The beast approached, wild, feral, its teeth gnashing. Luna stood, a perfect example of royal contempt, despite her lack of features under the black shade she carried. Twila could easily imagine her eyes staring in indignation and a prominent, crafted frown on her face. Luna stared the beast down, her arms still open to either side of her, her pose almost messianic.

She began to talk in an archaic tongue, one Twila only had the vaguest grasp of from her years of being Celestia's protegee. It was the speech of Kings. A tongue carried only by those of the Princesses' bloodline to showcase their relationship with Arthur Pendragon. The words carried power and, for those who mastered it, could be formed into earth-shattering spells. Twila had spent weeks researching into their might and only came back with a smattering of words; words Celestia praised Twila for learning, due to the bloodline limitation normally barring others from being taught their deadly power.

Luna continued to speak them, each word strong on their own, every syllable pounding Twila's eardrums and breaking her body into gooseflesh. Above them, the clouds spread as Luna chanted, making way for the moon, stark and cold, to shine its light down to them. Luna held out her palm, her fingers clenched as if cradling an invisible shaft, and reared back her arm. As the moonlight graced her figure, a beam of silvery light formed in her hand, then quickly expanded, first filling her palm, then farther out still, filling the area with a hum as the beam expanded into the length of a javelin. The all-folk threw it. It let out a sharp, deafening crack as it left Luna's hand and sailed through the air with blinding speed. Twila clutched her ears at the noise and watched with mute fascination as Luna's spell impaled the creature, piercing through its hide dead center. It fell back with a howl, clawing and thrashing at the magical spell even as the beast landed on the ground.

“Return to darkness!” Luna bellowed, slamming her foot into the ground. The beam splintered into small shards of light. Twila noticed that the wound the bolt had struck on the creature remained open and gaping, the black liquid that had leaked from its injuries previously gone. She then noticed the odd color the wound held. Grey, hard. As if...

A petrification spell! she realized. A potent one, at that, as quickly acting as it was, already spreading across its torso like a violent plague. It howled, thrashing and trying to lift itself up, only to freeze as the magic paralyzed it in the midst of its gyrations. It offered one last hate-fueled glare Luna's way, before its whole body morphed into stone.

Luna walked forward, tugging her spear up the from the ground, and marched to its body. She gave an experienced twirl of the weapon, then slammed it into the beast, shattering it into of hundreds of pieces. She turned back to Twila. The all-folk looked far more normal now than earlier; Twila could see her weary, gaunt face, and the armor she wore lost some of its ominous presence. Walking towards Twila, the student could see a hard set of burn marks where Luna had grasped the shaft of the light spear in her hand. A vague scent of fried pork hung in the air.

“Are thou alright?” Luna asked.

Twila took in a breath, then let it out heavily. “I-I think so, y-yes.”

Luna weakly smiled. Resting her spear against her body, she moved her uninjured hand to Twila's cheek and stroked it with a thumb.

“The darkness hath been quelled now, child.” She moved her palm, resting it on top of Twila's forehead. Twila felt the faintest hum of magic fill her mind. “My own part is through here, as is thou's. Slumber and let thine body be born anew. I will return to mine own body and inform mine sister of thine condition.”

Twila's eyes grew lidded. She dumbly realized Luna had cast a spell on her. She slumped down to the floor, landing on her side and unable to even life her head up. Instead, she watched, unblinking, as Luna walked a few steps away and pinwheeled her arm. A visible circle appeared in the air when she finished a full rotation. It quickly filled with a black aura. The last thing Twila saw before closing her eyes and slipping away was Luna ducking down and stepping into it.

000

Jack had just finished bandaging herself up when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs. She froze, unsure what to do for one panicked moment, before ducking and hiding under the stairwell. As the stomping feet went directly over her, then down to the ground floor, she took a small risk to peek out over the stair's banister, catching sight of a fairly nondescript man. Nondescript, save for his red and white-streaked hair. She recognized him as the driver of the carriage by the Carousal Boutique from earlier. He turned to the side; Jack recoiled instinctively, crouching down lower, before she noticed him fishing out a key from his breast pocket and entering a door to his left, nestled in between the dual staircases that graced the mansion's foyer. He unlocked it and went on inside. Jack gave it a moment's time before throwing on her chestpiece and walked to the door at a low, leaned-over gait, once more cursing her size as she slowly crept to the door, aware that if anyone were on the balcony, they'd spot her a mile away.

The earth-folk tried the door. Locked. Grimacing, she took a step back. She had lost any sort of surprise she had when Dash and her made a show outside. Rising her foot, she snapped it forward, delivering a hard kick right above the door handle. She barked out a harsh swear under her breath, pain flaring through her leg at the deceptively hard object.

An enchantment. Lucky I didn't break my damn leg, Jack thought. The only way she was getting through there was with a key.

Jack's fist tightened. If there was a spare, she knew where it'd be.

Dmitri. He'd have it, or he'd tell her where it was. Jack would be sure of it. A part of her she didn't want to acknowledge knew she could make him talk. Jack stepped back from the door and took the stairs up to the balcony overlooking the main floor. She made her way across, going to the spiraling staircase leading ever upward. She took the steps two at a time, so overcome with paranoia for Rarity's well being that she hardly noticed the slight pressure on her body as she stepped through a thin film of magic, nor did she hear the sound of the spell placed there thrumming to life.

000

Rarity's palms were sweaty. She gave a distasteful tsk as she moved one hand off what she held, wiped it over her white skirt, then repeated the process with her other hand. The thought of how strange that now of all things, she was thinking about how sweaty her palms were was not lost on her. Her jaw quivered—her entire body quivered—but she still kept calm. Well, at least mostly calm. As calm as a woman holding a chair by its legs and waiting for a door to open could be at least. She adjusted her grip with one of her hands, hands that were cramping from how hard she squeezed the object.

Come on now, sug, Jack said once more, calming her down, coaxing her gently, encouraging her in whispers. Jus' relax yer grip a hair, take some deep breaths. Ya hear me?

“In...” Rarity muttered, taking a slow breath, feeling her heart beat so fast she became worried.

“Out...” She exhaled, relaxing her jaw slightly to relieve the pressure her teeth were feeling.

“In...”

“Out...”

It took several muttered repetitions of the words, each spoken with the intensity of a zealot, but she finally was able to calm herself enough to where she wasn't going to suffer a fainting spell. She just had to hope it'd last long enough for her to...

She swallowed. Could she?

Without a doubt, Jack said, her voice guiding her. Aim for his temple, it's 'bout the best place ta hit on the head.

Nodding at the thought, she bent her knees a bit and raised the chair above her head.

It wasn't moments later when the door jiggled and she heard the hard click of the lock being opened.

Wait...

The door itself opened just a hair, Rarity could see his shadow stretching all the way toward the center of the room.

Wait...

“I'm back,” he called out, stepping into the room. “You miss...” He trailed off, registering the chair's absence.

Now!

Rarity lunged forward just as he caught her out of the corner of his widening eyes. She brought the chair down and it connected with a sickening crack.

000

The air took on a strange scent as Jack traveled farther up the stairs. A sort of earthy-sweet smell that reminded her of home. She suddenly felt light headed, weak. Jack slumped forward, but righted herself, focusing on the stairs, focusing on her boots walking up the stairs.

One foot in front of the other. Jus' like that, she thought.

The stairs started to subtly change, going from red carpet to less saturated things, eventually turning off-white, then monochromatic. Jack sluggishly looked up and paused. Fog. There was fog inside the building. Alarm bells rang in her head, but she pushed forward anyway, part of her mind half-drunk with its strange lightness, another part of her, no louder than a whisper barely making its way through her own personal haze, urged her to march forward to settle the score with Dmitri.

Squinting through the fog, Jack saw a massive door. Pushing it open, she was greeted by a large open field. The sight should have stirred some sort of confusion or denial, either from the location or impossible size, but instead she walked forward, cowed to complacency. The fog was thick, choking, but after what seemed to be an eternity, it lifted, revealing a beautiful, pristine lake. Rarity sat there, staring at its deep azure. Jack walked over to her and sat down, putting her sword to the side as Rarity wordlessly leaned into the woman.

“There you are, dear,” Rarity cooed. “I was wondering when you'd show up.”

“Will kept me swingin' that sword for way too damn long today,” Jack replied. Wait. That wasn't right, was it? No. There was something else. But...

“Well, you're here now at least. That's all I can ask for.”

They stared silently across the water, neither making any attempt to move. Finally, Jack reached over, wrapping an arm around the soul-folk.

“I love the sights here, there's something magnificent at this pond, is there not?” she questioned.

Where is here? Jack thought. She opened her mouth to ask just that, but instead, all that came out was a slow, confirming, “Eyup.”

Jack was briefly perturbed, but let it go. The sound of the water and the warmth of Rarity next to her quelling any questions she might have had.

In the distance, a moose called. Rarity cupped her hands together and blew, producing a perfect replica of its slow bellow.

The earth-folk quirked a brow. “Where'd ya learn somethin' like that?” she drawled, surprised.

“When we went hunting last week, dear,” Rarity answered, tilting her head. “You remember that, yes?”

Something stirred in Jack's memory, she...

She had gone hunting. Rarity, herself, and Mac. They scored two bucks, both unimpressive racks, but would give them enough meat to last for months. The tailor had proven to be a great longbow shot, had—

No she hadn't, an adamant voice, buried inside her snapped. Why would she hunt? Why would she learn animal calls? Farmwork an' the like is one thing, but she'd die 'fore ya dragged her 'round ta kill somethin' in the woods.

Jack felt a stirring in her chest at the thought. It made no sense, why would Rarity do all that? That wasn't the Rarity Jack knew. Was it?

For the briefest moment, she considered it, her body even flinched slightly, as if to shake away the idea. Rarity's eyes narrowed slightly, before returning to her more innocent expression when Jack glanced at her.

“How was work, sug?” Jack asked, off put by the sudden strange thoughts she had. The tailor let out a content hum.

“Fine,” she addressed.

The farmer paused again. “Fine?” she repeated.

Rarity nodded with disinterest. “Fine, darling.”

That wasn't right, Jack was sure of it. The only time Rarity ever brushed off talking about work, no matter how little actually happened, was when she was angry at Jack. And right here, right now, she seemed more than content.

“Surprised at least somethin' didn't happen today,” Jack coaxed out. Rarity laughed.

“I don't want to bore you with the details, love. It was just a day like any other for me.”

Jack didn't necessarily care for Rarity's shop talk, she had no interest in fashion, or the tailor's gossip involving her high-class clients, but she knew it made Rarity happy talking about it. Something was wrong here. It was too perfect. She looked over at Rarity and nearly froze.

She was beautiful. While this was true every day she saw Rarity, here it was almost alien at its perfection. Her skin too pure, her voice too clear, concise, flawless, her hands silk. Her breasts full, rounded, divine. Not a single hair out of place on her head, not a single blemish on her face. Perfect.

Jack couldn't ignore it now. Something was wrong, completely, utterly, maddeningly wrong.

“Rare,” Jack started, glancing to the side, towards her sword. She paused, hesitant to grab it. “I told ya 'bout that one fella I dated when I was younger, right? The one I went all the way with?”

“Yes, what about him?” Rarity remarked easily.

Jack shook her head. “He's the one that let me realize ya ain't her.”

“What...?” she muttered, a brief flash of fear peeking though her bewilderment.

“You... she,” Jack corrected. After a moment of being unsure where to put her hands, she sat them in her lap. “She was my first.”

There was a silence between the two, before Rarity let out an unsure laugh. “Oh, come now, dear. I was merely playing al—“

“Yer a liar,” Jack snapped back. “She ain't this. None-a this.”

“Perhaps I simply forgot,” Rarity looked upwards, shaking her head in exasperation. “You are really taking this to a ridiculous length, Jack Apple.”

“An' you messed up yer role. 'Cause ya forgot somethin' 'bout her.” Jack crossed her arms. “Good or bad, she's someone who catches onta gossip quick an' keeps it in the lock-box. Her takin' my...” She shook her head, dismissing it. “It'd keep with her, jus' like all the times I left my clothes layin' in her room, when she met my granny. All that mess is in her. Not you.”

“Why couldn’t you just accept it? You could have had her here and she could have been better,” the false Rarity said with a hard hiss.

“It ain't real. That ain't better, no sir. Not by a long shot. Rare loves me fer me, warts an' all. I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't feel the same fer her.” She stood, keeping an eye on the faux-woman and grabbing her sword.

“Are you honestly going to use that on me?” 'Rarity' asked, looking in alarm at Jack.

Jack tightened the sword's grip and stared at the woman for a moment. She wasn't her. She wasn't her. Even then...

“No.”

“Then what?” she asked. “Are you simply going to leave?”

“This whole place ain't real.” As Jack said the words, an odd reverberation shot through the area, as if the air itself was rippling before her eyes. “So I should be fine jus' turnin' around and leavin'.”

She did exactly that and, sure enough, the door she had entered earlier was there just a stone's throw away. The other Rarity watched her go, a sad, betrayed frown on her face.

Jack grasped the doorknob and her strength drained. Her vision blurred and she sank to the ground, her head burning.

When she looked up and found the strength to rise, she found herself in a dusty bedroom, a bookshelf at the opposite end of the room, a cracked mirror, and bed with its sheets splayed haphazardly across the mattress. On the bed lay a worn, splintered wooden doll, missing a hand. The doll made Jack feel uneasy, almost sick. She opened the door and stepped back outside, meeting the stairwell she was climbing earlier. She turned left and pressed on, scaling the steps like a boat fighting the current.

000

He was impressed, all things considered. She had fought through the Yggdrasil and had escaped the illusion spell he had cast on the stairway leading to his office. Very few people could claim that. Very few indeed. Now she was climbing up to see him. She was coming up to see him and she would be full of a self-righteous anger and a zeal only matched by the knights his father used to have at beck and call.

Breaking the ones who truly believed in their causes was one of the most fun things he did in his time—it was almost a shame that this one would be over so quickly. It might be years until another mouse came into his property. It'd be best to toy with her, savor it as long as he could. Enjoy the feeling of his magic and hands running through her. Laugh at her broken body when it finally happened.

Dmitri reached up, realizing he had an anticipating grin plastered over his face. He shook it off, clearing his throat and leaning back in his chair for a moment, only to go forward and reach for the corner of his desk, where a crystal vial full of scotch lay. He poured himself a drink into a small cup, then decided to go for broke, having another. Leaning back once more into his chair, he rested, kicking his feet up to a corner of the large, expansive desk he sat behind and putting his cane into his lap. He took to thumbing the cane, his mind asleep well until the door to his office first creaked open.

He grinned wildly, a spider tangling up a fly and preparing for a meal.

Author's Note

Playtime's over next chapter, and with any luck, I'll deliver a respectable showdown for you boys and girls. It's been a blast writing this, I'm almost sad to see it this close to done, haha. Just gotta push through a bit more.