Flutterlich

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Written by: Oneimare

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Any Day is a Good Day to Die

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Every mare lives. Not every mare truly dies.

Fluttershy’s world shrank till her ensanguined hoof constituted it; staring at her crimson limb unblinkingly, she waited—wished—to be absolved of that cruel reality. But, the soothing embrace of oblivion refused to whisk away the mare wont to fainting spells.

Amidst her despair an ember of hope kindled—it might not be real at all, just an illimitable nightmare of great vividity. Luna’s Domain heeded to no law of the waking world, in which only an hour might have passed whilst her feverish mind conjured a prodigious harrowing phantasmagory to ravage self.

And if the rumours stood true, then the Night’s Mistress oft sojourned the nightmares too unbearable, helping their victims escape the clutches of self-imposed torture. However, the alicorn failed to manifest and even a natural conclusion of the horror still evaded the poor animal caretaker.

The inexorable passage of time somehow had gradually denuded the situation of its severity. Fluttershy discovered the sheer terror having no grip on her—the pegasus lacked gooseflesh, her lungs forwent a customary bout of hyperventilation and nor did her heart race. Though, she preferred not to let her thoughts linger on the latter, as something didn’t seem quite right.

Nevertheless, her hooves trembled when she dragged herself in front of the mirror to properly observe the gruesome fallout of the manticore’s assault.

The yellow pony parted her stained fur revealing a gaping wound where the swelled with venom stinger had sought release. The chitinous dirk had torn skin and parted sinew, leaving in its wake a trail of caustic venom and congealed blood leading straight to the pegasus’ core. Disturbingly clearly visible, the confluence of vital muscle bore no signs of damage, yet it displayed even more worrying quality—perfect stillness.

Averting her eyes, Fluttershy remained unsuccessful in finding solace—denied it by the rest of her body.

Her eyes reflected more light than they had any right to, whilst stygian darkness streaked through her mane in a fashion mockingly similar to her escapades with the eccentric photographer. The latter must have belonged to the toll paid for daring the Everfree’s grounds, and the change of colour might very well be the least of her worries—the tree sap infusing her hair could possess much more perilous qualities, since the forest’s infamous flora…

Fluttershy beamed at her reflection and her eyes lit up with joy… more than they glowed already.

So simple—the answer to her inexplicable condition. Once a victim to the plant with a perverted sense of humour, she fell for its poisonous joke afresh as she blindingly stumbled into an unmistakably azure patch of fiendish flowers under the shroud of impenetrable shadow rendering all the foliage homogeneously charcoal.

Though such things as the singular encounter hardly fit the span of morbid jest, it still offered more clarity to her situation than any other explanation. Assuredly striding to the door, Fluttershy couldn’t help but wonder if the malevolent flower had found it risible to bestow immortality upon her or if some other alteration of her body took place.

Either way, Zecora would know how to fix it.

With a smile tugging on the corners of her lips, Fluttershy opened the door.

To be met with the manticore’s blank expression.

An expanse of flesh, fur and ceaseless discontent deluded narrow burrows forming the innermost structure of the cottage walls. Squeaking in powerless ire, the architects of that veritable labyrinth fled from the huffing daemonic entity barely fitting those cramped clandestine passages. Rats exploded out of the walls, heralding the arrival of the true pest of Fluttershy’s abode—Angel.

The bunny finally squeezed out the hole meant for creatures of less imposing stature and, wasting no time, thumped the floor with his paw in a habitual demand for sustenance, preferably—obligingly—of unnecessarily lavish quality and quantity.

To his outrage, the blubbering excuse for the pegasus not only didn’t instantly materialise to appease his caprice—the pathetic mare not just ignored his order, she refused to even admire his immaculate fluffiness from her perch on the couch!

However, as another series of impatient strikes thundering against the wood failed to evoke any reaction in Fluttershy, Angel’s ego began to deflate. Circling the sofa that might as well have had a statue resting on it instead of a pony, he began to notice his master bearing disturbing features—a look of profound emptiness in her eyes and a wound of a grave degree. For a brief terrifying moment, it even appeared as if Fluttershy abandoned him in the worst way imaginable.

Though used to her occasionally losing her will to participate in life, especially, its social aspects, the more responsible bunny still couldn’t help worrying about her current condition—somehow it differed from another bout of acute reclusiveness or a case of nerves.

Gently tugging her wing, Angel discovered her feathers to be in a state of moult… despite the season not being right and nor did they appear damaged enough to warrant the change. Choosing her hoof instead, he guided the unresponsive mare from the furniture to the floor and examined the blooded gash on her chest.

Not being lettered in medicine, the bunny offered no expertise, but common sense and years of observing his master at work suggested that much blood demanded at least bandaging—which he fashioned of gauze to the best ability of his tiny paws.

Now another issue had to be addressed—Angel’s button-like nose twitched and his snout shrivelled in response to a vague yet still abhorrent intimation of a foetor coming from the pegasus. Covering his muzzle so as not to get another chance to guess what it might be, he pushed the noisome mare across the room to the stairs and awkwardly pushed her up.

A sigh of relief escaped his lungs as Fluttershy’s reflexes kicked in when he had left her inside the shower and the pegasus began to get rid of whatever mephitic substance she had stumbled in during their midnight wanderings.

Momentarily Angel’s worries warred with respect for Fluttershy’s privacy; considering his ability to fix the situation through his efforts was depleted, he had no reason to linger there.

And he had yet to have breakfast.

Leaning on the wall, Fluttershy observed rain trickling into a vortex in the centre of the shower’s basin. The tiny cloud imprisoned in her bathroom had partially dispersed into a harmless if cloying mist and the rest of it dutifully continued to douse her with a weak drizzle supposed to summon shivers from her flesh. Her body refused to answer the chilling water’s challenge. The locks of her mane and tail floated in the puddles, spreading like pink ink… and splotches of black oil. As if to ease the pegasus’ qualms, the Sun somehow found its way through the drawn curtain, bringing with itself twain sundogs to frolic and dance in the shallows; however, following their erratic though phlegmatic motion, Fluttershy realised—she only established eye contact with her reflection.

Whilst her eyes remained locked on that eerie and blurry equine, her mental gaze wandered away and inevitably came back to her cottage’s door or, more importantly, to what might still await her right behind it. Whimpering, Fluttershy screwed her eyelids shut and backed into the corner of the shower, wishing she could squeeze herself through the drainage.

Although prone to such behaviour, Fluttershy however wasn’t a full-time hermit as her desire to avoid reality inevitably clashed with solid logic mercilessly stating: she can’t run from problems forever. Quite unfortunately, she was a foal no more and as an adult mare she had nobody but herself to rely on to solve her problems; her friends wouldn’t be there for her every time, nor she craved to bother them with such silly whims.

This case proved no different, even if circumstances rendered it the most challenging so far.

Fluttershy’s lungs heaved with a tremendous sigh when she climbed out of the shower to grab a towel. Whilst her mane and tail obdurately refused to let go of soot-like colour, her coat failed to regain a healthy sheen and instead shed in a worrying excess. Leaving herself dripping water on floorboards in fear that achieving complete dryness would also leave her hairless, the pegasus fled the bathroom before the fading perspiration would reveal her visage in the mirror.

To further aid her mental health (and maybe even finally bring some improvement to her corporeal aspect), a steaming cup of chamomile tea waited for her downstairs, neighbored by a clumsily prepared daffodil sandwich; and Angel munching on a much more neatly made miniature copy of her meal.

He eyed the timorous pegasus as she sidled by the walls. Ultimately, Fluttershy grabbed the food and huddled away from the sunlight, her eyes glimmering in the half-shadow.

Eventually, as both the sandwich and the contents of the teacup disappeared—more by the force of habit rather than to alleviate the hunger that had forgotten about her—Fluttershy’s unnerving stare focused on the bunny.

Trying not to shiver, he held it steadily even as it gained a pleading quality.

“Oh, Angel, what should I do?” the mare lamented in a voice so painful and desperate, Angel nearly bolted to her side.

She received no verbal response—it wasn’t an option anyway—only a judging glare; not too harsh, however.

“It’s not going to fix itself, isn’t it?”

The bunny’s ears waved in the air as he shook his head vigorously.

Fluttershy, in her turn, hung hers down, muttering despondently, “But I don’t know what to do…”

Angel’s expression didn’t change; if anything his brow furrowed further.

“You think I have to be assertive, don’t you?”

A very curt nod was her answer, yet it brought Fluttershy no ease—moisture began to gather at the rim of her eyes, those eerily glinting wide eyes gazing in horror at the door behind which the silent beast lay in wait; she direly hoped for it to not be true, yet something deep inside her insisted the manticore would stay to finish what it had started… The pegasus sensed its presence.

“What if I can’t?” the pegasus all but mouthed, for she could barely even whisper as the claws of utter terror constricted around her throat—or the imaginable ones, belonging to the unseen raider from the sinister woods. Her body trembled and she sagged to the floor, her sniffles heralding the advent of a debilitating series of sobs that would solidify her failure.

Like an arrow, Angel shot from his place and merely an eyeblink later his paws tightly wrapped themselves around a shaking yellow hoof. Gradually, the pegasus stopped resembling a wooden doll—only in regards to the tension that had locked her muscles.

The bunny frowned. In addition to the concerning stiffness, his master still emanated an utterly repulsive odour.

“Thank you, Angel.” Fluttershy smiled, unknowingly compensating for the warmth her body should have been radiating. “That’s exactly what I needed.”

Oblivious to his persisting—growing even—uneasiness, she left the bunny’s soft embrace to march to the door. Although each step carried the pegasus to the cottage’s entrance slower and slower, her hoof did hook around the knob; holding her breath, she pulled.

The manticore dispassionately stared at her.

Fluttershy slammed the door and pushed her back against it, whimpering.

Long excruciating moments passed as she expected equally long and excruciating claws to blast through the planks and skewer her like a careless colt, exultant with a cruel glee, would pin a beautiful butterfly to a piece of wood. Her ears plastered themselves against her skull as she waited for the mighty roar to stun her before shaking her very core with the bloodlust of a hunter tantalisingly close to its game. With her eyes tightly closed, she anticipated her strange life to come to a graceless conclusion and mutely prayed for the manticore to behave more like a scorpion or a bat rather than a cat—so her death would come quickly.

None of her fears manifested, however; only the birds’ warble reached her hearing and the door remained an unmolested impenetrable bulwark.

Barely believing her own hooves were doing this, Fluttershy opened the door once more and met the manticore’s expressionless gaze with a stare of her own, not the Stare; just a look brimming with horror that threatened to evolve into an overwhelming panic.

And once more, her expectations amounted to nothing, letting the beginnings of rational thought germinate in her mind.

Mayhaps, that manticore possessed an ability to feel guilt, furthermore—born of gratitude as it could have been the same beast Fluttershy had helped once, when she and her friends braved the Everfree in search of the corrupted demigoddess. That hypothesis failed to explain every aspect of the present situation, however—why had it attacked the pegasus in the first place? An honest mistake? Nor did it offer any insight into her wound’s nature and other concerning features of her current physiology.

“What d-do you want?” she inquired from the motionless monstrosity.

Of course, it gave no answer; didn’t even stir—only continued to bore into the pegasus with an empty glare of slitted irises; though deep in those obsidian abysses a singular cold spark danced.

Turning back, Fluttershy noted a pair of beady eyes tensely watching her from behind the sofa; though that vastly different from Angel’s intent, the momentary eye contact had imbued the mare with enough valour—foolhardiness, rather—to extend a hoof and poke the manticore in its wide and exceedingly fluffy chest.

What should have been a grave mistake produced the same reaction from the manticore as heretofore—the whole variety of nothing.

Fluttershy abruptly became aware that, besides her and Angel, one more creature attended the strange scene—a chicken awkwardly stood vigil betwixt the manticore’s lion paws. Not just any hen—Elizabeak in her ravaged flesh called for the pegasus’ attention to herself by pecking at one of the deadly claws.

The sight of the bird that should have been dead rendered the pegasus stone faster than any cockatrice ever would—still and lacking any thought or emotion, a perfect candidate for the infamous Royal Garden.

Moving mechanically she picked up the cold yet not rigid body and carried it close to her muzzle. Elizabeak had not a single reason to be alive; the smell alone marked her as definitely deceased. Fluttershy then touched the pink bandage crisscrossing her chest, perceived no heartbeat beneath, no motion at all—a quality she shared with the funereal chicken. She then looked at the manticore—another creature that didn’t seem to breathe, though its eyes somehow kept following the mare’s frantic motions.

A yellow hoof, steady beyond any reason, pushed the manticore from the way, perceiving a charnel coldness underneath and ultimate irreversible stillness. The empty shell of the pony brushed her side against the leathery wings and shied not from the coarse fur of the dead incarnate.

The Sun unexpectedly burned into her with no clemency as she burst into the meadow spreading forth in front of her hovel. Despite the discomfort brought by the golden light, Fluttershy froze in her tracks—a visit to Zecora suddenly lost its allure—had no sense anymore.

For abruptly she realised—it was no joke, poison or any other.

She was dead.

Despite the unusual unpleasantness brought by the golden incandescence, Fluttershy scant moved—only sat down when her hooves could support her jittering frame no more; the revelation all but turned her into a weeping willow with its roots burrowed deep into the damp soil and its leaves rustling in the unrest of a gathering storm.

Whilst the explanation for her preternatural state remained abstruse, the abominable truth couldn’t be ignored any longer—she shared something horrible with those two poor animals, something far beyond a plant-caused malady or even sanity. The morbid camaraderie offered her a hint on where to begin unravelling their unwholesome conundrum, yet she promptly reached a disappointing conclusion—the phenomena lay outside her field of expertise… if there even was anyone well-versed in the paradoxes of unlife.

With that inference derived, visiting Zecora recovered its relevance and so arose another option—dispatching Angel to the Golden Oaks.

The pegasus neither got up from the grass, nor beckoned the bunny to approach her. For a reason she would fail to articulate to even herself, it seemed infinitely wise to keep things clandestine lest she had no other choice.

Fluttershy did, however, quickly glance at Angel, who met her eyes with an expression of utmost worry; yet in those beady eyes, the pegasus discovered the mute support she so desperately craved.

Yes! She might be confused and scared, but it wasn’t just her well-being threatened by the unknown abnormality—her animals suffered, too; that and the stray manticore.

As if reading the pegasus’ thoughts, when Fluttershy mustered in herself enough courage to face the animals, neither alive nor exactly dead, Elizabeak readily met her with an unblinking hollow gaze from where she stood behind the mare—the whole time, it seemed.

Repeated and thorough examination of the long-suffering bird failed to reveal anything novel about its sordid state. The wounds, not infected or even swollen, should have left Elizabeak forever resting in the middle of the clearing at the Everfree Forest, yet some unseen influence affected the ravaged flesh.

The mare lowered the chicken and carefully approached the manticore. The massive chimaera-like predator bore no visible injuries and appeared to be in the prime of its health; the eerie stillness of its body and haunted emptiness of its eyes aside.

As Fluttershy circled the manticore, puzzled by it possessing no apparent reason to join her and Elizabeak in defying laws of nature, she took notice of the corpse-like hen, who followed her master like a shadow—silent and uncanny. For a chicken, whose riotous nature started the whole mess, such obedience fit none.

Guided by sheer curiosity, Fluttershy ordered, “Stay.” Withdrawing into herself upon realising her assertiveness, she shyly added, “If you don’t mind, of course.”

Already still as a stone by the merit of Fluttershy herself moving no more, the bird couldn’t prove if it abode by the command.

The pegasus took a few suddenly reluctant steps back.

Her surprise came not as much from Elizabeak obeying, but the manticore shifting, so the distance betwixt it and the pegasus wouldn’t change. Stifling the urge to flee from the beast closing in on her, Fluttershy tried something that had no reason to be possible.

“S-stay,” she uttered to the manticore and then continued to stumble away.

The void-infused eyes of the lion and the bird were the only thing to follow her figure. Without realisation, she headed for the nearest shade and from its soothing darkness watched twain sombre creatures waiting for her next wish.

Whilst their behaviour multiplied riddles, only one question truly bothered the animal caretaker.

They did share the state of their bodies, but why did only Fluttershy retain a clear state of mind?

Although she could only guess, intuition hinted on the missing piece of the picture had something to do with the living shadow she had met at the ruins of the castle—the only piece of a puzzle repeatedly failing to find its place in the mystery her life had become.

A sudden motion broke Fluttershy’s ruminations—belonging to neither the revenants nor the bunny. The critters seeking refuge by her cottage restlessly moved in the background as their internal clocks suggested the time for breakfast had come.

Being dead didn’t give Fluttershy a chance to shirk her duties.

The animal life did welcome the conscientious pegasus, though each creature eyed her with unhidden suspicion. Nonetheless, the promise and following delivery of food unfailingly convinced them—the new and sinister aura of their benefactor was only of a superficial quality.

Only one dweller of the house on the Everfree’s border hesitated to accept the changes in Fluttershy—Angel observed her from a safe distance, and his eyes brimming with fright kept returning to the manticore standing akin to an unnerving gargoyle right before the cottage’s door; his furred, feathered or even scaled colleagues, too, preferred to give the apex predator a wide berth. The creepy hen just as disturbingly trailing the pegasus upon her orders helped none either, barely tolerated by beings still breathing.

Aware of that rift, the mare herself proceeded with her duties not from the indifference towards the bunny’s concerns—she fully shared them—but from not knowing how to convince Angel of being trustworthy.

Meanwhile, her mind sought some solution by going through every minute detail of everything that had happened to her since she departed the cottage in the search of lost chicken. The acorns meant for squirrels spilt on grass when she abruptly froze—her thoughts had finally detected a pattern, horrible and wrong on every level. But before it could be taken as truth, she had to test it out and, unfortunately, taking care of her beloved animals was bound to give her an opportunity; though she dearly hoped to be proven wrong about both her hypothesis and a chance to test it out.

A strong smell of herbs spoke of her nearing the place she now dreaded more than usual as terror joined the inevitable yet expected sorrow. Parting the holly branches, Fluttershy beheld a heart-wrenching scene—tiny bodies of rats huddled around one more as if hoping to reignite the fire of life in it with their warmth. But the old Mr Snout grew colder and colder despite their best efforts; the pungent medicinal plants Fluttershy used to prolong his fading life struggled to hide the waxing sweet foetor.

The rat pack parted to let a gentle hoof carry the deceased on his final journey, but the mare hesitated to touch the body, for such a simple action might cause something wholly unwarranted and twisted.

The indecision born of uncertainty only helped the latter to gnaw viciously upon Fluttershy’s nerves, prompting her to face the inevitable and pray for her fears to be unfulfilled. She gently picked up Mr Snout and waited, the tiny body simultaneously heavy and light in her hooves.

A torrent of emotions pierced her mourning heart.

The amazement of the rat opening his eyes to look at her, uneasiness from seeing his gaze sharing the emptiness of undead, wholly unexpected exultation—Mr Snout was dead no more; horror that she felt in such a way instead of being mortified by breaking the order of nature.

Fluttershy’s eyes travelled betwixt the group of animals before her sofa upon which she sat.

The rodent’s kin found no relief in Mr Snout’s return as he lacked the liveliness and answered not the restrained joy of his peers. Elizabeak’s loyalty remained unwavering, but the manticore—dubbed Floof—waited outside, behind the stout building so as not to cast its imposing presence upon other inhabitants and sojourners of Fluttershy’s place.

A few flies, a couple of beetles and a single butterfly also had joined the morbid duo. Refusing to exercise her newfound ability unrestrained, the pegasus, however, did try it out a few more times on those who she had found forever resting at her window-sills.

Her eyes made another full circle and stopped on her hooves—no longer stained with blood but still marred with something unseen and ominous. Yet, no matter how intently or long she stared at her cold limbs or no less frigid bodies waiting for her orders, the answer didn’t come—she still had no idea why death suddenly no longer held power around her.

It had something to do with her foray into the dark woods, but her guesses dispersed into vague and wild hypotheses after that point.

Nor did it help that seeing a lifeless body move against all logic never failed to imbue her with such a soothing pleasure—as if she reverted the world’s cruel will and regained something thought to be lost forever. But such happiness always preceded a pang of guilt—she couldn’t deny her actions violating reality, for nothing had a right to stand eternal.

Repeatedly failing to gain any clarity fueled the desire to sojourn into Ponyville. But aside from the burning sunlight, another concern precluded her from egressing—she feared her friends meeting her problem with less understanding than was required. Of all of them, Applejack had to be the most familiar with death by the merit of being a farmer, yet she also held little trust in arcane secrets—and Fluttershy’s situation demanded a lot of trust.

Pondering upon what her next actions ought to be, Fluttershy became aware of a sound she wanted to hear the least—knocking on the door.

Promptly, a voice replaced impatient and insisting knocks.

“Fine, Fluttershy,” groaned Twilight. “I know you are there. The girls and I agreed to meet at the Golden Oaks tomorrow, but of course, it can be postponed if you are not up to it. I just need to go all the way back and tell each of them you couldn’t come…”

The unicorn’s voice gained a lamenting quality to it and before Fluttershy realised what it would mean, she answered, “I’ll be there.”

Author's Note

English isn't my native language; though I try my best and use various tools to aid myself, I'm aware that a result is far from perfect. That said, if you notice anything that you think should be fixed—please let me know.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far.
Stay awesome.