A Deluge of Questions

by Non Uberis

Rating: mature
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Anthro, Original Character, Porn, Fetish, Horror, Sex
Length: 8152

Like most Canterlotians, Caramel Swirl has often pondered what the deal is with Gossamer Gleam. She may not be prepared for the answers to her questions.

Everypony in Canterlot knows about the young heiress living in the mansion up in the hills, Gossamer Gleam. They know that she is quiet, reclusive, and socially awkward. They know that she seems to spend an awful lot of time being pregnant. The rest of the mare's background is a mystery, plagued by questions that she makes little attempt to answer.

Like many others, Caramel Swirl has pondered what the deal is with this enigmatic mare who stops by her café every now and then. Why does she act this way? What has she been doing with her life? Why is she always pregnant?

Now she may finally be on the cusp of some answers.

The answers may prove to be too much for her to handle.

Contains the following: anthro, hyper, pregnancy, lactation, eldritch horror, mindfuckery, and many questions that may or may not have answers.

Cover art by Vesper/Lesang and myself.

Other Gossamer Gleam stories:
Resonance
Blur
Plunge
Lonesome Widows
What Does It Feel Like?

Published 2022-05-31 20:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2022-05-31 20:10:01 UTC

A Flood of Answers

She killed her parents, the fillies and colts would whisper to each other on the playground.

The “how” of the story always varied. Slit their throats while they were sleeping. Came at them brandishing a red-hot poker from the fireplace. Filled the sugar bowl with arsenic. Staged an accident while they were on vacation.

The “why” was equally mercurial. Because she was too impatient to wait for her inheritance. Because she was being forced into a marriage with a pony she didn’t love. Because she wanted to sacrifice them in an unholy ritual. Because she was just plain nuts.

The authorities in question all knew that none of this was true. Famed author and astrologist Stardust Cover and his wife Lustrous Gleam simply died in a tragic accident, leaving their daughter orphaned.

That didn’t stop the rumors, because everypony wanted to believe that there had to be something wrong with her. It was more convenient that way to explain the way she acted. The way she looked. The way she changed.

The mares and stallions of Canterlot were never pleased when she showed her face in public. They would never dare to say so aloud, to her face, for fear of what response such action would incur, but she didn’t need their confirmation. She would be all too content to grant them their wishes, to never leave the safety of her home, her personal castle.

But, alas, there were duties that needed to be attended to sooner or later.

= = = = =

“So…how many is it?”

Caramel Swirl regretted asking the question immediately.

The lavender mare on the other side of the counter looked up slowly, for the first time since she came into the café truly seeming to acknowledge her existence. Their eyes met, and her expression was…inscrutable was the only word Caramel Swirl could think of for it. It wasn’t that there was hate or cruelty in her gaze, just…nothing. Her half-lidded eyes were dull and glassy, her brow smooth, her lips drawn into a thin line, neither smile nor frown. She looked tired more than anything else. That was probably understandable given her circumstances, and the barista had to suppose she could at least empathize with it to some extent.

Caramel Swirl tried to keep smiling, but the weight of that stare was oppressive. She absentmindedly let her fingers play with her mane, the long curling bangs that hung down from the left side of her face. She didn’t want to seem like she was overstepping her bounds; it was easy to forget that the unicorn was still one of the richer ponies in Canterlot, and she was a mere retail service worker, a plain pale pegasus running a small street corner café and barely making ends meet.

And then Gossamer Gleam replied plainly, “One.”

“Wh…wuh…” She sputtered, overpowered by disbelief. Her lips pursed to form the single syllable, but she didn’t have enough breath to say it for several seconds on end. All the while, she couldn’t help glancing downward. Gossamer Gleam made no interjection, no reaction, before she managed to incredulously repeat, “One?!”

“Yes,” the lavender pony affirmed, still just as devoid of affect or emotion, “one almond croissant and one latte.”

“I…” Caramel Swirl thought she could physically feel the spinning of her brain’s metaphorical wheels as she blinked dumbly. This time she looked down at the notepad in front of her, the sheet upon which she had written down the mare’s order not even a minute ago. One almond croissant and one house latte. She was sure that it had happened, but suddenly her memory was fuzzy. “O-oh…I…yes, of course.” She chuckled dryly, a desperate and futile attempt to laugh off the awkwardness. “Um, but, no, I meant…how many…you know…” She glanced downward, this time with an emphatic nod of her head. And, just to make sure there was no uncertainty, she gestured to her own trim midsection, tracing out along an invisible curve.

“Oh.” If Gossamer Gleam was surprised, there was nothing in her tone to suggest it. Then she too looked down at herself. There was a lot to look at.

There were great many reasons that the ponies of Canterlot treated Gossamer Gleam with suspicion. The questions and doubts surrounding the deaths of her parents were merely the tip of the iceberg. She was a recluse, almost never leaving her home; for a mare in her twenties, it was like she was getting a head start on being a crotchety old crone who yelled at foals to stay off her lawn. On the rare occasions when she did appear in public, the ponies she came across would be struck by how lifeless she was. To talk to Gossamer Gleam was like trying to make conversation with a wall. Caramel Swirl didn’t want to believe all the rumors and gossip, didn’t want to think that there was something “wrong” with this mare, but despite numerous meetings, Gossamer Gleam having come to her café many times, she’d had yet to feel like there was any connection formed between them.

But the most pressing aspect of Gossamer Gleam was her pregnancies—both the frequency and the severity of them.

The long dress that the unicorn wore was sufficient in keeping her body covered, but that didn’t mean that it could even begin to obscure the immensity of her frame, in particular the gut which hung past her waist, past her knees, like a medicine ball grafted to her. A pony being so grotesquely obese would be distressing enough, but the heavy mass wasn’t sagging at all, instead round and taut, with a protruding dent at the far end where the cavern of the navel should have been, pushing through the taut, damp cloth, the distinct shape of a foal-bearing mare. The sheer size was absurd, large enough that it seemed she could’ve been carrying a full-grown adult in there instead of foals, and she filled the corridor formed by the counter and the rail that cordoned off the dining area nearly entirely. And that wasn’t even saying anything of her breasts, teardrop mounds that perched on top of the shelf of her belly, larger than her head, surely full of milk, or even her plush rear filling out the breadth of her skirt (Caramel Swirl wasn’t exactly self-conscious, but whenever the unicorn came into the café she couldn’t help being just a little disheartened that she didn’t fill out her uniform better). The comparison of talking to a wall may have been particularly apt given that she practically was a living wall of pony.

And this was almost always the state in which Gossamer Gleam appeared when she left the doors of her home up on the hill. Sometimes smaller than this, sometimes even larger, but always pregnant one way or another. How could a mare manage to be pregnant year-round? How could she tolerate it, at that? The process of giving birth would usually give a pony pause before considering doing it again.

It raised other questions as well. Impregnation wasn’t just something that happened out of the blue. Somepony had to be doing it to Gossamer Gleam, and there was certainly nopony in Canterlot admitting to being on such intimate terms with her (although Caramel Swirl privately held reservation on the idea that any of the prim and proper blueblood sorts among the elite nobility would even be capable of knocking her up to this extent). Where was a social recluse like her getting so many partners? Or, at least, that was what most of the gossipers wanted to know, not considering the possibility of regular visits to sperm banks.

But that still left the significant dilemma of what happened after any of those terms were over. Gossamer Gleam surely must have sired dozens of foals by now, her home overflowing with them and their cries and their feculent leavings, and yet there hasn’t been hide nor hair seen of any of them. She could have given them all up for adoption, but it was strange that not a single one of them had been left in Canterlot, as far as anypony knew.

This was where the rumor mill really got busy. The death of Gossamer Gleam’s parents was something that could be doubted, but the whereabouts of all these foals represented a gold mine of misinformation. The stallion who ran the supermarket down the street had let slip that he had conspicuously never seen any evidence of her buying foal formula or clothes or other apparel, seemingly suggesting that there had never been any intent to keep any of them, even for a single day. Was it possible that the pregnancy was some fetish of hers and that after it was over she simply disposed of the waste and went straight back for the next round? Allegedly, somepony had filed a police report against her at one point, but a search of her home hadn’t turned up anything incriminating, and it wasn’t like there was a law against being pregnant.

What on earth could the truth about all this be? What could compel a pony to put themselves through this kind of struggle? What was she doing with all the—

Knuckles rapped on the counter.

“Huh?” Caramel Swirl muttered, not unlike somepony being startled out of slumber.

“Nine,” Gossamer Gleam said while staring at her, an edge in her gaze that was most likely annoyance.

The barista blinked and stared back. “What?”

She groaned and rolled her eyes. “Nine,” she repeated while holding her hand against the side of her belly, a circumference which she couldn’t have contained with both of her arms. “I’m expecting nine.”

“…Oh…o-oh…” That seemed like the most appropriate response to Caramel Swirl. Stammering, staring, eyes nearly bugging out of her skull. She couldn’t fathom the idea of being surrounded by nine newborn foals. She’d have to suppose she couldn’t exactly fault Gossamer Gleam for wanting to put them up for adoption; raising a single child was hard enough for a (presumably) single mother.

“That’s what it looks like at the moment, anyway,” Gossamer Gleam murmured plainly. She seemed just a little more content, more lively, when she was caressing her gravid gut. There was a gentle warmth in her expression. “It’s hard to be sure when the end is still so far out.”

“So far…w-…wait.” Caramel Swirl was straight back to stammering. The finger twirling at the curl of her mane had started tugging, as if trying to yank it off. “You’re…you’ve got to be close to full term, right?” She desperately wanted the answer to be yes. It would be a saner world if that were the case.

Gossamer Gleam’s ears flicked, golden earrings jangling. When she turned her focus upon Caramel Swirl again, there was a flash of something across her features, just for an instant, the way her eyes widened just a smidgen. Surprise? Curiosity? The barista had a feeling that she wasn’t used to people talking to her about anything of this sort.

But then she answered, “No, this is still second trimester.”

Caramel Swirl couldn’t keep from gawping. That couldn’t be. That just couldn’t be. How much bigger was she going to get? Was she even going to be able to walk by the end of it? What kind of madmare put herself through—

“Anyway, here.” Bits slid across the counter now. Gossamer Gleam’s tone was back to the same dull inflection as if it had never left. “Can I have my croissant now?”

“Oh, y-yes, of course.” Caramel Swirl fished the pastry from out of its glass case and put it on a plate, exchanging it for the coins. “And I’ll have your drink for you shortly.” She put up her courteous business smile, however forced it might have been.

Gossamer Gleam grunted noncommittally, taking the plate and shuffling in a languid arc, swaying from side to side, around to the dining area and the nearest seat. She was still dripping with moisture from the rain—the umbrella which was currently hanging from the crook of her arm couldn’t have done much to cover her given her sheer breadth—leaving a trail of water in her wake. Caramel Swirl promptly shook her head, not wanting to think about the implications of “water” in this context, and she turned around to begin preparing the latte.

She remembered being anxious and worried when she saw the lavender unicorn enter her store just a couple minutes ago. It was a slow day, understandably, given the deluge of rain that was pounding on the roof overhead, curtains of grey obscuring the view of the street through the front windows. The gloomy atmosphere had been calming for a time while she waited for ponies to stumble in from the storm. Thinking back, though, she now felt relieved that there hadn’t been more ponies inside the store; for as strange and off-putting as she was, Gossamer Gleam didn’t deserve to have to deal with a bunch of ponies ogling and whispering about her.

Once the steaming coffee had been poured, she mixed in the cream and the caramel that was her namesake. Usually she would call out the order so the customer could come back to the counter to pick it up, but this time she thought it would be better to deliver it personally. It wasn’t like there was anypony else waiting on her.

She put her hoof down, prepared to pivot.

“Hello, Gossy.”

Caramel Swirl froze in place. The startling movement nearly caused the latte to spill from its cup—now that would’ve been true embarrassment for a barista of her caliber. The unfamiliar voice that spoke was harsh and guttural and hissing, prompting the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end. The air suddenly seemed hard to breathe. Something clearly wasn’t right.

Gossy, like Gossamer Gleam. Like a diminutive pet name. The owner of the strange voice was addressing the unicorn and perhaps knew her on a closer level than most could claim to. What could that connection mean?

A knot of dread welled up in her stomach. Was this someone who had come to threaten Gossamer Gleam?

But then Gossamer Gleam responded—Caramel Swirl could imagine her, looking up, pulling herself from whatever internal thought process she had chosen to keep walled off from the world, so that she could offer her attention to whoever was requesting it—and what was alarming was not that she reacted with any degree of distress.

“Oh, hello!” the unicorn remarked, her volume raised from its gravelly monotone, bright and vibrant, filled with delighted surprise. One could practically hear the smile on her lips.

None of this was the way things should be. Caramel Swirl was acutely aware of the feeling that she was in uncharted waters, and it would only take one step to plunge herself over the side of the flimsy vessel that was her sense of normalcy.

But the curiosity of ponies, as she was well aware, was too great to ignore.

She looked back over her shoulder.

Gossamer Gleam had settled at a table at the far end of the store, next to the window that radiated cool air from the rain outside. It was something of a narrow fit, though—she had to wedge herself in at an angle, unable to sit with the counter directly in front of her, gut and bosom jutting out ahead. She might have even been using two seats.

And standing over her there was a figure that Caramel Swirl struggled for a few seconds to identify. Painted patterns of orange and white and black were overlapped by long pointed spines and frills. There was a head, a face, a mane comprised of three flaps that ran up over the scalp like a boat’s sails. A long and thin muzzle jutted from the front of the skull, and though they weren’t facing her she was taken by the single piercing blue eye that she was able to see. They wore a cyan backless dress, revealing more spines that emerged from the back, almost like wings. Their tail was thick and sinuous, tapering down toward the tip and terminating in a forked fin like that of a shark.

Caramel Swirl was at a loss as to what this creature was. They might have been some kind of pony—they had the right head shape, and their dress wasn’t low enough to cover their hooves. They most resembled the seaponies of Mount Aris. But, to her knowledge, seaponies didn’t have legs, they only had a tail from the waist down, and they transformed into hippogriffs when they needed to venture out of the water. Maybe it was possible for them to change just their legs with that pearl magic they used? That seemed like the only explanation.

And then they spoke. “How have you been, darling?” There was something else strange about their voice: it was like it was muffled, heard from behind a wall.

(or underwater)

“Darling?” Caramel Swirl mouthed to herself in disbelief.

“I’ve been doing well,” Gossamer Gleam replied, and she actually chuckled, however slight it might have been. “Just, you know, carrying the latest batch.” She rubbed at her stomach.

“So I can see.” The stranger leaned over (they seemed quite tall, Caramel Swirl now realized, their waist notably higher than the surrounding tables) and placed their hand upon the rounded surface as well. Caramel Swirl inwardly balked at the idea of someone so covered in barbs that they were nearly a walking pincushion getting close to a pregnant mare, or anypony for that matter. “Not with anyone I would know?” And then they added in a darker tone, “No one from that side of the pond, I trust?”

In turn, Gossamer Gleam sighed, and even her annoyance sounded more like any emotion than she typically offered. “No, you know I’m careful with the selection process, I don’t go for any of the creepers.”

The spiny equine snorted. “Excuse me for wanting to look out for you. It’s a big ocean out there, Gossy, you know that better than most of these ponies.”

“And I know how to be careful,” she replied with a smirk, and again she patted her belly through the dampened cloth.

Caramel Swirl continued to reel over all of this. It was too much for her to take in. She was becoming

(drowned)

buried in questions that were begging for answers.

She couldn’t bear to stand on the sidelines any longer, a mere fly on the wall to this conversation—a rude thing to do in any event; she didn’t want to be any more like all those ponies who gossiped about Gossamer Gleam.

Not to mention that the latte was going to go cold if she just kept holding it all day, and that would just be unacceptable.

So she finally finished turning around and strolled out from behind the counter to approach the couple’s table. She cleared her throat and announced, “Um, pardon me.”

Gossamer Gleam looked up, and there was a flash of shock over her features, eyes widening, jaw clenching, as if she had completely forgotten that there was another pony in the room.

The barbed stranger turned to her. Caramel Swirl was abruptly overtaken by the urge to look away, as much as could be possible without being deemed impolite. She just couldn’t look directly into those blue eyes. They were unfathomably deep. She could only just discern the glimmer of wonder in some new point of interest, as if they hadn’t even been aware of her to begin with.

“Your, ah, latte is ready,” she said with a forced smile, holding out the saucer and cup to Gossamer Gleam.

“Thank you,” the lavender mare responded promptly while levitating the cup with her magic over to the table. The vivacity in her tone was all but completely gone, her emotions blunted once more. It was as if she were scrambling to rebuild the wall that she had let down in the face of somepony she was more familiar with.

Speaking of…

“So, ah…” She wrung the edges of her apron in her hands, trying to swing the conversation about as naturally as she could. “Who’s your…friend, if you don’t mind me asking, Gossamer?” She turned to them next. Not in the eyes. Look at the…spines. Sharp, pointed, perhaps poisonous spines. No, not much better. She just kept smiling.

“Oh…um…” This time Gossamer Gleam appeared to be the one who had been caught off-guard and uncertain. She looked up to the stranger, who smiled back to her, before she answered, “This is…Hadalis.” She paused as if uncertain of it at first. Was this not somepony she was so familiar with after all? But, then again, Gossamer Gleam wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, it wasn’t unreasonable to think that she might have difficulty conversing when put on the spot like this. “She was…is a partner of mine.”

Partner?

(was or is?)

“Yes,” Hadalis interjected, leaning over so that she could now put her hands to Gossamer Gleam’s face, tenderly stroking her cheeks. The unicorn’s eyelids fluttered momentarily. “The two of us have been quite close to each other,” she murmured with a smirk, her voice rumbling. “Wouldn’t you say so, Gossy?”

Gossamer Gleam nodded. There was a faint rosy tint on her cheeks.

“She did a great service for me, not too long ago,” Hadalis continued, “so I have done everything in my power to repay her in kind.”

“Oh, I see,” Caramel Swirl nodded, still smiling, even though she wasn’t sure how much these answers really satisfied her. This creature, Hadalis, still seemed far too enigmatic. The way she spoke made her think of nobility, but she certainly wasn’t part of any Canterlot royalty. Where had she come from, and how had she come to know Gossamer Gleam, a mare who rarely left her home? The name itself was strange, so unlike typical pony names, not even like seapony names as far as she was aware. If anything, it sounded closest to a changeling name, and that was something that any Canterlotian would be wary of, but if she was a changeling trying to pass herself off in public then why would she give herself such an imposing appearance?

“Ah, yes, and that reminds me.” The barbed mare looked to Gossamer Gleam once more and tapped her on the nose, grin widening, pointed teeth flashing in the light. “One of the reasons I came: there was someone who wanted to see you again.”

She stood and stepped to the side, and Caramel Swirl’s shock compounded upon itself. There was another pony there, standing beside the towering figure. It was a young pony, a mauve-colored unicorn filly wearing a short blue dress with cresting white patterns like ocean waves. How had she not seen them before? Had she really been so focused on Hadalis that she hadn’t noticed anything else? Perhaps the filly had been hiding, considering how she seemed to cling to the side of her…mother?

No, wait…

“Oh, dear Celestia!” Gossamer Gleam exclaimed, giddy with excitement, emotion bubbling over anew, having to lean forward to look past the slope of her bosom, “You brought little Midnight with you!”

This turned the filly’s attention away, toward the unicorn, and her countenance lit up as well with excitement, and she cried out, “Mama!”

Oh.

Oh.

The little pony scampered forward, placing herself against Gossamer Gleam to embrace her. Easier said than done with her frontal approach, throwing her short arms around the sides of the mare’s gravid belly, wetting her fur where she nuzzled against it. Gossamer Gleam in turn laughed gently, just able to reach far enough to hold her hands, keeping her in place. There was a distant mirthful chuckle from Hadalis as well.

Suddenly everything made sense. Gossamer Gleam was a surrogate mother. Of course the foals were being adopted by other families. Caramel Swirl felt a weight leaving her chest. Metaphorically, of course.

Physically, there was still an odd heaviness cloying to her.

(hard to breathe)

“Gosh, Gossamer, I didn’t know you had such a cute kid,” she mused aloud, kneeling down so she could get closer to the filly. Noticing this, she froze and seemed to try to shy away, but there wasn’t anywhere she could go while still holding on to the mare’s gut. Looking closely, Caramel Swirl could see the resemblance in her mane, the voluminous shape in the back, but there were additionally pointed bangs in the front, almost like barbs.

“And I’m thankful for every minute that she has allowed me to have with Midnight Wake,” Hadalis cooed affectionately. She knelt as well, but even like that she still seemed so tall—bigger than Caramel Swirl and practically dwarfing the filly she was bearing down on. “She truly is a blessing for us.” There was a terrible feeling in the barista’s stomach as the strange mare leaned tantalizingly closer, only for her to nuzzle against the little pony’s cheek.

“Mama, no!” Midnight Wake whined back, embarrassed, trying to shrink away.

Caramel Swirl felt herself gradually loosening, the knots of anxiety coming undone one by one. She wasn’t sure why she’d ever been so worried.

“Hey, Midnight,” she asked, holding herself back, not wanting to crowd the poor filly any further, “how would you like to have a drink?”

That seemed to get her attention, pulling her out from her veil of seclusion, her azure eyes glittering with anticipation.

“What would you think about…a smoothie or a milkshake?” Caramel Swirl asked, unable to resist that infectious excitement.

“Ooh, milkshake! I wanna milkshake!” Midnight Wake exclaimed, bouncing on her hooves. “I wanna milkshake with moonbeams and nebula vapor and comet dust and…and…”

Caramel Swirl blinked. “…What?”

“Oh, oh!” And she patted Gossamer Gleam’s stomach emphatically. “Can you use Mama’s milk?”

The pegasus felt her mouth run dry. She looked up, and it might have not been coincidence that at this angle her view of Gossamer Gleam’s face was largely obscured by her bosom. “I…uh…”

But the unicorn laughed. It was a sound so full of energy that one familiar with her never would have thought she’d be able to produce it. “I can help you with that.” Gossamer Gleam then tapped Midnight Wake’s hand and said, “Darling, please wait here just a moment, Mama needs to work with Miss Caramel.”

Despite looking more than a little downcast, Midnight Wake nodded and let go, returning to Hadalis’s embrace. Gossamer Gleam then stood, belly shifting forward as gravity tugged on it. Caramel Swirl was left stunned for a few moments longer before she stumbled and remembered to stand as well. She walked slow enough back to the counter that Gossamer Gleam overtook her, pushing through the waist-high gates that read “employees only” with her protuberant front. Caramel Swirl wasn’t sure that the other mare had ever called her by her name before.

“Where do you keep your ice cream?” Gossamer Gleam asked casually, as if this were somepony’s kitchen instead of a café.

“Uh, h-here.” Caramel Swirl had to shimmy past her to reach the heavy white lid of the freezer. Cold air wafted out when she opened it and fished out a tub of vanilla ice cream. She felt herself trembling more than usual as she scooped out two big frozen globs and deposited them in a metal mixing cup.

She was thinking about the next step when the cup was suddenly yanked out of her hands, floating over toward Gossamer Gleam. She peered into it for a few seconds, inspecting for something perhaps. Then she pulled on the collar of her dress and heaved out one heavy breast. Caramel Swirl whirled away immediately, feeling the heat rush to her face; she only caught a glimpse of the mass of lilac-furred tit, large enough to use as a pillow. Large enough to smother somepony. There was a burbling sound, liquid bouncing off the side of the container before steadily filling it. “That should be good enough,” she announced, and she offered the cup back.

Caramel Swirl quickly snatched it up and returned to her usual procedures, adding in chocolate and, naturally, caramel syrup. “What did she mean by…moonbeams and…” She couldn’t even remember the rest of that ridiculous request.

“I don’t have any of that on me,” Gossamer Gleam replied with a rueful sigh. There was no attempt to write it off for the nonsense that it ought to be. There were sounds of rummaging; Caramel Swirl turned back and saw her sifting through a purse that hung from her shoulder (with her breast covered again, mercifully). She eventually took out a small paper packet and put it on the counter. There was a strange looping symbol drawn on it in black ink. “Mix some of that in, that should be enough to placate her.”

Caramel Swirl did as instructed and tore open the packet, dumping its contents into the cup. Small lime green flecks came flittering out and dropping into the muddy mixture inside. It looked almost like confetti made from chunks of glow-in-the-dark plastic. She wasn’t sure that this was something safe to eat, but in the heat of the moment she was willing to blindly push ahead and trust that a parent knew what to do with their foal. “Thanks for the help,” she blurted out, not entirely conscious of herself in the haze of confusion that had overtaken her, rushing from one point to the next.

“You’re welcome,” Gossamer Gleam replied with a chuckle, “though I suppose I really should be thanking you for thinking on your hooves.” She glanced back, wistful, presumably toward the table. “I love them, I really do, but it’s so much to deal with.”

“I’m sure it is when you’ve had so many foals,” Caramel Swirl commented while putting the cup up to the mixer, and it began to buzz and churn when she turned it on.

The unicorn laughed again while fondly rubbing her stomach. She didn’t look so much like Gossamer Gleam anymore. There wasn’t any wall between them.

And then, again without thinking, Caramel Swirl admitted, “It’s good to see you happy, Gossamer.”

Gossamer Gleam looked up at her, her expression faltering. She had the look of somepony who had been caught red-handed committing a crime. The crime of expressing emotion, apparently. This time, though, the wall wasn’t coming back up right away. Caramel Swirl saw her for what she really was, and she hoped that she in turn recognized that there was no ill intent directed at her.

Maybe still a few more questions, though. She was still wondering what the deal was with—

“Excuse me.”

Caramel Swirl nearly jumped out of her skin with her wings snapping out (and, worse, nearly spilled the milkshake in progress) when the voice of Hadalis boomed in from behind her. The mare was looming far over the counter, features cast in shadow. Somehow, she seemed even taller.

The weight filling her chest was back all at once.

“Pardon me for interrupting,” she tittered, smirking, “I hope everything is going well.”

The barista stammered incoherently, but Gossamer Gleam interjected, smiling once more, “Quite well.”

“Good, good,” Hadalis replied, but she only had her gaze on the unicorn for a moment before she turned back to Caramel Swirl, “if you don’t mind, dear, I wanted to take Gossy outside to speak to her in private, just for a few minutes. Would you mind keeping an eye on Midnight in the meantime?”

“O-oh, um…” She all too eagerly tore away from Hadalis, back toward the table, where Midnight Wake was now sitting by herself, swinging her legs back and forth.

“Hadalis, are you sure?” Gossamer Gleam interjected. There was something new in her voice now. Something like…worry. “I don’t have the wards prepared for another—”

“It will be fine, darling,” the barbed mare insisted in a way that seemed particularly forceful, almost ominous even.

Gossamer Gleam stared back with a hardened edge in her eyes. Yet another side of her—this was different from the abrasive blank look she would give, far sterner. Eventually, though, she closed her eyes and gave a sharp intake of breath through her nostrils. “Very well,” she said, and then she looked back at Caramel Swirl with a wan smile. “We’ll just be a moment. I’m sure Midnight won’t be any trouble for you.”

“Oh, I doubt she will.” But it wasn’t the filly that Caramel Swirl was really concerned with. She thought the other mare was the one who was most worrisome. Yet when she tried to look up at Hadalis, to speak her mind, she found she couldn’t open her mouth. Her lungs were

(clogged)

devoid of air.

“Wonderful,” Hadalis said, grinning her far-too-toothy grin. She waited for Gossamer Gleam to navigate from behind the counter again, and then seemed to make a point of hooking an arm around the unicorn’s, swaying in time with her. The lavender mare turned back to the barista, smiling while she waved.

Caramel Swirl returned to her work. It seemed strange and unsettling to her, but she didn’t think that Gossamer Gleam would knowingly get herself into any danger.

The weight in her chest had dissipated again, so the pressure had left her.

The buzz of the mixer filled her ears while she waited for the milkshake to be finished, but it wasn’t loud enough that she failed to hear the tinkling of the bell over the door when the two mares left, accompanied by a brief increase in the volume of the rain outside.

(wait)

The mixer stopped its spinning.

Why hadn’t she heard the bell when Hadalis and Midnight Wake came inside in the first place? She distinctly didn’t remember seeing either of them until after Gossamer Gleam had sat down. They couldn’t have just been hiding somewhere. The back door of the café opened into the kitchen and then a door behind the counter, so they would’ve had to go past her if they’d come in that way.

She poured the milkshake into a serving cup. There were green specks like stars in the chocolate-caramel sludge.

Why did Gossamer Gleam need to be a surrogate mother for Hadalis when Hadalis herself was female? Was she infertile? Could it be that Hadalis simply didn’t want to be pregnant for some reason? Was there some aspect that made foals birthed by Gossamer Gleam particularly desired? And who was the father?

She walked out from the counter with the drink in hand. It felt particularly cold against her flesh.

And that filly, Midnight Wake. She was young, but not too young. Caramel Swirl thought she might have been eight years old, at the very least. And yet, if she recalled correctly, Gossamer Gleam’s parents had only died five years ago. Foals don’t just spring up through the years of their childhood that quickly. Was it possible that Gossamer Gleam had been doing this even before her parents’ deaths?

Did they really just walk out into the rain? What could have been so important that they needed to do that? If privacy was so important, surely the restroom could have sufficed and been far more preferable.

Had Hadalis and Midnight Wake even been wet at all when she first saw them? How could they not have been completely soaked if they came through the downpour to get here?

How many clients had Gossamer Gleam had over the years? Were all of them as strange and intimidating as Hadalis?

Who was Hadalis?

No, that no longer really seemed like the right question.

What was Hadalis?

Caramel Swirl was tottering forward across the café floor, staring vacantly ahead, tugging on her mane with her free hand.

And did Midnight Wake really refer to both Gossamer Gleam and Hadalis as “Mama?” That had to get terribly confusing.

There were just too many questions.

“Miss Carmel?”

She blinked and looked down. Midnight Wake was staring up at her with her adorable wide eyes. “Is something wrong, Miss Carmel?” she asked.

“…Um…no, nothing, Midnight,” she replied with a nervous smile. She had to put everything into making the lie sound convincing, so she couldn’t bring herself to correct the filly on her name. “Just…thinking about things.”

“Okay.” Then Midnight Wake’s eyes shifted, just slightly downward. She had her eyes on the prize.

“Well, here you go, dear,” Caramel Swirl then said, managing to brighten just a little as she handed the cup and a straw to the filly.

“Yay!” She took to it immediately, taking the straw and beginning to slurp at the thick ice cream mixture, humming in delight.

It was the kind of thing Caramel Swirl always liked to see when a pony, especially a young one, came into her café.

Too bad she had a hard time appreciating it with how Midnight Wake herself was a part of these enigmas storming around her.

Her eyes wandered while the rain pounded on the roof and the windows. The coffee cup sat in its saucer on the table, completely untouched, no longer steaming—it had ended up going cold after all. She noticed that there was something resting next to the wall. Long and dark and thin with a curling crook handle. It was Gossamer Gleam’s umbrella.

Her brow furrowed as she picked it up. “She left this?”

In the heat of the moment, it didn’t occur to her that it had been insufficient to cover Gossamer Gleam in the first place, it would be even more ineffective with her and a second pony. Hadalis’s spines would probably rip through it somehow anyway. All she assumed was that ponies needed umbrellas when it was raining. In a downpour like this, somepony could come down with pneumonia.

She was already walking toward the door.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you, Miss Carmel.”

Caramel Swirl looked back to the filly in the chair, who had turned about to face her, still sucking on her milkshake. Flecks of green glittered in her eyes.

“What?” she sputtered.

“Your brain’ll get all melty,” Midnight Wake said plainly.

The only thing Caramel Swirl could do in response was gape.

She turned and flung open the door and ran out into the rain.

The wet consumed her immediately, seeping into her clothes, matting her mane and fur to her skin. She didn’t think to use the umbrella that she had brought out for the sake of somepony avoiding this very outcome—it hadn’t been for her. She opened her mouth to call for Gossamer Gleam, but there was no sign of her or the tall figure she had eloped with. She could barely even see anything at all, the rainfall so heavy that everything past a few feet was turned to immaterial grey and shadow. It pelted at her almost like hail. She ran forward at a start, not sure where she was going.

There was a clatter to her left. She looked down an alley, a corridor that she knew ran behind her café. In the gloom, she could only scarcely identify what looked like a garbage can that had been overturned. Normally something of alarm, but usually to the effect of scavenging rodents or homeless ponies, something that would warrant a call to public services. The more pressing detail which this happened to alert her to was the presence of a strange cerulean glow which was emanating from around the bend of the alley. It was like the aura of a unicorn’s magic, but that wasn’t the color Gossamer Gleam’s had been.

Caramel Swirl darted forward.

“Goss—!”

She stumbled. The heaviness had returned. It was filling her chest like an icy bloom. Her lungs were cramped and crowded.

But the answers could be so close, she couldn’t give up now.

On legs that felt like jelly, Caramel Swirl wobbled forward, gait uneven and drunken. There was less rain in the alley, but it didn’t feel any less intense. It felt like the layers of her self were peeling away one by one. The pressure inside her was mounting with every step. It was harder and harder to breathe.

(drowning drowning drowning)

She rounded the corner and opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a bubbling cough.

Caramel Swirl looked up. Her arms and wings fell out slack. There was another clatter as she dropped the forgotten umbrella.

Questions immediately began to explode into being within her skull one after another.

What is that?

Why is it so big?

Why is it here?

What is it doing?

What are those limbs?

Why does it have so many?

What IS that?

Why is it SO BIG?

Why can I see through it?

Does it see me?

Does it know I’m here?

What will it do if it sees me?

WHY is it SO BIG?

Is it reaching toward me?

Is it coming closer?

WHAT IS THAT?

WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY—

Something was gushing from her eyes, blurring her vision.

There was only one thing she could see clearly in the midst of the unfathomable mass of orange and white and black, limbs and fins and barbs and spines and tentacles, that was filling the alleyway.

A figure was pinned to the wall by its bulk, maybe halfway up, sinuous limbs holding their extremities out to the sides, a part of the behemoth’s body jammed up between the legs while another part was engulfing the face. Clothes had been completely torn away, leaving exposed the lavender coat, the swollen belly and breasts.

(no)

The bulk made a noise, a churning note that lilted upward in confusion. It pulled away what might have been its head, a dangling, inchoate mass of tendrils, and revealed Gossamer Gleam’s face, drenched and panting hard. Alive despite being impaled.

The mare looked toward Caramel Swirl, bewildered.

Caramel Swirl’s chest convulsed. She couldn’t breathe. She could only retch. Brackish water erupted from her mouth.

She collapsed.

“Caramel…!”

= = = = =

There was an ocean inside.

It rolled and crashed under the beckoning of the moon.

In its darkest depths, unspeakable horrors lurked.

Creatures that had never known the light of day.

They would do anything to see the surface.

Surfacing.

Rising.

Distending.

Straining.

Out from the—

Caramel Swirl opened her eyes.

It was a waking nightmare, wasn’t it? She was supposed to bolt up with a start, drenched in sweat, clenching the blankets and screaming her head off.

But life was rarely so simple.

No, she simply woke, finding that she was looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling—high above her with vaulting wooden beams, far more expansive than her cramped apartment over the café. Nor did she move in a rush of panic, trying to throw herself out from wherever she had been sleeping. In fact, she found that she couldn’t particularly move at all. Numbness pervaded her from the neck down—especially her wings, which were pinned underneath her back. She wondered if she was truly conscious or still dreaming. She felt awake but not exactly lucid, a haze cast over her mind, processing everything in slow motion.

Thus it took several seconds for her to realize that there was somepony leaning over her. Somepony purple and lavender with an absurdly distended torso. No dress this time, appearing to only be garbed in lacy black undergarments. Gossamer Gleam.

She tried to move. Tried to reach toward the other mare. Tried to open her mouth. But Caramel Swirl could do little more than fidget languidly, and the only sound that came from her throat was a hoarse croak. Her lungs ached.

Still, that was enough to catch Gossamer Gleam’s attention, and she glanced toward her. There was a twinge of something across her face—relief? regret?—before she said, “Good, you’re awake.” Her voice was dull and flat again, though she sounded sincere enough, genuinely satisfied with this turn of events. She then looked back to where she had been before. She seemed to be staring down at Caramel Swirl’s stomach. The pegasus dimly felt something there: being poked and prodded, lines traced across her. Or were the lines being cut into her? Was she being dissected? She couldn’t even move her neck enough to look down, muzzle and cheeks and part of her bangs in the way.

Caramel Swirl groaned again. This was another sleep thing, if she recalled correctly. Sleep paralysis. Helplessness.

She was fighting with the haze to remember what had happened before this. She should have been at the café. No she was in the alley behind the café. She was looking at—

White noise filled her skull. Her eyes unfocused.

“I’m sorry,” Gossamer Gleam interjected, as if sensing her confusion, “I had to give you a numbing agent to keep you stable. I’m inscribing some wards now. Better to be safe than sorry.”

Caramel Swirl didn’t know what she was talking about and wasn’t certain that she wanted to. She wanted to take the mare’s word for it but she found herself struggling with that rationalization. The exact details of what had happened may be eluding her, but she knew that it was something that had shaken her to her very core.

Wherever she was now, she was somewhere private with Gossamer Gleam. The reclusive unicorn was also being more open to her than ever before. This was the perfect opportunity to get answers for some of the questions that had been flitting around inside her brain. And yet, to her utmost chagrin, she couldn’t even speak. It wasn’t fair.

In the midst of her internal turmoil, though, Gossamer Gleam sighed, and again she said, “I’m sorry.” She stood and shifted over, positioning herself directly next to Caramel Swirl’s face. Her damp mane hung low around her as she leaned forward, dangling like strands of spider silk. The expanse of her bosom was uncomfortably close; had she the necessary motor functions for it, Caramel Swirl could’ve rolled her head to the side and buried her face in cleavage. Lacking that, all she could do was stare. She noticed that there were markings drawn in ink across the slope of the unicorn’s stomach.

“I’m not…good…with other ponies,” she muttered under her breath, gaze downcast, “I never have been. I know I’ve been…distant around you, and just about everypony else.” She placed a hand delicately upon Caramel Swirl’s shoulder. It was at that moment that it occurred to the mare that she was naked, cool air wafting across the entirety of her body. She should’ve been mortified, but at this point it was little more than a drop in the bucket. Gossamer Gleam had already been willing to show a whole breast in public earlier. It was more embarrassing knowing that her body, so small, so plain, was on display next to a mare who was so voluptuous.

“I’ve always told myself it’s easier to do that than to let somepony into my life. It’s not a ‘you’ problem, it’s a…‘me’ problem. I prefer the company of…creatures like Hadalis.” With her other hand she stroked at her stomach, and there was an awkward, embarrassed smile on her muzzle. “I know she was intimidating, but she…um…” She turned away, sighed, shook her head. “Nevermind.”

Caramel Swirl cursed inwardly at the answers that were being dangled before her, just out of reach.

When Gossamer Gleam faced her again, she just stared for several seconds, silent, pondering something perhaps. Then she eased closer, the smell of rain wafting off of her, covering Caramel Swirl’s face

(like a curtain of tentacles)

and placing a kiss upon her cheek.

“I never really told you before,” she whispered, like she was sharing a deeply personal secret, “I do love your lattes. That’s why I always come to your café.”

Caramel Swirl could only keep her eyes fixed upon her. Well, and she did, just barely, manage the hint of a smile. She wondered inwardly if this was what it felt like to be Gossamer Gleam, struggling just to emote.

That, at least, was one answer she could accept.

Author's Note

To the surprise of no one, I'm once again coming down to the line on uploading something for Mayternity.

I had a rough idea of what I wanted to do with this story, but after writing the introduction I decided that it would be better to have an outside perspective instead of being entirely from Gossamer's point of view. I grew surprisingly attached to the concept of Caramel Swirl and I'm considering expanding upon her.

I feel obligated to use Hadalis again at some point just because that name is too good for a one-shot character.

Guess which of these questions do and don't have answers prepared.

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