“I see, ma’am. And you’re sure Rarity has not come to visit you in any way?”
Sapphire Shores, for what felt like the umpteenth time that hour, shook her head. Even now, the threshold of the studio door above her felt like a mouth threatening to swallow her up like the fear building in her bosom. So many much troubling headlines had sprung up in the last few days, with worlds like Rarity and Boutique Blaze and Chamber of horrors. Even now, the Canterlot Times ledes were burned into her mind.
But Spearhead needed an answer from her. And as one of Rarity’s commissioners before her disappearance - and the exposure of her workshop’s grisly gifts - she owed the Guard one.
“No, I’m afraid she’s not graced my front door. And considering what dreadful things I’ve heard about her…” A slow sniffle puffed from her lips. “I’m so sorry, officer. You’d think a Pony of Pop would be more composed.”
“Okay, it’s understandable.” Spearhead pulled his helmet back over her head. “We have to be careful on all fronts, Miss Shores. Considering Sweetie Belle had been to your place before…”
“Yes, what I’ve found out about Rarity’s broken my heart,.” Sapphire said. “On that note, will you be at the auction tonight? I’ve little experience in embroidery, but... I’ve made exceptions.”
“Sure. If you’re up for one last question, Miss Shores.”
“Why shoot, darlin’; I’ve answered yours for an hour, what’s one more?”
Spearhead’s jaw worked. “I know your proclamation was in front of the other Elements, and far be it from me to doubt your word, but…” Finally, the words broke forth. “You’re actually donating that dress’s proceeds to the Canterlot Fund for Fleeing Fillies?”
“And every bit I can match to the winning bid.” A curt nod answered Spearhead’s inquiry further. “I made a promise to continue Rarity’s old legacy, and I’ll keep it. As Sapphire Shores does.”
Spearhead’s smile in reaction to Shores’ vow was wavering. But considering the blustering wind and the pall over both ponies, that Spearhead managed one at all was an Ironhoofian feat. “Then I’ll be there, Miss Shores. Count on it.” “Again, I’m sorry to take up your time.”
“Any second I can contribute for Sweetie is one well spent.” Another nod, and the door was shut, Sapphire somehow feeling colder than she was at the wind’s edge. Goodness, what was Equestria coming to? She dared not answer it, her heart was jackhammering in her chest as is.
Drawing her fluffy white cloak closer to her, she only spared her practicing studio-ponies a glance - and a “Keep going, my students! I shan’t be gone an hour!” - before shuffling back through the halls alone.
For this, Sapphire wanted to be alone. Too much had rushed back to plague her mind since that surprise visit by that admittedly charming Royal Guard. Even now, she was shaking.
As she trekked through winding halls that only one set of hoofprints had marked, it seemed that every sound was out to get Sapphire. She jumped at the squeaks drilling into her ears, only to realize it was a mouse that’d gotten in through a knothole. A steady drip turned out to be from an improperly closed bathroom sink faucet. And even the troublesome flickering light at the end of the hall - its sides still scorched with blue light - chilled Sapphire’s blood as she passed it. Only for a second, though.
Really, she grumbled as she sealed it back into place and disconnected the power entirely. What has happened so late that such little things scare me? As if this is some cheesy horror flick! I run a studio, not a crypt!
Soon, Sapphire was in front of the place she was looking for. Her eyes turned to the mini-kitchen’s table. The edge of the most recent Canterlot Times issue creeped out to greet her.
Rarity: Fashionista or Murderess?
Even the thought made Sapphire’s stomach turn. She knew Rarity like the back of her hoof, and she was no murderess; yet the lines beyond even drew her dreadfully close to the possibility.
Only a day after the Canterlot Boutique fire and the disappearance of Sweetie Belle, a chilling discovery within the shop has turned Rarity from survivor into fugitive!
The remains of several animals - of three different species- were found in the basement of the shop after fire teams excavated the ruined premises. This follows the series of threatening messages and signs given to the unicorn designer over the last week; signs authorities are now saying were likely a cover-up by Rarity to throw suspicion off her murder spree! But if not here, who could it be- these were all behind a room only she had the key to.
When confronted about it, Rarity fled, after an argument disputed by even the other five Elements in it, and even they have not found her ever since-
Blue eyes tore away from the cut-off paper, refusing to acknowledge anymore. But the thought of such an event still made Sapphire’s heart sink. Goodness, the last time she and Rarity had met, it’d been so different from the negative of the unicorn staring back at her.
Rarity was colorful, generous, kind. Even with an army of ponyquins around her, she was the epitome of poise. And the glittering joy in Rarity’s eyes when Sapphire was only matched by the fluttering in Sapphire's heart. It was a beat from a part of her laid low by constant schedules and obsessed fans and guarded secrets, disbelieving of such fairytale things as love at first sight.
Rarity was sen-sa-tion-al.
And from that moment, she’d wanted to be with Rarity forever.
But her job took Sapphire far away from those bowling eyelashes, those attentive ears, that ambition-rich tone of Rarity’s voice. It hurt too much, until one day it broke, and she’d changed to get over that pain.
And now it came to this.
Regretfully, Sapphire turned from the fire. She only had several hours until the auction, if she wanted to have something presentable, it’d have to be fast. Even her coat - a little just-past-the-flank- number she’d barely finished today - was hanging limply on her shoulders. Brushing back a stray pink hair poking out amongst the patchy white.
It really wouldn’t do, not like this. In honor of the pony Rarity was, such shoddiness in her work wouldn’t do for Sapphire Shores.
But these few hours would give her time to fix that.
Sapphire took a hoof, dug in on a peeling side of paint in the wall above her, and tugged soon, that dodge gave way- as did the rectangle of wood and plaster behind this façade door. The airy scent hit Sapphire’s head like a fire-hose briny and dusty and rich with… copper?
Sapphire shook her head. No, it couldn't be. She was imagining things.
She dusted her hooves on the threshold’s edge - and wrinkled her snout at the red lines still decorating it - then went in.
After closing the door behind her, Sapphire trotted down the stairs. The echo slamming into her ribs with every step, needling at her soul. She could even count the scars in the tiling of this room, grey by the foundation, brown with dust.
Not surprising, considering, this was where she’d originally come to vent over unattainable love. She’d spent so much time here, bawling, and before she’d come to a new understanding; one that made her so much happier. Really, how long had Sapphire longed to be Rarity’s special somepony? How long until that day had come, where she found it in her to stop being a sad sack?
Too long, really.
Reaffirmed, Sapphire strode into the basement. It’d never needed to be used before - the army of stallions willing to house her stop at a hoof-clap and eye-wink had seen to that. It made it the perfect staging area for her own little dressmaking.
It was even full of ponyquins - another tribute to Rarity, one for nopony’s eyes but Sapphire’s. Their white surfaces called out to her, like canvases, making the worries of the world a floor above melt away. Ponyville Butcher who? Foalnapping Fashionista what?
It was the ponyquin in the center of the barely-lit room that caught Sapphire’s eye, next to a lonely sewing machine and an old printing press. That one was Special with a capital S. That one held the escape to all her inner turmoil, her fears, her torment. And right now, it held her dress; the one for Sapphire’s auction.
All except the sleeves, which Sapphire was going to fix now.
Trotting over to it, Sapphire took off her coat. After hanging it on a hook - and marveling at the purple-pink curls decorating its collar - she started to clear away the refuse. Clumps of purple and white soon decorated the floor.
Then, one of her working materials caught in her foreleg, and Sapphire yelped, sucking on it. Careless! She scolded herself. After all the news you’re read, the close calls, and you’re still thi-
Then she stopped. For a minute, she thought she saw the ponyquin holding her dress move.
Sapphire stopped, her heart resuming its frantic beat as she focused herself. One long staring session later, and that frightening thought was gone, the model still. With a huff, Sapphire threw away the offending tool - off-white, curved, speckled with red - and went to work.
Sapphire’s trembling eyes watched carefully as she threaded through the needle, then the black fabric. Again, she soon found herself envying how Rarity had done this in barely hours. Really, she should have asked Rarity before that Carousel fire happened.
But these last few days had been a whirlwind for Sapphire too. At least she was in the center of that storm now. With her ponyquin.
Then she hit the ponyquin’s leg on a sweep of the needle. And even Sapphire could hear the sob that racked from its lips.
Sapphire jumped in surprise. Really, she hadn’t thought this would be an issue. The X’s knotted across the ponyquin’s lips was supposed to ensure that. But the crying tugged at her heartstrings nonetheless, because of how often it’d visited her since that first moment she’d pined for Rarity.
She’d done it so many times in this room, thinking of Rarity, from her pain.
She’d done it after closing the box on those dead animals, week after week, with the mirrored titles, To: Carousel Boutique, from the stench of the bleach they’d been doused in.
She’d done it when Rarity had offered her Sweetie Belle to look over when those messages hit fever pitch, from the certainty that her new plan to get Rarity’s attention would work.
She’d done it when Sweetie Belle had looked at her, with those bugged-out eyes, as she’d brought the hammer down on that sickeningly sweet face.
And now the ponyquin above her was doing it too! Because of me!
Sapphire’s eyes turned to her coat rack in shame.But inside, she knew she had to apologize. What sort of pony would Sapphire be, if she wasn’t considerate?
“I’m sorry, darlin’, did I prick you?” Sapphire asked, moving back up the ponyquin’s frame. She pressed back a lock of curling purple hair, laying a hiss on the forehead. “I didn’t mean to, my love. You’d think a Pony of Pop would be more composed.”
Really, all of this was her fault. Her clumsiness. Her lonely heart. Her overwhelming rage when she’d seen Rarity’s eyes twinkle for that stupid stallion more than it did her.
“And the loss of the Boutique, and all the animals I had to put there… it tears at me so. But... could you imagine if that scoundrel Blueblood got his meaty hooves on you? Don’t worry….” Sapphire cooed, bending down to the half-attached sleeve again. “I’m here for you in this time of need, my sen-sa-tion-al love.”
Rubbing at another painful blue mark on her neck, sparkling with the spell the ‘needle’ in her hooves had once thrown at her, Sapphire was soon smiling again as she sewed. She was content; and why not, she was literally the center of Rarity’s universe! No Sweetie to bother them, no Elements to intervene. And soon, Rarity’s designs would be the talk of all of Equestria! As long as she remained still.
Ignoring the tears traveling down her ponyquin’s face, Sapphire finished the last sleeve of the dress, standing back in triumph. Oh, how the ponies above would beg to know how this got made! But some mysteries were best left unsolved - like the location of the Ponyville Butcher.
It was as Sapphire's said to Spearhead before: what she’d found out about Rarity broke her heart. But not her spirit.
Besides, she’d told that fine officer nothing but the truth; Rarity hadn’t graced the front of her studio. No way would Sapphire let that much blood mar her front door.
