Excerpt from the Book of The Fool and The Prophet:

He who sought riches to protect riches, to amass a grand collection and be its eternal, golden guardian. He must forge himself a mask. A mask crafted of pure gold. The face of man is bound by the flesh of man: imperfect, ephemeral, and rotten. But a face of gold knows none of these flaws. For one to protect gold; one must become gold. And gold will become him.

-p. 217, Pesoñe (On The Fool's Burden)

. . . . .

Life starts at sea.

Life ends at sea.

This had been a fact for as long as the world had known. For as long as humanity had existed, both the sea and salt had been there first. Salt made us into what we are. Magi, bowmen, fish, paladins, me. Salt interweaved, co-existed through each and every being put on this planet. If one was trained, attuned to it, they could even sense the salt in other living beings. How much their salt was worth, in essence. A skill all but useless on this damnable isle!

As such, I only enjoyed killing the bigger targets. I could sense their salt-strewn soul from a mile away. That, and they were much, much more of a profit.

As much as we know of the salt, we know not of the salt's origin. We know not of its purpose. The salt aids, the salt takes away. I was protected from it, now I am not. The ebb and flow. My golden mask, once whole, now sits in two split halves–well, two new wholes, I guess:

One within my bag, the other--well, I'm not jumping into that well again, now am I? Damn thing fell from my bag as I fell from that stupid well. If it ain't there, then... If by any chance the mask isn't down there, then I have a chance of seeing it elsewhere here. Wherever elsewhere just so happens to be.

The fact I'm back where it all started? Minor issue, my mask comes first. I'll worry over the fact I'm meditating at the Shivering Shores, again, later. I pull the golden half of a face from my backsack, just holding it comforts me.

The coronet atop my head does as well.

Yet I wonder, why am I so adamant about retrieving the other half? Why do I worry so to fix what had been broken? Why not get a new one? Why not just keep the crown? Simple, really. My mask is my face, it is my me, my very being!

It is and always will be my first mask. I'd received it when I'd first succumbed to the House of Splendor. When I'd first truly sought riches in the name of The Fool and The Prophet! I need that other half!

Without it, I'm...

I sigh and finally breathe deep the salt I have grown so dear to miss. I remember this like it was yesterday. Maybe it was yesterday, I don't know. Time doesn't pass here. The smell is always the same. Salt on the air; it's been too long. My liberated flesh aches, my decay breathes in the salt along with me. Raggedy, wheezing expiration of air.

Well, truly, the Faceless Queen. The Queen who fell and fell and fell.

Splashing of water stirs me my from my mind. Perhaps just waves on the ocean. I try and ignore the distracting noise; the crashing of the blackest water on the blackest sand. Godsdammit. My upper lip twitches. More splashes and I know my breath hitches as my eyes open. I frown, and then I don't. My eyes shift from my half of a whole me to the... "What the devil're you?" I ask what is supposed to be a rhetorical question.

A piercing, shrill scream assaults my ears as the answer to it.

. . . . .

Salt wafts through my olfactory holes, a sneeze escapes me and I wake with a groan.

I rub at the back of my head with the frog of my hoof. Did something hit me? Somepony fell... I think I fell? Ugh, my head is ringing something awful. "Applebloom, s'it a good time go back now?" I grumble as, slowly, my eyes squint open, the lids peel back from a gathered crust of sorts. Blurry surroundings become clear and confusion shoots down my spine. I am alone.

Where am I?

A dark, unlit room. Check. Spider webs in the corner. Doubly check. The floor thuds like a rock when I stand, my a hooves finding purchase on it... the tower? The tower! That's right! Sweetie Belle, Applebloom and me left Ponyville earlier to seek out this tower!

This stupid tower!

I look around the remainder of the room with a strange hastiness–I take in everything with a steady perception I didn't even know I had; dust and salt particles visibly float within the walls–giant slabs of brick the material of choice. A window, the outside world looks grey, yet considerably more calm. Is the storm over? A doorway, itself ajar.

Where's Applebloom and Sweetie Belle? Friends? Where are my friends? Did they leave? To go get help maybe... yeah! Probably put me in this room to be safe, maybe I passed out from the pain in my win... I stop as my head turns to look at the broken limb and stare. A dull, rising panic builds in my chest. My heart begins to hammer, thunder in my skin as my vision pulses. I fight back the urge to scream in anguish. Rage. Anger. What happened to me?

What happened to my wings?!

In place of my once rather useless, now entirely useless flappers are two, bloody stubs. Tinted whites of my humerus bones jut out from the scabbing, clotty remnants of what used to be.

I continue to gawk at the wounds. "When did–why? Why would somepony do this to me? I'll--I'll kill them!" I gasp, my eyes shoot open as I make the audible threat. The words reverberate in the stale, bleak spire. Nothing responds, thankfully, as I stave off my strange case of unbridled wrath. How did this happen? Why did this happen... and why can't I feel it?

I take a deep, shaking breath as I all but have to force myself to look away. No tears stain my muzzle; no water works. I'm not crying. I should be crying. I would be crying! Why am I not crying? I look over to the open doorway, the wooden piece itself off its hinges, outward into the hall. I take a glance back at my missing wings and I bite my lip. Why don't I care? Outside of feeling... mad that they're gone, I don't care elsewise. It's strange, because I know my wounds should be hurting, that I should care that my wings're even gone, but I simply don't.

It's frightening and empowering all the same.

I take few cautious hoofsteps out of the room, peeking my head around the thick wall. Checking my surroundings just to be sure, I spot the exit I... fell from. Yet the bridge leading back to shore is perfectly intact. The old, unnaturally undulating span of cement, cricks, and groans sound loudly with each crashing wave. A sensation wriggles up my spine. The staircase we passed by from the bridge, going up, no longer rubble. Why a staircase to climb a tower was built outside of said tower, I will never know.

I look upwards, imagining what awaited at the top.

The bridge, staircase.

Both seemed newer than what I remembered them being. Either the repairponies came by or–I shake my head, "don't be stupid, Scoots. Yeah, I'm in the tower still, just a different part of it maybe." I doubt, I know it's not the truth, but thinking I'm in a different time is just too crazy a thought. Maybe whatever hit me took my wings? Or were they already gone?

No, they're still scabbing over. Fresh, don't forget that. It's weird how bad my memory is acting up. I feel like I should remember these things, that this had all just occurred, but I don't. Burning questions, so many burning questions.

Why did we need to come here, to this tower? The inquiry sits in the back of my mind, but does not try and leave to find the answer. I look down the other, shorter end of the hall and spot nothing but a simple chest. A dark chasm awaits directly behind it–water splashing confirms what sat below.

A chest trap? How does that work, wouldn't the chest need to be on the other side of the gap? Not that it would be, considering how it's simply a flat wall that then went on promptly downwards, of course.

Curiosity piques, only natural, and I brazenly stumble forward. Questions ever-aflame fill my mind with a longing to search for the answers. Why a chest? How did Sweetie and AB miss it? How did I miss it? How deep's that cliff? What's inside?

As I near the wooden coffer, my muscles quiver and shake. A bead of sweat rolls down the middle of my muzzle; either due to the heat or the stress of the whole situation, I do not know

A pinching feeling in the back of my neck tells me not to open it, I wholeheartedly agree, yet I go to anyway. My hooves tremble, especially the one moving to open the mystery box. I close my eyes as I try and hit at it. It's hefty lid creaks as it props open on the first try. Dust wafts from the long-untouched material as it falls backward on its own accord. My heart thuds for seemingly no reason, l o u d l y, at the sight.

A little black charm sits at the bottom of it next to a small spool of rope. My eyebrow raises. This is what my gut wanted me to be afraid of? A rock?

I pick the little doodad up and place it under a more scrutinizing eye--which is still a thing that I have. Apparently. The more I look at it, the darker it seems to appear. Impossibly dark, but yet it seems to just be a void. Absorbing light, but not hurting anything in its darkness. Its shadows twist and warp around the material, which itself looks to be obsidian. Cracks in the surface are even–the flat curvature proves it must have been pony or griffon-made. So, what, I got a designer black rock?

Stupid.

Grumbling to myself, I grab the little twine string that sat next to it and stare inquisitively for all of a moment. Just noticing the little hole in the top of the obsidian minilisk, I shrug and proceed to make a hippie necklace. Placing the once artifact, now lucky charm, around my neck, it drops against my barrel.

It just sits there.

It is literally just a magic looking stone that sits there and looks spooky. Wicked. Cannot wait to scare Applebloom with this! The amount of voodoo hoodoo she'll think I'm performing!

I don't laugh.

The thought that would have normally sent a smile careening across my face, doesn't. In fact, I didn't even find my own joke funny. The fact my friends are missing and the thoughts circling around my wings are... kinda holding me down. Metaphorically speaking. I shake my head as I turn around, the new necklace gently whipping with the motion.

I don't see its shadow-like tendrils pulse.

Well, I would go upstairs as we'd originally wanted to... since I'm by myself, I'd better not. Who knows how many floors this tower consisted of. I could get seriously hurt—my eyes glance at two bloodied stubs—or worse.

Maybe I just go back?

I nod my head; it's a better idea than potential death. I step, finally back through the internal boundaries of the black tower, and I stand upon just the cusp of the bridge. I have to stop myself as I stare blankly out into... an entirely different beach the one I remember in my head.

A little silhouette sits on the shore–no, rather, in the shore's blackest tide. The grey skies cast a minimal amount of color into the world; I can barely make out gold from where I am. The thought freezes me for a second, but I can't say as to why.

The gold moves and my eyes widen; it has be a member of the Royal Guard–they're looking to find me! At the prospect, I gallop forth to my salvation–my savior.

I trot across the bridge with a vigor unmatched! Having wings that–having had wings that didn't work most of the time, my endurance is pretty good. Especially if I can barrel down this length and still keep going! Just totally don't think about how the bridge can break at any possible second.

Yeah.

The figure draws nearer, I'm on the beach sprinting in the sand towards it. The water splashes as it rushes past my fetlocks. I will leave, I will be safe.

I will–absolutely bucking die.

For my savior's grin is predatory. Her hair is blood. Her eyes, hellfire.

. . . . .

All beings have salt in their dark souls, salt exists in everything. Yet, I feel nothing as I stare down at the small, orange pegasus before me. How do I know what this little creature is?

I know it is a pegasus for two simple facts. One: she has a couple of very peculiar, very imperfect nasty-looking stubs on her back. Two, and this one is much more simpler to explain: I've killed them before.

We both sit on our haunches, swaying with and against the dark waves; the water barely crashes into us as it splashes to and from the grey-black shore. Salt thick on the wind, my arms rests over my knees; magenta eyes continue to train on mine.

The pegasus' likewise colored mane flows faintly on the wind. Aside from the off-colors and pint-size, the only thing of note is the horse's--I'm assuming the filly's wings. Or lack thereof, really. The base of them an unsightly blackish-blue. The rest... let's say it would be of no surprise to me the pegasus doesn't ever fly again.

Poor creature.

Obviously, the creature is either sapient or stupid. Obviously, because only either a sapient or a stupid pegasus screams when something scares them. Horses neigh, unicorn die, pegasi apparently scream.

Definitely not worth a damn piece. Would a merchant buy the frail thing? Pegasi, while not rare, are still quite an uncommon sight in the kingdoms. Might fetch me a pretty penny, I suppose. Though, it might not. Decisions.

"What are you?" She asks as I continue to stare in silence at it.

Oh, so it talks too. There goes eating the thing.

Author's Note

Shorter, but for a reason! Needed the two to sort out their respective... quests.