Make You Feel Better

by Aquillo

Rating: teen
Tags: Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Fluttershy
Length: 1483

Dark, short and annoying vague. Story has a mild obsession with the colour green.

You awaken in a glade outside of Ponyville with no idea how you got there. Luckily, Fluttershy will make you feel better.

Dark, short and annoyingly vague.

Published 2012-09-04 08:04:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-09-04 08:04:01 UTC

Chapter 1

The world is so much more green than you're used to.

The same wind that ruffles through your hair stirs a distant copse into movement; the trees’ branches rock back and forth in a flowing, unhurried sway. A few dandelion puffs float past you like small white clouds. The grass blades of the meadow tickle against your skin as you just sit there, watching the world drift past. You haven’t begun to worry where you are, or even who you are, yet. It’s all too beautiful.

Mere moments ago, the world had been grey, dull and lifeless. It had been tall granite buildings whose outlines swam hazily under a thunderous downpour. The only life had been the people rushing past you, coat lapels upturned and black umbrellas pointed accusingly at the sky. Someone had bumped into you – perhaps on purpose, perhaps by accident – and your leg had become submerged in a puddle covering a blocked drain. No-one had stopped to help; instead, they'd ignored you as you'd struggled to pull yourself out. And then... and then...

A butterfly flutters to a stop, landing on your nose and distracting your train of thought. You hold your breath as its bright, green wings fully unfurl and bask in the warmth of the sun. Something you did must have disturbed it, though, because a few seconds later it flaps off into the sky. Your eyes follow it, watching as the green speck vanishes into the clear ocean of blue overhead. There isn't a cloud in the sky.

“Erm... Hello?”

A voice did not break the peaceful quiet because no voice that calm and that tranquil and that beautiful could disrupt anything; it was as if the wind itself had asked the question. You turn your head.

A butter-yellow pegasus is smiling at you from less than a yard away. A basket overflowing with green wildflowers rocks about as she shifts uncertainly. Her hoof scuffs against the grass, and her eyes lower towards the ground as you watch.

You try to speak, but the words catch in your throat. A series of coughing noises breaks the quiet as you try to force them out. A flock of perched Green Jays, startled, flies off into the sky.

“Oh! Are... Are you alright?” Your eyes widen painfully as she approaches, all signs of shyness gone. “That doesn’t sound very healthy at all. You’d best come with me at once. I’ll make you feel better.”

*****

Steam rises in lazy spirals up from the mug of cabbage soup in front of you. You lift it up and drink. It tastes alright, but it could’ve done with some more salt.

“So? What do you think? Do you like it?”

You lift your eyes to see her, green apron tied around her front, watching you from over the table. It’s been over a month since she took you into her home and her life. You still can’t remember how you got into the meadow, and as each day passes the importance of knowing diminishes. Your past isn’t as important as the present and, perhaps, the future.

You nod your head, and she smiles, pleased. A light pink dusts the tips of her cheeks as she averts her eyes. She lifts her own mug up and drinks from it daintily. You watch her with a fascination you cannot understand. She puts the mug back down and frowns.

“I don’t know. It tastes a bit too bland to me.”

She gets up, and trots back into the kitchen. Something wet touches you; you look down into a puddle of spilt, green soup. You must have accidently knocked it over. Your eye twitches, and your head burns from a sudden headache.

“What’s wrong?” A series of thuds makes its way towards you, and something brushes your cradling arms out of the way. “Is your head hurting again? Don’t worry. I know just the thing to make you feel better.”

*****

Life shouldn’t be this perfect.

It shouldn’t be, but it is. The covers draped over you hold in the warmth and keep out the cold, though your breath still fogs the air every time you breathe out. The curtains are open, and moonlight – tinged green by a tree growing between the window and the full moon – covers the room in a ghostly, unfocused twilight. A warm breath of air hits the side of your neck, and a hoof catches against your shoulder. Pink hair tickles against your nose. You close your eyelids, and a stab of pain hits your eyes.

“Are you alright, my sweet?” You nod as she shifts about; you weren’t sure when you had become ‘her sweet’, but you know it's her pet name for you.

“Are your eyes hurting you again? Let me have a look at them. I’ll make you feel better.” You can feel her breath skimming against your cheek like feathers, and then something soft and wet brushes against your quivering, spasming eyelids. The pain recedes.

Your entire life is perfect, except for your damned eyes. They hurt; they hurt all the time, and you have no idea why.

*****

You glare at yourself in the mirror, or more precisely, at the green bow tie hanging from your neck in one great, tangled knot. It stands out stupidly against the elegant, black suit you're wearing. One of her friends had made the suit for you, and the fit is just perfect.

Your ability to tie a bow tie is not. This would be the third time you’ve tried tying it, and each and every time it turns out more knotted than the last. You glance over at a clock studded with emeralds. It’s nearly one. You’re going to be late for the wedding.

You reach up and, after lifting up your chin and straightening out your neck, begin to go through the now familiar routine of unraveling the mess you made. Your mind flicks back over the events that led up to this day, to this fairytale romance, and you pause as you realise something’s missing. Your memories.

Your mind feels like an archipelago, with only islands of events made clear inside a vast ocean of nothing. The beauty of the meadow; the taste of the soup; the warmth of a shared bed: all of these are clear, and yet the parts between them – nearly a year, you realise – exist only as dissonant recollections. The bow tie falls from out your grasp.

You can see your eyes widening in the green-tinted glass of the mirror before a stab of pain shoots through them, and you realise just how dry and shrivelled up they feel, and then you start to breathe faster and faster as the world’s edges crumble into a shimmering mist of twisting light and half-reflected shadows, and pain cracks in fiery bursts across your eyes and stomach, and...

And...

And you open your eyes.

It’s dark for the most part, though a little light bounces off outcrops of grey, gleaming stone around you. The wet sheen covering the rock gives it an almost organic look. The echoes of a voice laughing off in the distance reach you, and the tones aren’t cruel or mocking, but happy and content. Quiet murmurs and whispers hit you from all around.

You try and move but find you can’t. There’s some sort of stone stuck around your limbs, binding you to the wall. You try tugging at it, but you’re too weak to break it. Hunger hits you with a vengeance, and your stomach squirms under the pain.

A groan comes out from nearby, and you flick your eyes towards the contented sound. Your eyes must have adjusted to the darkness, because you can see the shape that made it, make out a figure with limbs held in an unnatural position against the wall. It’s a pony, and you can nearly see all of him in the darkness: from his worn and tattered coat to the skin stretched taut across his ribs and over to the wide, perversely happy smile upon his face. Some shadow that’s been blocking the light moves, and a beam hits his eyes. They glow green.

You look over as the shadow carries on moving, coming closer and closer towards you, its shape morphing slowly into that of something like a pony as it sheds ambiguity. A dark hoof scrapes the bottom of your chin, lifting your head up to see blue, glowing eyes staring into yours as black, chitin lips open into a smile.

“Are you having trouble with your eyes again, my sweet?”

Its horn glows green, and your surroundings are briefly illuminated. The cave is not small, but vast; thousands of dry, green eyes glint in the half-light. It speaks again, with a voice that is shockingly, horribly familiar:

“I’ll make you feel better.”