parents weren't sphinxes themselves. Neither of them remembered the sphinx lords who carried on as if having twenty consorts was their Garsheeva-given right... It was their Garsheeva-given right. Neither of them had watched Felicity and her sisters debase themselves to manipulate lords by their urges. Neither of them had met Crystal before she became Chrysalis, watched what that system did to her, how it pushed her towards the destruction of everything.

Even Senescey and Larceny had merely seen that. They hadn't participated in the system as Felicity and Papyrus had, using it themselves for pleasure and ruin. And none of them remembered having a beloved little sphinx sister, had ever known the claw-crunching terror of knowing she would one day be swallowed up by that selfsame monstrosity, placed on a pedestal as Empress with the only real duty of producing more heir-hungry sphinxes to perpetuate the cycle.

Senescey and her new way of living could wait. For the first time in twenty years, Papyrus found himself face to face with his old reason for killing, and it was just as potent as ever: whether by the right methods or the wrong methods, this could not continue.

So he smiled an old, jester's smile.

Thunder rolled outside as Papyrus followed Glyce into what appeared to be an infirmary, where a nurse - presumably another one of Gawain's wives - was rooting through a bin of medical equipment, putting something away.

From the decorations, this place was clearly meant to treat grifflets, and all of the common maladies that came with being rambunctious youngsters who hadn't yet learned what parts of the world could hurt them. But its current patient, sitting tired and dejected in a chair next to the examination table, was no child: she was a mare, and she was pregnant, showing off a huge belly that was either carrying multiples, badly overdue, or both.

For a moment, Papyrus was confused, realizing that with the state of this place, he probably should have encountered others who were pregnant long ago. Had he? The nurse was a little round, he supposed, and he had been paying more attention to the children in the hallways than the mares and griffonesses trying to herd them. But he couldn't keep his eyes away from the mare who was receiving a checkup for long.

First of all, she was a pegasus. Not a griffon, not a batpony, not a sphinx or any of the other creatures who could conceive with griffon partners: a pegasus. And since he hadn't seen a single stallion on the premises, and doubted Gawain saw reason to hire one, that left the most likely explanation as her being a disguised changeling.

And a detailed disguise, at that. With an off-white, semi-silver coat and a mid-gray mane and tail, all meticulously washed and groomed, he could tell that this was someone who was taken care of. She looked physically fit, too, enough that she could probably beat him at hoof wrestling despite being around thirty and heavily pregnant. No brand, which was a rarity in Equestria and fairly regular up north.

"Cherrabell!" Glyce greeted, prompting her to look up, her dangling bang unshadowing her eyes and letting Papyrus get a good look at them.

Emerald. Hollow, bitter emerald, the flame of life replaced by a tiny, desperate spark that was biding its time, trying to stay alive until it could find a way out.

Papyrus had seen that exact same look before. It was like he was looking through a portal to that day twenty years ago, when he had made one final choice that pushed the wrong mare one step too far and brought about the end of his world.

"Is this a joke?" he mouthed, aware that Felicity, Senescey and Larceny were no doubt making the same comparison he was.

There was a wastebasket next to the door. Papyrus glanced down out of habit to see if this was somehow a setup, a deliberate recreation of his greatest failure, but Discord was nowhere to be found. He looked back up to Cherrabell, and found himself entirely at a loss for words.

"...Do you all know me?" she asked, tilting her head, her countenance stronger and voice clearer than the pits in her eyes would suggest. "You're all staring like you've seen a ghost."