The Seamstress and The Butterfly
The day was finally coming to an end. The last customer had left Rarity’s boutique, Sweetie Belle was having a sleepover with Applebloom, and Rarity had no dates set up with any of her friends (she had double checked).
It was the perfect opportunity to engage in her dirty little hobby again.
She locked the doors, checked every room, closed all windows and the shutters of said windows. She made absolutely sure that nopony else was in the house, and that nopony could get in, or even just look int. Then she went into her personal study, opened the secret door hidden behind the bookshelf, and descended down the stone stairs to her dark laboratory.
Glowing crystals bathed the room in dark blue and purple light, adding more to the ambiance and aesthetic than to actually lighting the room. A couple of dim candles made sure that she could see everything important; a desk made out of dark wood, a leather bound ancient tome laying open upon it, a summoning circle etched into the floor, alchemical tools for when she fancied dabbling in that particular art…
It was truly a room worthy of Nightmare Moon herself.
Rarity took a deep breath, taking in the room in front of her, all the small details she had painstakingly added to get the look just right.
Then she sighed and hit the light switch, illuminating the room in bright, white light.
She greatly enjoyed the dark aesthetic, but her plans today required her to concentrate. She wasn’t down here for fun, she was seeking power. Not for any nefarious reason, of course. But she was sick of being dead weight whenever she and her friends had to face a villain who couldn’t be charmed or talked down.
She walked over to the tome and started searching for the spells she would need to remedy the situation.
Twilight of course had her magic. Only the princesses and maybe Starlight could paralel her magical might she had acquired after a lifetime of study and dedication. Applejack had her strength, and Rainbow Dash her speed. Even Fluttershy could use her Stare, or recruit an army of animals if things got too difficult. And Pinkie… well, was Pinkie.
Rarity didn’t have the raw magical strength of Twilight, or the time to acquire it through long exercise or study. Even if she wanted to start building physical strength, she would always lag behind Applejack and Dashie. And whatever gave Fluttershy her Stare, it certainly wouldn’t help Rarity, either.
But the dark arts, they could provide the solution. She only needed to find somebody to lend her their power. After all, why spend a lifetime to learn a power somecreature that lived countless lifetimes could just give to you, for a little price?
And so she had started to hunt down tales of old warlocks, of ponies who had made pacts with fiends and devils, with unfathomable horrors and otherworldly deities. And after long deliberation, she had decided on her path forward.
A few hours later, deep within the Everfree Forest, everything had been set up. Candles burning with an aetherial purple flame formed a circle in the clearing, bright green string forming a spider web between them. And of course, Rarity standing in front of it all, chanting a long forgotten spell, while wearing a robe of her own design.
A robe she was very proud of. Medium purple cover material, dark green lining, a hood that perfectly framed her face with just enough shadows to set the right mood… hours upon hours of hard work and dedication had gone into that robe, and so it was truly a shame that nopony else was ever going to see it. But she couldn’t just not use the opportunity to make a robe befitting a mistress of the dark arts!
As she was approaching the end of the ritual, the wind around her started to pick up and clouds started to fill the sky, leaving only the full moon unblocked.
Fog started to form in the undergrowth around the clearing, flowing towards the summoning circle like tendrils reaching out, and the silhouette of a creature took shape in the middle of it all.
A flash illuminated the clearing as soon as Rarity had said the final word, and when Rarity was able to see again, she saw that she had successfully summoned who she wanted. Or at least what she wanted.
The creature in front of her had the head and body of a pony with a dark blue coat, beautiful butterfly wings, the ears of a fox, and the legs of a deer. It was, without a doubt, an unseelie Archfey.
“It has been a long time since one of you mortals summoned me,” the Archfey said, with a voice that was… vaguely familiar to Rarity. It was hauntingly beautiful and enchantingly scary. It betrayed both age old wisdom and a childish temperament. A voice that by itself conveyed authority and openness, annoyance and amusement.
It… it reminded Rarity of Celestia. Or, no, not quite Celestia. It was more reminiscent of Luna's voice!
“Oh, has my appearance taken your breath away?” the Archfey asked, and Rarity couldn’t decide if they sounded worried, amused, or mocking. “May I have your name?”
“My name is Ra-”
A memory shot into Rarity’s mind, a certain hyperactive pink friend telling her, very insistently, never give a Fey your name!
“You may call me Rarisa, but my name is mine alone.”
The Archfey chuckled. “I almost got you there. Good work, little Rarisa!”
Oh great, now I’m stuck with that name. Rarity pushed away her annoyance and asked, “And what might I call you?”
Disappointment and hurt appeared in their face, which Rarity hoped desperately to be acted up. “You don’t mean to tell me that the mortal creatures have forgotten me? Or that you didn’t even mean to summon me?”
“Of course I wanted you specifically! But I am only a pony, and would not dare say your name without your permission.” Rarity added a deep bow to her lie, hoping that it would at least amuse the being she had so foolishly summoned enough to not get angry. Fey were, after all, prone to drastic mood swings.
The Archfey grinned at Rarity, “Oh, how thoughtful, but I have no problem with you saying my name. I actually insist on it!”
Rarity felt every muscle in her body tense up, ready to bolt away, and it took everything for her to not just make a run for the treeline. Not that she would have had a lot of confidence in making it far. Her eyes darted around, trying to avoid the Archfey’s gaze..
The archfey giggled before saying, “At least you tried. You may call me Helarie, Princess of the Butterfly Valley.” They started to walk, circling around Rarity, who in turn did her best to keep up with them. The whole situation, down to Helarie’s tone, reminded her way too much of seeing Opal play with one of her toys. “So, why did you summon me? I can’t imagine you just wanted to show off your wardrobe.”
“I want to make a pact. I’m sick of being dead weight in a fight.”
“And what do you have to offer in return?”
“Well, I get to travel around a lot because of my job, and meet many very important people. I’m sure that I can be of use one way or another.”
“And what is your job?”
“I’m a fashion designer, businessmare, seamstress...”
“Hold on,” Helarie said, finally stopping. All playfulness disappeared from their voice. “Do you mean to tell me that you made that robe?”
“Why, of course I did!” Rarity said, shocked by the doubt in Helarie’s voice. “It is one of my best works! It makes me feel mysterious, and dark, and wicked! But most of my work follows more conventional, equestrian ideals. I’m proud of all of my creations, of course, but it is a shame that this one is unlikely to ever be seen by other ponies.”
Rarity was silent for a moment before adding, “Well, except maybe Princess Luna.”
“It truly is a wonderful piece of art,” Helarie agreed. “You want me to grant you some of my powers, correct? Well, here is my price. I want you to make me a robe, in the same style as yours. I'll even provide you with materials like you've never seen from the feywild. All you have to do is work your magic to turn them into something that will one up the other fey at the next court, and I'll give you some of my magic in return.”
They extended their left hoof to Rarity. “So, do we have a deal?”
Rarity couldn't have imagined a better deal. She got the power she had sought, and only had to do what she already loved in return. And so she had taken their hoof and accepted the deal before she had even really realized it.
Rarity almost fell down the stairs to her dark lair, so excited she was.
She had done it! A pact, forged with an archfey who was willing to share their dark secrets with her, and all she had to do in return was use the skills she already had and loved! No longer would she have to leave the fighting to the others!
And she couldn't deny how liberating it felt to throw off the chains of polite society, to feel free to revel in her darkest desires, to be powerful and a mistress of the dark arts. A Pactling of Helarie, the archfey of the unseelie Court—it being a secret only making it all the more exciting.
She quickly put away the old tome lying on her desk and put her new one in its place.
Of course, to everypony else, it looked like a book of sewing patterns, but thanks to her patron, Rarity, and only her, could see through the illusions placed on it. The patterns for designs, some already known to Rarity, some designed for creatures Rarity had never even considered making clothes for, and some so unfamiliar to her that she already knew that she would have to try making one of them for herself, would melt away to reveal the glowing, colour changing inscriptions that held the secrets she desired to uncover, and all she had to do was speak one simple command word.
The first several pages told her the basic rules. It contained all the spells Helarie would ever offer her, but only the ones she could currently access would be legible to her at any given time. For now, she could choose two cantrips and two first level spells. All she had to do was read through the spell she wanted to learn, and then sign on a dotted line in the end to make her choice, and the spell would become available to her.
She wasn’t sure how they would become available though, so she decided to start with a simple cantrip, a relatively straightforward attack spell. All she had to do was point her hoof at a target no more than forty meters away, speak the incantation, and a burst of crackling energy would shoot out from it and into her target. The book warned her that the damage wouldn’t be overwhelming at first, but the upside was that it wouldn’t be exhausting unless she tried to fire it multiple times per second.
So she signed, and was almost knocked to the ground. The knowledge about the spell, its potential, its inner workings, its history, and how to cast it, were magically inserted into her mind, and it felt like someone had given her a syringe filled with molten metal directly into her skull. She stumbled back a few steps, pressing her front hooves against her temples. Her vision, already blurred since the moment she finished the signature, was fading more and more, and she was certain that she was moments away from fainting when, just as suddenly as it appeared, the pain vanished.
She took a few deep breaths to gather herself, and was very happy that she started with a simple spell.
She shook her head. Now wasn’t the time to wonder about that. She still had the spell fresh in her memory, and wanted, no, needed to try it immediately. She looked around, but there was nothing down in her lair suitable to work as target practice. Some artifacts were too dangerous to destroy, some too rare to sacrifice, and most were both of those things at the same time.
But upstairs, there would be enough suitable sacrificial possessions. So up the stone steps she rushed, not even remembering to lock the door behind her, turn off the lights, close the books, or any of the other steps she usually used to ensure nopony would accidentally find her lair, as she rushed into her showroom.
A mannequin was to be her first victim. So she took position in front of it, as far away as her showroom permitted, pointed her hoof at it, and shouted, for the first time but certainly not the last, the name of her new spell.
“ELDRITCH BLAST!”
A bright purple beam whipped through the air and connected her hoof with the mannequin for just a moment, before the now charred and smoking mannequin fell over, leaving a faint smell of burned sulfur behind.
Rarity stood still, the only movement being the rising and falling of her chest as her lungs did their best to keep up with her excitement. Then she looked at her hoof, then at her target, and started to laugh, first sheepishly and quited, but soon growing into a roaring laughter.
She had done it.