Filly à Deux

by UmberRose

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Sweetie Belle, Cutie Mark Crusaders
Length: 5234

What does it feel like when a pony is losing her mind?

Sweetie Belle finally gets her Cutie mark, and it seems that everything is perfect. She soon finds out that nothing could be further from the truth.

Set a couple of years into the future.

Published 2012-09-06 06:54:02 UTC
Last updated 2012-09-06 06:54:02 UTC

Filly à Deux

Thunderous applause greeted the silence that followed my last song. As I left the stage my hooves barely touched the ground. I wondered if Pegasus ponies experienced something similar. I had decided that if they did they must have the most perfect lives, when I was tackled by my two best friends in the whole world. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo beamed at me as they smothered me in hugs, pulling me from the stage into the wings.

“I always said you had an amazin’ voice!” Apple Bloom chirped, her southern accent strengthened by her enthusiasm. I nuzzled her neck, embarrassed but pleased.

“I’ve never been so proud to be your friend!” Scootaloo chimed in, fluttering her wings as she dived in for another hug. I flushed a deeper scarlet as I hugged her back. I thought my heart would burst from happiness.

“My darling sister, you were simply divine!” A clipped, upper class voice drifted over to us as we stood in the wings, and we looked up to see Rarity and her friends approaching.

I was surrounded by a happy gaggle of ponies, all talking at once.

“Nice work, kid!” Rainbow Dash darted above them, unable to keep still for very long. “You’re almost as awesome as me!”

The rest of the grown-ups shot the blue Pegasus an exasperated look.

“Wow! What about me Rainbow Dash, will I ever be as awesome as you?” Scootaloo piped up excitedly, caught up in the energy her idol seemed exude wherever she went.

Before she could answer, Rarity and her friends began talking again. Distracted, Rainbow Dash zoomed over to them, leaving Apple Bloom and I to watch as our friend’s smile slipped away.

“Anyway,” Apple Bloom continued, looking awkwardly at our friend’s crestfallen expression. “We should probably be going. I guess we’ll see you this weekend at the clubhouse.”

My smile faded as I answered.

“Actually, I can’t. I have a rehearsal scheduled for that day.” The smile Scootaloo had begun re-plastering across her face was wiped off again as she and Apple Bloom both looked utterly deflated.

“Besides,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood. “I don’t really need to crusade anymore.”

As I watched their faces fall further I realised I could have phrased my joke better. I felt my gut twist with guilt, but they’d gone before I could apologise.

Exhausted after another long rehearsal, I made my way up the hidden staircase at the back of Rarity’s boutique that led to our living space on the second floor. Ever since I’d started singing professionally, my elder sister had been acting as my manager, booking me into shows, sorting out my schedule and most importantly (to her anyway) creating my stage outfits.

No matter how weary I was I couldn’t help but be buoyed up by her endless enthusiasm. There was no doubt she was born to be in the spotlight, and I valued the time we spent together, discussing my performance. Finally, we had something we could both be excited about, a shared interest we could bond over.

Unfortunately all that didn’t stop me needing the occasional rest. I dragged my weary body into my bedroom and shut the door, relieved to be alone. Before I let myself flop down on the bed, I decided I should probably update my diary.

I’d been fairly lax about it in recent weeks; I thought guiltily as I dug out the sparkly pink journal my parents had given me for my birthday.

Something about my diary seemed off. The key to it still hung around my neck on a piece of string, hidden by my mane. Slipping it off with a shrug, I tried to push the uneasiness aside as I opened the journal to the next blank page.

My disquiet increased as several creases along the opposite page caught my eye. Had I made those creases? I couldn’t remember.

I looked up suddenly, feeling watched and strangely anxious. I couldn’t think where these feelings were coming from. Disconcerted, I closed my diary again and strolled as casually as I could over to my bedroom window. The view was reassuringly familiar, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Only to choke it back as I caught sight of a shadowy figure lurking under the tree closest to my window. I fought back a wave of fear and without thinking I turned and galloped from my room and down the stairs. I burst through the front door, my chest heaving and I looked about wildly for the figure, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.

I felt an odd lurch, and found myself looking at my own body. My entire being seemed at odds with itself; my muscles tensed as my face hung slack, an expression of dull surprise showing.

Shaking my head, I tried to focus on my breathing. I could feel my lungs expanding and contracting, my heart pumping reassuringly. I was merely tired, I reasoned. I closed my eyes and waited as the cloud of anxiety surrounding me dissipated.

Blinking a few times to clear my vision, I headed back inside. In my room I found my diary exactly where I had left it, lying closed on the bed. I opened it, feeling the familiar glittery cover, and turned to the diary entry I’d written a couple of weeks ago.

Dear Diary,

Today I finally got my cutie mark! And you’ll never guess what my super special talent is!

It’s singing! I was just sitting with Apple Bloom and Scootaloo in our clubhouse like usual, and I was humming something. Scootaloo said I was really good at singing and I said I don’t know about that, but I really like singing. And then Apple Bloom said wouldn’t it be weird if singing was your super special talent and it hit me! I love singing, and I’m good at it. I felt all warm and tingly inside, and when I looked down, there was a cutie mark in the shape of a music note on my flank!

I let the words of my younger self wash over me. It seemed like years had passed since then. I realised with guilt that I had only seen my friends twice after that fateful day.

I would never have found my cutie mark if it hadn’t been for them, I thought sadly, closing my diary and replacing it on the book shelf.

Later that night, over a very basic dinner (Rarity had been too tired to cook anything fancy, and no matter how much I offered she wouldn’t let me near the stove) I told my sister about the figure outside my window.

“It was probably a trick of the light, Sweetie.” She said absently as she took another careful, precise bite of her sandwich. I looked down critically at my own roughly masticated meal.

“It’s straight to bed after dinner,” she continued, not a speck of food or a crumb to be found anywhere in her vicinity. I’d always wondered how she did that without compulsively picking up each individual crumb with her hoof. “You’ve got a long day tomorrow. It’s the last rehearsal before your performance at the Veterans Ball, and you’re still getting the second and third verses mixed up.”

I tried to get excited about this performance, as I had about others in the past, but I just felt tired. As Rarity cleared the plates away I made my way upstairs, collapsing down on my bed and wrapping myself in my pale pink bed spread. I was going to run over the lyrics to the songs I would practice tomorrow, but instead I fell into a fitful sleep.

The next morning passed by in a frantic flurry of motion. My elder sister had been working on a new creation until the small hours of the morning and had overslept, as had I. Outside, the stallions pulling our carriage pawed impatiently at the ground as I raced around collecting my sheet music and Rarity distractedly applied makeup to only one half of her face.

As I shoved my papers into my panniers, making sure to discreetly slide Rarity’s makeup bag into hers, I wondered when my life had become a meaningless rush from one event to another. I could feel a part of me exhilarated at what some might describe as a showbiz lifestyle and another part of me longing for a normal life, but my mind refused to connect with either emotion.

As I was ushered out into the waiting carriage I caught sight of a lost looking filly in one of the windows. With a jolt I realised I was looking at myself.

The carriage ride was long and uneventful, and Rarity spent most of the time talking about her newest clothing range. I listened sporadically, content to let her talk. Outside the carriage, life for the rest of Ponyville carried on as normal. As we passed through the marketplace I thought I caught sight of a familiar fuchsia mane, bobbing in response to some comment I wasn’t privy to.

Sighing, I turned back to my sister. In her place was a pony that looked exactly like me. As I stared into the dull, sap green eyes, I let out a yell of fright.

“What’s wrong, Sweetie?” Rarity’s voice drifted eerily from my lips. I blinked and my sister looked at me, concerned. Feeling lightheaded, I said the first thing that tripped off my tongue.

“You’ve only got makeup on one side of your face.” My voice sounded foreign to me, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it as Rarity screeched in horror, diving for her makeup bag.

Endless rows of seats extended away from me as I stood alone in the centre of the stage. All around me, ponies were bustling as they prepared for the concert that would take place there later tonight.

I went through all the motions of rehearsal, repeating lyrics and memorising cues, my body on autopilot. Unfettered from my body, my mind wandered. I tried to remember what event I was singing for, but drumming up memories had been a slow process recently.

Absently, I stared about at the stage hands and performers around me. None of them paid me the slightest bit of attention as they hurried about their business. I wondered if they would notice if I just disappeared.

I waved experimentally at a group of unicorn chorus singers. They stared straight through me. Resigned, I went back to my own rehearsal.

As I mouthed the lyrics to a song I found particularly difficult I felt eyes upon me. Thinking that one of the unicorns had noticed me after all, a glanced up in their direction. While I’d been looking elsewhere they’d moved on, and in their place stood a dark shape. My breathing quickened as I recognised the shadow swathed figure I’d seen from my window.

As I stared at the figure, my hooves rooted to the spot, it suddenly darted towards the door at the back of the concert hall. For a brief moment my mind stalled. Then I was moving, barging past ponies as I raced after the retreating form.

I shot through the door accompanied by the screech of my hooves on the tiled floor of the hallway. Glancing about wildly, I caught sight of the dark figure rounding the corner at the end of the corridor.

“Hey, Sweetie Belle! I came to watch you rehearse; I thought maybe we could-”

A blur of orange and fuchsia flashed past me as I galloped as fast as I could but I ignored it, focussing on the diminishing shadow in front of me.

Adrenaline raced through me as I struggled to keep my quarry in sight throughout the twists and turns of the concert hall’s lower levels. My legs protested painfully, and my lungs burnt with the effort of supplying my giddy self with enough oxygen.

My mind raced ahead of me, thought it too was struggling to comprehend the situation at hand. Who was the strange, foreboding figure? Why was it following me? And most importantly, was it real?

I turned another corner and nearly came crashing into a very solid, very real brick wall. My front legs locked as I tried to slow down, my back legs flailing wildly as I tipped forward, a tangle of incoherent limbs and thoughts.

I was up in an instant, blood pumping so loudly in my ears that I could barely hear myself screaming.

“Where are you?!” A strange, hoarse voice that I dimly recognised as my own echoed back at me from all directions. I was aware that I was once again looking at myself from somewhere else. My eyes bulged crazily and my chest heaved, and I struggled to connect my outward appearance with my strangely detached line of thought.

Only silence greeted my hysteria. The detached part of me pointedly asked what, if anything, I had expected to happen. My panting gradually lessened as I knitted myself back together.

Feeling empty, I started back towards the concert hall. I desperately needed to get a hold on myself, but it felt like the longer I went on the looser my grip on reality became. I had always been a rational pony. Prone to being over-emotional, but still rational. My old self would never recognise the unstable train wreck I seemed to be becoming.

As I walked I was progressively aware of a quiet whispering sound pervading the still air. I glanced anxiously about, looking for the source, but I was alone in the dimly lit corridor. I continued on, and the whispering increased. I glanced behind me down the empty corridor, but there was no sign of life.

My anxiety continued to increase as with every step I took the whispering got louder and louder. Turning yet another corner I noticed an open door at the end of the hallway. As I listened the whispering beckoned me closer.

I stepped through the open door to find an empty room. As my hoof crossed the threshold the whispering abruptly ceased, leaving me smothered in total silence. As I stood there, wondering what to do next, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Spinning around, I came face to face with myself. A huge mirror extended from floor to ceiling, the door I’d just entered set into the centre.

My reflection laughed at my shocked expression, the sound reverberating throughout the empty room. Fear gnawed at the edge of my consciousness as I stared dumbly back.

“There you are! I’ve been so worried; you know the performance is due to start soon?” my reflection suddenly asked, taking a concerned step toward me. I shook my head, trying to gather the remains on my sanity.

“Oh Sweetie Belle, I thought you’d gotten over your stage fright. Come, we simply must get back. We have to get you ready.” My lips moved, forming words that weren’t my own. My voice sounded different somehow, more upper class. In fact, it sounded like...

“Rarity?”

My elder sister sighed exasperatedly before grabbing my hoof in her own and pulling from the room.

After that the rest of my week passed by in a blur.

I sang at the concert. I can’t remember if I was any good.

I passed Apple Bloom and Scootaloo in the street. I don’t think I recognised them at the time.

I attended a meeting with Rarity and a couple of producers who wanted me to sing some vapid commercial for a product of theirs. As they batted the details of my life back and forth between them I tried to interject my opinion, but as usual I was ignored.

In a fit of anger I grabbed all the papers on the table and threw them everywhere, screaming at them that I didn’t want to sing their stupid commercial, that all I wanted was control of my life back. I was interrupted by my sister telling me the meeting was over, and we left the producers as they obnoxiously patted each other on the back.

As we left the building Rarity told me I needed to be more active in future meetings.

At home afterwards I stood by my bedroom window, watching Apple Bloom and Twist laughing with each other outside. I idly wondered when Apple Bloom had stopped hanging out with Scootaloo and rekindled her friendship with the curly haired foal. From across the room my reflection had to admit I had no idea.

I was on stage again, singing for another event. I no longer cared which one. A blurred mess of pony faces stared up at me. I was probably singing horribly out of tune, but I was so numb it didn’t matter.

As I gazed listlessly over the audience I couldn’t help but remember my first concert. What had happened since then? When had I ceased to enjoy performing? Questions rattled loosely around my brain as my body moved of its own accord. My singing was mechanical, and I stumbled through my choreography.

I became aware of a strange sound accompanying my voice and I paused as my mind struggled to processes it.

I realised I was being booed. The audience was glaring up at me, their expressions blending into one huge manifestation of disapproval. Their catcalls surrounded me. I felt anxiety bubbling up as I futilely jammed my hooves over my ears.

I cast about for a means of escape when a terrifyingly familiar shape materialised out of the crowd. The shadowy figure stood motionless among the screaming ponies, mocking me.

I couldn’t breathe.

I watched from afar as I fled the stage.

A tentative knock sounded from the other side of my dressing room door as I huddled at the foot of a wardrobe, rocking gently back and forth. When I offered no answer, the door opened, revealing Apple Bloom and Scootaloo.

“I’m so sorry, Sweetie Belle.” Apple Bloom said quietly. “Is there anything we can do?”

I watched myself continue rocking.

“Go away.” Numbly, I saw my lips move as a stranger’s voice dripped from my tongue.

“Sweetie...” Scootaloo began. My head slowly tilted upwards; my friends’ concerned eyes meeting mine as I stared accusingly back at them.

“If you’re going to gloat, can you go elsewhere?”

I was appalled at the venom in my voice.

“What?” Apple Bloom and Scootaloo took a step back at my tone, their faces shocked.

“You heard me! I know you’re both jealous of my cutie mark!”

Someone else’s words were coming out of my mouth and I couldn’t stop them. I watched helplessly as tears welled up in their eyes. I tried to tell them it wasn’t me, saying these horrible things, but I had been rendered mute; a mere spectator to my own inexcusable actions. They ran from the room, bumping into my sister as she approached.

“Sorry,” I heard them mutter, and then they were gone. Rarity looked at me reproachfully, but when she spoke her tone was gentle.

“I know things have been tough these past weeks. I should have paid more attention.” She moved closer, her eyes filled with sadness.

“How about you take a break for a while? I’m sure I can sort something out. You can rest up, apologise to your friends...”

I tried to tell her how grateful I was, but I was interrupted by myself.

“So you can get back to your sad little fashion line? Are you sure it’ll survive without me to prance about in it like some trite little vehicle of promotion?” I spat, my face twisted and ugly.

I wanted to scream at myself to shut up, to stop putting these awful words in my mouth but it was too late. Tears pricked the corners of my sister’s eyes. She stood for a moment, trying to remain stoic, only to choke back a sob and flee the dressing room as my friends had done only moments before.

I jumped up and was about to follow her when I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror by the door.

My face leered back at me, a scornful stranger. I swung at her angrily, and the mirror shattered.

The next day I fled the boutique and my sister’s sobs as they emanated from behind her locked bedroom door. I wandered Ponyville aimlessly, but no matter where I went I could feel eyes following my every move. Whispered rumours hounded me, their progenitors staring hungrily after me, mindless cogs in the gossip machine.

I caught sight of a familiar shadow from the corner of my eye, and I whirled around.

“What do you want from me?!” I screamed frantically. I felt my left eye twitch madly as I scanned the streets for the shadow that haunted me. There was no sign of my harasser, and I realised the entire street was silent, watching me warily.

A strangled sob escaped my constricting throat and I fled, my own laughter echoing back at me from every reflective surface.

I had lost track of how far and in which direction I had run when I became aware enough of my surroundings to recognise the path I was on. I found a small smile gracing my lips; I thought I had just been mindlessly running, but my legs must have been steering me in a reassuringly memorable direction. My heartbeat steadied as I followed the path into the woods, tracing steps that were as well known to me as my favourite song.

I felt calm wash over me as the path ended in a small clearing that encircled an ancient tree. I didn’t have to look to know that nestled between the branches was a small wooden construction, expertly repaired and just big enough for three close friends.

I carefully climbed the ladder that led to our clubhouse, feeling more at ease then I had in a long time. Even the ladder steps comforted me, my hooves fitting neatly into well worn grooves.

As I opened the clubhouse door, my newly restored calm dissipated. Perched on one of the chairs inside was one of two fillies I’d hoped I could avoid. At least until I had worked out how to apologise to them.

Light purple eyes swivelled around, alight with a hope that was quickly distinguished when she recognised me.

“Oh, it’s you.” Scootaloo said dismissingly as she turned away again. Her cold attitude struck me a harsh blow, even though I knew and wholly understood the reason for it.

“I’m so sorry, Scootaloo.” I whispered as tears rose up in my eyes. She looked at me surprised.

“You are?”

I broke down completely at her disbelieving tone. Stumbling forward, I wrapped my hooves around her, weeping copiously into her shoulder. At first she remained stiff, as if unsure how to respond. Then she returned the hug. Feeling the pressure of her holding my shuddering body to her, I began to talk.

As we sat there in each other’s arms, I told my oldest friend everything. I told her about feeling separate from myself, about losing control of my life, about losing my mind. I told her about the shadowy figure that wouldn’t leave me alone. Most of all, I told her how sorry I was.

The words gradually stopped flowing until we sat in silence, still holding each other tight. Scootaloo said nothing, but I felt her reassuring hoof on my head as she gently stroked my mane.

In the end, it was my shivering that woke me. I roused my stiff body from the unforgiving floorboards to find that night had fallen while I had slept. The tiny chink of moonlight that crept in through a gap in the curtains was barely enough to see by, so I harkened back to my magic lessons with Twilight, feeling the tiny trickle of magic flow through my horn.

It took me several tries to light my horn as I was still a relatively young unicorn. When a light finally flared into being I found myself staring deeply into my own eyes.

Letting out a startled yelp I stumbled backwards into a chair, sending myself tumbling to the floor. In the wildly flickering light from my horn, I advanced upon my prone form, my eyes bulging wildly.

I stared up, terrified at the expression of malice gouged into my face.

“Scootaloo! Where’s Scootaloo?!” I cried frantically, my heart beating a hole through my chest.

“Scootaloo’s gone.” I answered, my voice raw and menacing.

Fear for my friend galvanised me into action. With a gurgle of rage and fear I lunged at myself and we fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs, our bodies snarled together as we both fought to gain the upper hand.

Unfortunately my fear was not enough. My other self finally succeeded in rolling over on top of me. She straddled me now, her thighs pinning my front legs to my sides, crowing in triumph.

She sneered down at me, her face contorted with hatred.

“You have everything!” she snarled, flecks of spit landing on my face. My adrenaline addled mind strove to understand what she was talking about, to no avail.

“Now all that is yours...” her voice became dangerously low as she leaned in closer, “will be mine.”

I felt her hooves on my throat, pressing down. My struggles died down as she increased the pressure.

I was going to kill myself.

The worst thing was, no one would ever know. I would just take my place, and no one would notice. Even if they found out, I doubted they would care.

My oxygen starved brain dredged up memories of my sister and me, of my friends, of my parents.

As I slipped into the shadows, I heard a faint thud, echoing from a long way off and something heavy collapsed on top of me.

Then I was gone.

I sat up with a rattling breath, followed quickly by a deep moan as my head protested the sudden movement.

“Whoa there, take it easy.” Came a familiar southern drawl.

“Apple Bloom?” I asked groggily, my head spinning as I turned in the direction of her voice.

“I'm here, Sweetie Belle.” I opened my eyes to find her sitting next to me on the clubhouse floor. As my vision slide back into focus I realised she was wearing a dark cloak, the deep hood pulled back from her face. I shrank back, memories of the dark figure bombarding my tired mind.

“You... you’re...” I stuttered, coherent speech evading me. Apple Bloom seemed to realise what was troubling me, and she undid the knot under chin, letting the material fall from her shoulders. She looked at me guiltily.

“I admit, I have been kinda... stalkin’ you...” she shuffled uncomfortably. My mind felt like a carriage stuck in the mud, struggling to pull free. My eyes drifted as my thoughts tried to pull themselves together, only to alight on a slumped form behind my newly revealed stalker. Terror once again washed over me, and I shuffled backwards until my back was pressed against the wall.

Apple Bloom glanced behind herself, following my line of sight. With a sigh she turned back to me, holding up her hooves in a reassuring manner.

“Listen Sweetie Belle, I should probably explain...”

“It’s me I mean my other self I tried to kill me...” I babbled senselessly. A frown creased my friend’s brow. Moving slowly so as not to startle me, she took my hoof in her own, pulling me closer.

“This isn’t you, Sweetie Belle.” Her voice was gentle, soothing, “Look closer.”

At first I couldn’t bring myself to look at my prone form, lying as though dead on the floor. But something in Apple Bloom’s tone made me shoot a quick look over the hoof I was using to cover my eyes. Something was wrong. I lowered my hoof to get a better look.

What I had at first taken as an exact duplicate of myself was really more like a bad, filly’s drawing of me. The white coat was really paint; the fur was saturated with it, though in places the original orange could still be seen. The mane and tail were painted in a similar fashion. Wide, rough brush strokes had been used to cover up the bright fuchsia, thought as with the coat the original colour could still be glimpsed in places. Tied to the forehead with a piece of twine was a gnarled twig, painted to resemble my horn.

“Scootaloo?” I whispered, my tortured mind straining to comprehend what my eyes were telling me.

Apple Bloom silently gathered me up, wrapping me in her cloak and leading me out onto the balcony, away from Scootaloo’s barely breathing form.

“I guess it’s not enough to say things have been... weird... since you left,” Apple Bloom started as we sat side by side on the balcony, our legs dangling over the edge. I closed my eyes and let her words wash over me.

“You weren’t wrong when you said we were jealous of your cutie mark. At first I couldn’t believe you’d gone ahead and grown up without us, but I eventually came around. It was harder for Scootaloo. You know she ain’t got a family of her own; I think it really twisted the knife, seeing you and Rarity bonding over your cutie mark.”

I felt a wave of guilt as I realised what it must have been like, seeing me with everything Scootaloo didn’t have. I’d behaved appallingly. Apple Bloom continued.

“For the first part I thought she’d just get over it like I had. But every day I saw her she’d say the same things; ‘Sweetie Belle abandoned us’, ‘It’s not fair’, ‘Why’d she have to get her cutie mark before us’. After a while I couldn’t take it anymore. I stopped hanging around with her.”

In the moonlight I could see Apple Bloom flush a deep scarlet. She met my gaze unwaveringly.

“I’m just as much to blame as you are,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

We sat in silence for a while, each lost in our own thoughts. Between us, we’d driven our dear friend to madness. A thought occurred to me.

“None of that explains why you were stalking me,” I couldn’t suppress a shudder at the memory of the dark figure under the tree outside my house. Apple Bloom blushed again.

“Just because I resented you leaving us doesn’t mean I wanted to see you get hurt.” She said angrily, more to herself then to me.

“I knew Scootaloo was becoming more unstable, and while I didn’t want to believe she would hurt you, I couldn’t take the chance that she would. So I started following you to make sure Scootaloo didn’t try anything.” She paused briefly before continuing, her voice sombre. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

She couldn’t meet my eyes. I sat for a moment, processing this new bit of information before taking her hoof in mine. I remained silent, but she got the message.

When the sun crested over the distant hills a few hours later, it found us still perched outside our old clubhouse, holding each other’s hooves.