Afternoon tea at home was a sacred thing to Rarity Belle. A moment of civility, reflection, and a much-needed break from the inevitable workload brought on by being Ponyville's number one source of haute couture. Whilst not as ritualised as the intriguingly exotic tea ceremonies she'd heard of in Neighpon, there were still steps, order and routine - something her guest didn't seem to care much for.
“-nd then Philomena burst into flames! I may have-uh- well hehe, freaked out a bit…?” Twilight cringed at the memory, absent-mindedly nibbling on a fifth Prench Fancy she'd artfully grabbed from the tray, its crumbs littering her lavender fur and the white tablecloth equally.
Her tea had yet to be poured; the overly large cup she'd brought (Rarity refused to even think the word 'mug') clashed hideously, and they'd not even begun with the customary light discourse about the weather. Even a single of these crimes would get one excised from Canterlot high society (or so the stack of magazines and books she devoured on a regular basis attested), but the mare endured. Twilight may have been ... different, but she was her friend and friends put up with faux pas like these. They'd recovered from worse - that disastrous fashion show being the latest. Honestly, despite wearing clothes as often as she did, you'd think some fashion sense would have rubbed off on their little group's erstwhile leader.
“Well, that's understandable, Twilight. How were you to know Princess Celestia's pet could rise from the ashes like some kind of-”
“Phoenix?” her friend interjected, a bitter note in the husky voice.
Tea was sipped. Cup and saucer slowly lowered within the icy blue aura, protocol remaining important as always.
“Twilight, darling-” a slight tic was all the sign she needed to lower her pitch, the poor dear was ever so sensitive to sound, “-you are one of the smartest creatures I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. Yet, even so, one can't specialise in every field of study now, can they?”
Good-natured grumbling from her guest signified that yes, one should 'darn well be able to know everything there was', especially when a certain someone had 'read every book in Celestia's personal library two times over'. Such was the curse of the scholar Rarity supposed - a never-ending thirst for knowledge and drab clothing. It wasn't that she had any particular issue with Twilight's outfit per-se; it was merely how bland it was ... and the colour ... and the material. Oh, and that she had ten identical versions of it!
Ok, so it was a lie. She, Rarity Belle (Princess of fabulosity) had a distinctive issue with her friend's clothes.
The shirt/vest/bow tie combo was frankly adorable, but it gathered dirt and grime like a magnet. Wool and fur had never been a good mixture historically, but then add Twilight’s thicker than average coat and you had a recipe for disaster. Wash Line must have been working his hooves to the bone trying to remove all those stains his number one client picked up daily. Tuition under the Princess had obviously never broached the subject of avoiding errant piles of earth and grass if her current state indicated anything.
Then there was the skirt.
Leather was a ... tricky subject in Equestria. Ancient Griffons had first discovered the means of tanning hides as a way to utilise every scrap of their kills and gain a strong, durable, resource to work with. This was understandable in an abstract sense. Primitive times led to primitive answers.
The problem was that it never stopped.
Cattle may have been something of a minority within pony-held lands, but no one liked to think of a friend or neighbour being worn as a pair of boots. Harsh words, sabre rattling and even a personal tete-a-tete between King Guto and Princess Celestia had led to a workable (if distasteful) compromise. They would cease all trade in cattle-based leather, pay an eye-whopping reparation bill, and release their 'subjects' into Equestrian care. Pony historians often referred to King Sombra as 'The Slave Lord', but cattle found that sobriquet much more fitting to griffons overall.
Either way, leather was seen as a distasteful accoutrement even in the modern era. So, watching her close friend tromp about town in that ghastly pleated brown thing covered in innumerable pockets and Celestia knows what stains, was simply too much to bear sometimes. Attempts had been made (discretely, of course, she was a lady after all) to transition Twilight towards something less controversial - for her friends’ sake, of course. Yet she would just give Rarity her customary look of confusion, occasionally followed with that unique bark of laughter that only Twilight Sparkle could make. Something that sounded funny and unsettling simultaneously.
It never graced the scholar's mind that few ponies could identify the taxonomic species of what she wore by sight. Such a thing was inconceivable; it was so plainly obvious in fact that the mere suggestion they couldn't had upset her for days on end. 'I'd never hurt a fly' were her own words - words which were rather relevant to this little meeting.
“I have a confession to make, Twilight,” she began, breath quickening as a levitating knife hacked bloody murder into what started as a perfectly edible scone.
“Hmm?” an eyebrow rose as she unconsciously scratched behind a pointed ear.
“Well, it's about why I asked you here. You see ...” in the moment's pause Rarity considered the crumbled mess in front of her, swiftly decided against it and deposited the offending baked goods remnants into her trash can. “... as much as I love your company, and I very much do darling, I was wondering if we could discuss a sensitive topic?”
The eyebrow didn't lower, though. In fact, it was joined by a low rumble that indicated a perturbed student of the scientific arts.
“It's to do with our little engagement with those Diamond Dogs a few weeks ago; do you remember?”
Her friend always had an interesting reaction to personal affairs. It was a spectacle unto itself, akin to the opening of a flower as she ran through the gamut of emotion. Amusement, confusion, irritation, then wholesale anger. The crescendo to this piece of opera was the harsh screech of wooden chair legs on tiling, the younger of the two growling as she stomped out of Carousel Boutique. A cheery bell ring followed the door’s slam.
This hadn't been entirely unexpected in the mare’s opinion: Diamond Dogs were always a sore spot for Twilight Sparkle. After all, she was one.
How had it gone so wrong?
Pride, she guessed. Perhaps greed as well. Turning down her friend's offer of help to gem-mine had been foolish in hindsight; she was an independent young mare after all. But there had been ... rumours. Disappearances. Bones.
Silly little Rarity though, always the prima donna on life’s stage. She was an 'Element of Harmony' - who would dare attack her? Forgetting that little over half a year ago she'd just been some no-name seamstress in a poky little town. Taking a leaf from Applejack she could admit (painfully) that's still what she was. Sapphire Shores had been her chance to make a name for herself, but make it big, flashy, Rarity! Sparkling from the biggest stage with the biggest pop star of all time!
Now here she was. In a hole. Tied up and ready to be ... to be ... well, to be eaten.
That's where the greed had neatly stepped in, she noted, numb to the filth she lay in and the too-tight cords around her limbs and face. Twilight had always been a bit precious about noise and who else could hit the high notes like her? So, she'd wheedled and whined and begged 'till those disgusting monsters had almost let her go. Freedom was in sight; they were practically prepping the red carpet for her ascension to the surface! Then she opened her fat mouth.
Had the gems been worth it? Probably not. Sapphire could have done with a lesser piece of her art, or even moved on. It would have stung but been bearable. Fame and fortune slipping from her hooves for just one more day of a simple life. “Well,” a logical part of her echoed, “you certainly will be famous. Who doesn't like a juicy piece of true crime, hmm?”
On quiet days, when her mind would circle towards the morbid, she'd imagine her death. It would be something dramatic and poetic, like a play from the founding era. There would be tears in the thousands, a sense of great loss for a genius departing to the heavens. All her tears had long dried up though; the only thing that remained was failure. Her failure.
A faint rumble echoed throughout the caves, soft earth shivering beneath her. Had those beasts begun to dig once more? Maybe they'd decided to simply leave and let the 'whiny pony' shrivel and wither away in the dark. Hunger and thirst laying claim to tender flesh instead of sharpened fangs and rumbling bellies.
Wait-there! It was a familiar sound, barely on the edge of perception lurking beneath the rumbles. Magic. Like a hoof on the edge of a wet crystal goblet almost. Harmonious yet unsettling - a keen hum of power. When she'd first heard it all those months ago revulsion had been her response, shamefully. A unicorn's casting was familiar, a comforting sound to all who had grown in such a household. This had been new, alien, bizarre. A kind of uncanny wrongness in its existence, mocking all that was good and noble in the horn of a unicorn. Yet she'd grown. Now it was a welcoming presence. It was a sign that a dear friend was nearby.
Despite the cords around her body and the numbness in her soul, Rarity Belle couldn't help but smile.
Twilight Sparkle had arrived.
If there was no rest for the wicked (as the saying went) then Rarity must have been a terrible, awful pony in some other life. Business had been booming thanks to the upcoming Grand Galloping Gala. Exclusive it may well have been, but that didn't stop the middle classes from throwing their imitation bacchanals. That dreamy Prince Blueblood though had ensured suits were 'in' this year, so thirty-plus jackets were on the cards, with some of her more daring clientele pursuing custom cufflinks. It didn't exactly set her muse on fire, but bills needed paying and mining equipment replaced. This meant the next time she could even get close to Twilight would be the centennial meteor shower.
The night rolled around soon enough though. Sitting on a hastily laid picnic blanket, half asleep, whilst all her friends prattled on about their day, everypony conveniently avoided mentioning the currently grumbling Twilight’s 'delicious' spread of snacks to accompany the cosmic light show. The mare warily eyed several plates as Twilight struggled to swiftly assemble a telescope. Peanut butter wasn't forbidden in her latest diet ... but the sheer amount of it was daunting. Crackers, ice cream, chocolate bars, even smothered on celery! It was an anaphylactic’s idea of Tartarus.
Fish was, of course, ever-present at any meal involving the Element of Magic. It still rankled Rarity and she suspected it would do so to her dying days.
Twilight was a carnivore. All five of them were aware of that. Oh, her mother (of sorts) had put effort into shifting her to a pony-friendly diet; it didn't stick quite as well as anyone had liked, but she was willing to eat things that didn't scream when you bit into them. Progress. It mostly ended up on the sweeter side of the spectrum though, Twilight possessing that most recurring thing in the academic community - podge. Not a lot, but just enough for Rarity to occasionality do the odd bit of re-stitching on the side. Regress. Like all Carnivores though, meat was a necessity. Chicken was apparently her favourite, but in lieu of Fluttershy's sensitivity they'd agreed she shift to 'creatures that could feel no pain'. Though Rarity honestly suspected it had more to do with the yellow mare’s inability to talk to the slimy things. Hell hath no fury like a mare scorned. Either way, they'd reached that unenviable third stage. Impasse.
Meat was back on the menu, whether it be grilled, boiled, sauteed or even raw.
“It's neighponese,” Twilight intoned, grinning widely as those shovel-like fingers dextrously grabbed three bits of 'sooshi' from a plate, the rice and fish combination dripping with an unidentifiable brown sauce, “want some?”
She silently thanked Luna when the frenzied cry of 'It's starting!' from Rainbow Dash dropped all talk of flesh-eating off the agenda. World-wise she may well be, but some rivers were never meant to be crossed. Her stomach still heaved at the memory of Fluttershy eagerly devouring one of Twilight's abominations.
Memories. That's what really started this little quest of hers really. One that just wouldn't slip away like all the others. With meteorites dazzling across the night sky, she couldn't help but ignore their radiance, focusing instead on the joyful expression of the purple Diamond Dog at the telescope.
Blood. The thick and cloying stench effused throughout the dim cave system, whatever thin breeze ran throughout the tunnels barely moving the grim reminder of violence. It was almost unnatural how it held despite their closeness to the surface, or how it had gotten so far. Twilight seemed to ignore it with casual ease though, as if the smell of life essence was no more than a by-product of a busy day.
“They're not ... dead, are they?” She found herself asking this for the fifth time, her voice cracking.
Despite her protestations, the bruised and shaken Rarity found herself in Twilight's arms. The mare held firmly but gently in already scabbing paws to her friend's chest, dirt and gore caking the Diamond Dogs nails. It was a thing that often slipped her mind, despite Twilight's bookish nature and childlike deference to authority, the bicce was well over six feet in height and could easily toss their little friend group about like ragdolls.
“No, but they'll wish they were when they wake up.” Twilight snarled, a look in her eye that Rarity had never seen before, something wild and untamed.
“What about the-”
“Light contusion to the skull, I aimed low enough.”
“Or-”
“The soil compacted tight enough just to break his ribs in a pre-patterned manner - no shards.”
“Oh.”
Then there was silence. The kind that made a mare think a bit too much about what she'd seen ...
“But the one with the legs? I'm sure legs aren't meant to go that wa-”
“RARITY!”
Silence resumed, the air tense and still thick with that diabolical smell. She attempted to tune it out, focusing on the steady crunch of hastily dug earth beneath Twilight's paws or her gentle heartbeat. It didn't work.
“Twilight.”
“What?” she grunted.
The older mare had ascended mountains, battled ferocious monsters, and even stood toe to toe against a mad goddess. Despite all that, right this second, she was utterly terrified.
“Why-” the words became sticky, desperate to remain unuttered, “-why did you hurt them so much?” She closed her eyes and shivered. Twilight's body heat did not aid in the slightest. The vision was still there: the dull glow of gem-light, mangled mewling bodies and the blood. So much blood.
“Oh, that's simple,” she answered, body noticeably tense to her travelling companion. “I hate them.” Turning a corner, she halted momentarily and sniffed the air before continuing, her pace now a quick march. “I hate all of them, every single last one of their monstrous species.”
Despite the discomfort, she looked up at her friend, head titled as if the world itself was now out of sync. A weak, “But you're a Diamond Dog?” being her only reply.
None of this made sense. This was Twilight Sparkle, ward of Princess Celestia, the forerunner of geomantics and all things scientific. She was sarcastic yes, even quick to temper at times. It was never malicious though, more the confusion of some creature very much out of their element. But this? This held conviction.
As the entrance of the tunnel approached and the nightmare began to fade, her friend said those eight words that froze her to the very marrow.
“What makes you think I don't hate myself?”
Golden Oaks Library always seemed cramped to Rarity. Despite describing its career-aligned apartment as 'spacious', it always felt as if it could barely fit two ponies in. One and a half may have been a better estimation, but when it came to Twilight Sparkle, she tended to be two and a half - three standing up straight. Right now, though, it felt even less, cluttered as the kitchenette was.
“I can't thank you enough for carrying the picnic basket and telescope, Rarity; I really needed my hands free to record everything I learned while it was still fresh in my mind.” A gentle smile was followed by the gesture of a thick notebook, 'Twilights Reference #38' sliding neatly into one of the numerous pockets dotting her skirt. “My observations could well advance meteorology to places here-fore unknown!”
“Think nothing of it, darling. What are friends for after all?” She said, fully aware that Twilight was no idle boaster.
Twilight may well have been a social recluse before she arrived in Ponyville, but a burgeoning reputation as Canterlot’s prime polymath or 'renaissance mare' wasn't unwarranted. Friends weren't exactly necessary to invent a more efficient steam boiler, restructure the palace's ley line system, or even discover an 'exact sonic frequency to discourage parasprites' or whatever that was.
“Can I get you a coffee?” Twilight asked, already spooning herself some of the bizarre brown powder she frequently lionised into an ungainly kettle she'd 'improved'. Rumour had it that at least a third of her wages went on importing coffee from Zebrica.
With long-practised poise Rarity took a seat, her movement thankfully allowing the grimace to be missed.
“I'm afraid I'm rather stuffed - the snacks, you understand.” It was said hastily, too hastily in fact, but the foul stuff never did much for her. If a headache was ever needed, then all she had to do was offer her home for 'Crusader business'.
The purple canine let out a surprisingly demure giggle as she began the arduous process of bringing life to her stove. “No, I understand. Mother's not too keen on it herself. Auntie Luna seems intrigued thou-gah, darn matches!”
Part of her loathed seeing Twilight struggle; however, previous suggestions of assistance had resulted in several polite-but-firm refusals. Applejack may have been an earth pony, but at least she had the benefit of hooves to make easy kindle-flame and Pinkie ... did whatever she normally did. Meanwhile both herself and the two pegasi within their little group could use magic (of a variety more useful than merely moving dirt around) to make things easier - a facet of life she needed to remember on occasion. Humility was not always her strongest suit.
It was just so hard sometimes. Yes, she didn't want to end up like that irritating show-mare that Twilight had resoundingly trumped, but Ponyville was just so ... so ... drab. Plain. No culture, no art, no style. Yet here she was, able to help alleviate all these ponies from the mundanity of their boring lives. The butterfly wings came to mind. That had been a fabulous idea, until it hadn't. Yes, humility was to be her new watchword. That and satin; very chic this year, very 'in'.
“What's on your mind?”
“Oh ... just ... work.” Rarity lied, seeding her falsehood with a fair bit of truth “Besides, the home galas I have a rather tricky ensemble to prepare for a client. Have you heard of Greasy Goldtooth?” A blank response. Perfectly understandable. “He's a frightful bore, but cornering the market on high-end clockwork has results. He wants something 'gear themed' in a size twenty-eight for his own little soiree.”
“Gear themed?” Twilight’s ears lowered as she absent-mindedly assembled an odd hybrid of plunger and glass jar, the newly lit stove already beginning to boil the modified heavy kettle. “Are you going to glue gears to-”
“Dear heavens, no!” The rising vomit was pushed down with some mild difficulty, “No, no, no, Twilight. I'm tempted to ask Wind Up for some tips, truthfully, but that grumpy Gus is more likely to berate my choice in timepieces than he is to give inspiration.”
The resident horologist and arch-rival to Time Turner wasn't exactly on her list of favourites when it came Ponyville residents. His one and only trip to Carousel Boutique had been under the mistaken impression that it was a haberdashery, fabric being fabric in his mind. No matter how she broke it to the belligerent pegasus though, he wouldn't take no for an answer. At least, until she claimed to have absolutely no stock whatsoever of 'micro fibres'. Needless to say, her mood (and opinion of the stallion) had soured significantly that day.
“Really?” Twilight murmured, a thoughtful look on her face. “I've always gotten on quite well with him.” The now assembled 'strainer', as she referred to it, sat proudly on the table next to a garish mug - one of many that hung from the (rather literal) tree house's wooden hooks. “Wait ...”
A sudden rhythmic movement from the back of her dress followed by an ever-widening grin told Rarity something was afoot in the scholar's mind; her eyes did only ever light up in that certain special way when she was ‘firing on all cylinders’. Apprehensiveness won out over blind trust.
“Now, Twi-”
“Friendship problem!” she squealed, giddily dancing on the spot. “This is great! Normally I have to find them in our day-to-day lives, but if I can store them? Why, the efficiency savings alone will be unbelievable!”
“Twilight, darling. I don't think friendships works that way; it all seems a bit ... cold and impersonal.”
Ears moved, a wagging tail slowed, and the kitchenette suddenly ceased having four ponies in its warm embrace.
“I suppose you're right ...” she said, slumping into the table’s pony-sized chair with practised caution.
Furniture and furnishings were an ever-present problem for the Diamond Dog. Her custom pieces from home were still stuck in the bureaucratic nightmare that was 'palace paperwork'. Quills and Sofas considered her a godsend, however.
Snake-like hissing from the stove top heralded a sudden new routine, one which Rarity found fascinating in its sheer brutality and machine-minded focus. With little fanfare or presentation Twilight simply rose, poured the kettle and its boiled water-coffee mixture (donning a thick tea glove to avoid burns) into her 'strainer', placed a single finger onto the hand at the top, exerted a small amount of pressure and then wonder of wonders, coffee appeared. Or at least a bitter, soil-like substance that called itself coffee.
The few bits of literature she'd read on the subject had made it sound exotic, with deep and subtle flavours. Surely this muck wasn't the same? An irritating buzz had been perhaps the only positive from the horrible experience of her last 'Twilight tea party'.
Girding herself, the fashionista realised she'd been swayed from her task. Enough dilly-dallying. It was time to 'grab the minotaur by the horns' as her father would say. Whether that was a legitimate hoofball term or some idle speciesist comment she couldn't comment on, but it did seem appropriate for this moment.
“Twilight,” it was now or never, “I need to ask you something.”
With a pounding heart, she waited - each second worse than her junior fashion shows. That moment of expectation, that something, no, anything, could go wrong at any moment. The judges were absent here though, only a friend deeply absorbed in her mug full of burnt-bean water.
“Yes?” came the eventual response, her drink half empty whilst brown liquid faintly stained a normally purple muzzle.
“Some time ago ...”
“Yes ...”
“... you said ...”
“Mhm ...”
“... you ... you said you hated yourself. I understand if you don't want to talk about the Diamond Dogs, I truly do.” Her breath hitched. “I still get ... nightmares, on occasion. I'm your friend, though and I refuse to sit idly by whilst you flagellate yourself. So please Twilight, please. Help me understand."
There was no flower this time, no concerto. Merely the white-knuckle grasp of a creature who'd rocketed straight from 'calm' to 'furious' in two seconds flat, sharp fangs now on display. For the briefest of seconds, she'd forever swear she saw Nightmare Moon in that face, all bitter rage and malevolence, before Twilight shifted, bolting up from the table.
“Understand?” She growled, her fists balled tightly. “Oh you 'want to understand’, do you?”
Despite her pads being soft as snow, each step rang out like a thunderbolt. Wood resounded as she slowly crept closer, huge paws now reached out to gently grasp Rarity's skull. Loyalty may not have been the mare’s element, but she trusted her friend implicitly. Nonetheless, her stomach was urging to vent itself.
“Look at me, Rarity.” Twilight snapped, holding her friend’s head steadily as a jaw full of razor-sharp enamel slowly came on display, a void of painful death mere inches from the alabaster mare.
It was something primal, instinctual, but she couldn't help trying to turn away. She needed to escape, the terror in her system a keening wail of every ancestor caught in the maw of a predator. Yet those paws … Those big, soft paws, once seen as cute, something to paint and trim and clean - well now they held her in a grip she realised was stronger than steel. Twilight could crush her head like an egg with ease.
“P-Please, please T-Twilight stop it; you're scaring me!”
It was over in an instant, her friend once more seated, albeit from the creaking sound she'd have to visit Sofa and Quills sooner rather than later.
“That, Rarity, is why I hate myself,” she swigged at her mug before slamming it back down, chipping the beige and orange container. “I'm a diamond dog. We all know about diamond dogs; we're all taught about diamond dogs. Savages, monsters, pony eaters. Foals are told to be good or else 'a diamond dog will drag you under and gobble you up'.”
The fashionista blanched, memories flooding in of telling Sweetie Belle such a tale herself. It had been for her sister’s benefit; late nights didn't suit a lady of such young years. She never in her life expected to be sitting next to the boogeymare one day, though.
“By all rights, I should be amongst them. Another animal in a pack of animals, lurking on the edges of equestrian society waiting for the weak and the stupid. Yet here I am!” she roared slamming the mug once more, cracks spiderwebbing in the ceramic.
“Adopted daughter of Celestia!” Slam. “Highest marks in Maresachussets Institute of Technology!” Slam. “Twenty-five patents, medical, industrial and arcane, all sold nationwide!” Slam.
The giggle that came next set Rarity’s fur on edge whilst tears began to slowly fall from her friend's deep purple eyes.
“Did-did you know-,” she hiccupped, “-did you know that in all those magazines ... all those articles they wrote about me ... they-they never say WHAT I am?”
Her body may have been telling her to run, but Rarity knew what her friend needed. She didn't back down if she could help it and she wouldn't start now.
“Twilight ...” a snowy hoof slid across the table, the sensation of fur brief before its owner snatched the paw away, cradling it to her chest like a grievous injury.
“Even here in Ponyville,” she murmured, sniffling as she wiped at red and puffy eyes, “I walk the streets and everypony greets me with a smile, but I can see it in their faces. They're scared.” Staring deep into the damaged mug she let out a shaky sigh. “I want to believe in friendship, I really do, Rarity, but it’s ... it’s so hard. Knowing that everyone thinks you'll snap and hurt them, foalnap them ... even ... even ...”
Rarity wasn't quite sure how she made it to her friend so quickly, or even how she had jumped high enough to envelope her in a tight embrace, yet it didn't matter. Twilight needed her and here she was.
“Don't say it, please.” She begged.
An awful shudder wracked the bicce’s body, “... even eat them.”
There was a totality to it now. A change in the air. Something had broken, but what it was neither of them could quite say.
“Can you get off me now please, Rarity?” She whispered, voice trembling. “I'd like to be alone, if that's ok with you.”
As she slid down, protest bubbled up from deep inside her, a once-still mind now whirling. Leaving Twilight in such a state was inconceivable; it was immoral, it was ... it was-
“Please, just go.”
-what her friend, her friend in extreme emotional distress, wanted. As much as it pained her, and as much as she herself knew the false security in isolation, she would respect her friend's wishes. Begrudgingly, yes, but respectfully.
“Ok, Twilight,” a hoof quickly running through her mane was a poor attempt to return to the old 'fabulous Rarity' and not a worrying mare, but something was better than nothing. “Just ... contact me if you need anything - anything at all. I want you to know the girls and I will always be here for you, and we'll always see you as our friend, nothing else.”
A muted grunt was her only response, glassy eyes staring off into nothingness.
Pain wasn't only physical she quickly learnt, with each step more torturous than the last. Perhaps it was what made her so fit for the element of generosity. She wished oh so dearly to stay, to help, to do anything to fix this. To make it better. However, as the door slammed behind her and violet-tinged rods of earth barred the entrance, she knew with finality that this wasn't her battle.
It wasn't her reflection that terrified others.
Author's Note
Notes are here
