Fragility

Chapter 5

The Royal We

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[Grimdark][Tragedy]

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Day 29 —

Well, today I figured that I could sink no lower no matter what I would try to do. Besides, I am a firm believer in the ends justifying the means.

Yes, Crystal, keep telling yourself that.

I sent Heart Stream and one of Limelight’s friends. Ex-friends, now. I sent them to the university’s library. Of course this was not without resistance, what with all the staff and students trying to ask questions about their respective absences. I expected as much, of course, what with the ever-present investigations I had to hide from with just Limelight. Still, a few instructed grunts and “I’m fine”’s alleviated half the problem with little effort.

In any event, using a few spells I managed to use Heart Stream as a substitute to my being there. One for his eyes, that I could see, and another two embedded in his ears. One let me speak instructions such as the aforementioned, the other let me hear his surroundings. The disorientation took a few minutes to adapt to, but afterward it worked perfectly.

To anypony who asked, the other was there purely to assist Heart Stream, as some punishment or other. I believe only one pony bothered to question the ruse, as they were to enter a back section of the library. As much as I regret it now, I ended up distracting the colt via seduction through the mare. It’s lucky he didn’t get to touch her, however. I haven’t perfected using an illusion to cover for all senses, and I distinctly remember her having crusted-over scarring from previous testing.

Heart Stream seemed to account for enough clearance to get to the section I needed from that point. One book, with a worn leather cover and the illustration of a skull on the front. A spellbook, to be precise. Locked up for a reason.

Necromancy: the school of magic centered around reanimating and manipulating the bodies and souls of the dead.

As I implied before, why not? It’s not like I could possibly fuck up Honey Comb’s life any further.

I read up on the details of a basic reanimation spell. Apparently my presumptions had been correct. The body must be preserved for best results, and kept isolated for the actual casting of the spell. Most of the other details were surprisingly mundane casting methods. I really am shocked. I expected something more along the lines of swearing away an unborn child or the like.

This reminds me of something I probably should’ve mentioned at the beginning. My magic is fueled mostly by the crystals by now, but this has a major downside. The crystals can be overloaded by intense emotion. Apparently this fuels the crystals just the same as magic. So, as a precaution, I am going to enact a new personal policy: stop all emotions.

As such, be forewarned. I may begin to sound “cold-hearted” within the following entries. It is not worth the risk that any further spells may wear off or occur sporadically. Especially now that Honey Comb’s back.

The execution of the spell itself was something of an unnecessarily showy affair. Flashes of light, mostly of my own color with some sanguine mixed in for good measure, filled the room for a few moments until I was near blinded from the brightness. Of course part of the problem could’ve been my transfixed stare on the subject. I admit, I had my doubts. It wasn’t until the fog cleared from my eyes that I even could identify what I was seeing. Before my eyes, a corpse— Honey Comb’s corpse, was standing up on its own four hooves.

Let me clarify something before one were to get too excited. This was reanimation, not resurrection. This will become more important later, but just know that there was no healing at all here. Her neck remained, and remains, slashed wide open.

So when I rushed forward to embrace her in a wild emotional blur, I soon discovered what the innards of a pony feel like against my chest. That wasn’t yet the worst part, however.

While I was clinging to my once-friend, she tried to speak. Instead of words coming out of her mouth, blood dribbled forth from her wound. The squelching sound when I backed away in horror finally did it. I damn near vomited on the spot. Hours later, I’m still not sure how I held that back.

“Please, Honey,” I said, “don’t speak.”

Again she attempted to say something. This time I saw her lips. I’m not one to profess to the field of medicine, but I believe that if it is possible to have, my heart stopped for a full six seconds.

“Honey?” I asked tentatively.

Now I bothered to actually read her lips, if only to prove my nightmarish conclusion correct. What she was trying to say, or at least the only thing she seemed capable of saying, was “Yes, Crystal.”

She’s no more alive than when I started today. She is as mindless as the rest, if not more so. I’ve not only effectively murdered my only friend, but I’ve brought her back as a mockery of her former self. And yet, as per precaution, I feel nothing. Nothing but scientific intrigue. There is a small part of me that would seek to test her physical limitations in this state, if only to see if the mythical ability of the undead to carry on with but a head is true.

But I won’t. To be fair, I still do have respect for her. I’ve ordered her to stop talking, and I dare not cover her with an illusion. I can’t run away from this particular event. No, instead I managed to tear apart my dress from the other night and fashion it into a thick scarf to soak up the various fluids. Since then, I’ve trained her in the strangely alien art of nodding “Yes” or “No”.

I’m unsure how to proceed on this front. Sleep helps the mind focus on what is really important, or so I’ve heard, so I believe I will try this. Honey Comb, too, will get a bed. Unlike the others.

I don’t even know what to call them now. I dare not offend Honey.

— Crystal Shard

Day 31 —

I had something of a dream last night. Not quite a real dream, but a hazy vision. I’m not sure that I actually slept, come to think of it. But this vision was so clear, so sure, I just had to act upon it. Contradictions aside, my actions today have proven a number of hypotheses, justifying what must otherwise sound like a ludicrous notion: today I set out to take over the University by force.

The more I think about it, the more I wonder why I hadn’t already. The staff were clearly incompetent, what with my half-assed yet successful attempts at evading their searches, and the students rarely cared. The grounds were going to complete waste, and nopony outside of the area even knew it existed. What’s more, I can only conduct so many tests on the same small group of subjects for so long before they are too “worn out”. And yes, I do mean that in the same sense that a wagon is “worn out” when the wheels fall off.

I figured that staging a coup would have a greater effect if I was present, rather than just sneaking Heart Stream in the back entrance or something, so I gathered up everyone and led something of a small parade up to the front gate. Apparently the missing spellbook must have finally set off something in the head of security’s brain; today the guards actually were seriously questioning my presence. And when I write “questioning”, I mean threatening me at spearpoint.

Honey Comb accompanying me was initially a fault, if one I would make again even given the chance to fix it. Without any illusory spells on her, the smell of death lingered over the lot of us.

Yes, even for a simplistic guard pony, the combination of missing necromancy spellbook, recognized supposedly-dead student, and stench of rot can add up to the correct conclusion. Not that it mattered. Combined with the new crystal I fashioned into Honey Comb’s scarf, the resonant amplification of my magic was enough to stop the guard’s spear subconsciously.

A small note for my future notes: there was no clear indication of anything stopping the weapon. Only a brief shimmer of a deep red color. What this has to do with, I have yet to determine.

In any case, all it took was a simple order (I believe “Stop that”) to trigger the charm magic on the guard. One down, two hundred to go by that point. Daunting to some, but this takeover was the entirety of my plans for the day. I could be patient, whether I had to or not.

The second front-gate guard fell shortly after. I don’t even think I was aware of what I said to him. His eyes merely locked up like the others. I left the two at their post until the end of it all.

From there, the front yard was something of a joke. All I even had to do was shout once to gain their attention, then demand they follow. Just like that, add another fifteen ponies to the group. Horde, perhaps, would be an appropriate term. At least they were during the takeover. That’s what some ponies were screaming after a while.

Alas, I must admit that most of the University’s residents did manage to at least run themselves into a corner before I caught them. I had a contingency plan in place on the chance that they would try to run instead of fight. Some did try to fight, but were held back by a relatively present sensation of physical limits compared to their enthralled colleagues. That’s about when the panic started; Heart Stream threw some colt through a window. He fell about two stories.

Personal note: collect his corpse for reanimation tests in the morning.

One might wonder what became of those who fled. In short, they were already as good as gone. I already had the front gate guarded, so it was little further effort to seize the rest with a few extra ponies while I worked. There was nowhere to run without being captured or cornered. And cornered they were, literally.

For a brief moment I almost regretted the decision. Exactly one class, I believe one for social sciences, made it as far as the end. I even gave the class’s professor a chance to say last words. None of them could speak. It looked like a mass of quivering foals come to think of it. All staring to me in horror while the other students slowly encroached upon them.

Under the assumption that enthrallment left them without a further awareness of the world around them, I entranced them out of their misery shortly before the other thralls fell upon them.

The one thing I did not plan for was securing the premises afterward. I continue to receive “reports” of stragglers hiding in closets or whatnot, even as the sun sets this evening. Reports of course meaning they are dragged to me, often whimpering or kicking and screaming. Pitiable, but pathetic nonetheless.

In any event, while I should perhaps work on establishing some form of subtle protection to either seal us within the grounds or hide us, my mind is periodically overwhelmed by pulses of the newfound energy. Not to mention that I seem to have a subconscious awareness of every thrall’s location at any given time. It’s to the point that I can’t quite see in a straight line. Double-vision does not help me write.

Yes, this is by far too much to work around. I’ll end the entry now. Oh, and Honey Comb, I didn’t forget you. You’re still here. I won’t be forgetting you again.

— Crystal

Day 35 —

Interesting. It’s a simple, overused word, yet it can be meant to carry so much meaning.
I believe some readers may find this thought to be just so.

Interesting doesn’t even begin to describe what it is like to redirect your senses through another. I came to reach a new level of boredom in the last couple of days, and decided to attempt a few more redundant tests of my magic. I’m not even sure it can still be called magic. I’ve lost the sense of “effort” it used to bring with its use. To be more specific, I’ve practiced looking through the eyes and hearing through the ears of the others, and not always the same pony at once. I’m not sure, but I think I can now say I know how a blink sounds.

But that was yesterday. Today something of actual value happened, and against my expectations, I only noticed it due to my own senses rather than a thrall’s.

I was lying in the central courtyard, finally given the chance between hiding from pesky patrols and inspections for the last few days, and was enjoying the half-sunlight of a cloudy day— if for nothing else than to appease boredom through the sensations associated with letting bugs to have their way with my skin, if only to pick the occasional one off for a brief and crude magical “dissection”— when another’s voice caught my ear. To be perfectly honest, somepony saying anything other than “Yes, Crystal” would’ve probably caught my attention from a mile away.

“I’m not so sure about this,” whined some young filly’s voice from across an open walkway. “I don’t think it’s safe.”

“But aren’t you curious?!” a colt exclaimed. “You know the rumors. ‘The Blue Witch who haunts the old school—”

“Stop it! Stop it!” his friend cried. She seemed to try to whisper it, as much as that failed.

The colt continued, “And eats up anypony who doesn’t do what she tells them to!” He made some noise after this that, and from the filly’s screams, I can only imagine was meant to imitate the sounds one makes while “eating”.

Genuinely curious and intrigued for the first time in ages, I managed to sneak my way closer to the children’s voices. Honestly there was a part of me thinking that the guard was starting to hire foals since they could squeeze into small places. I spotted the two out of the corner of my eye, just around the corner of where I had been laying. I can’t imagine either one was older than five. Quickly, I ducked beneath a hedge. Years of practice in the art of going unnoticed at the academy made this a silent motion, luckily. This was a delicate observation, such as attempting to stalk a squirrel.

The colt was playfully wrestling the filly into the ground. I pitied her for a moment, until I realized how it was only possibly her fault for coming with him to the University.

“Please, stop,” she whimpered. “I wanna go home...”

“Aww, where’s your sense of adventure?” he pouted. Reluctantly, he finally got off of her. She shook the grass loose of her mane.

“What if she’s real?” she whispered. “I don’t wanna get eaten!”

He scoffed. “You believe in gho-osts, you believe in gho-osts.”

“No I don’t!” she retorted, in all the typical grace and dignity of a five-year-old.

“Prove it!” he demanded. He pointed toward the dining hall which, like the other buildings, was fashioned with all the blinds drawn and braziers snuffed. “Go knock on the door!”

Now I couldn’t help but smile at the foolishness. From my perspective, as you’d have to understand: This was where I had the thralls wait when I didn’t want to see any of them, at least since the inspections stopped and the grounds were deemed “condemned” a day or two ago. Except Honey Comb of course, who waited in my personal quarters in the principal’s office.

But I quickly realized the flaw in this. Should they find a way inside, or even to see inside, the sight would be not only outlandish, but original. If they told the tale to others, it wouldn’t be as if they saw what they wanted to, but as if there really could be something wrong. And I couldn’t handle an extensive investigation on my own.

And anypony with half a brain would think to tell the damned guards about several hundred missing ponies found standing near lifeless right where they used to be.

So I did the only thing I could do to divert the disaster. I played along.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” I said, drifting up and out of the bushes. They froze in place, clinging to each other.

“I-It’s her!” the filly squealed. “The B-b-b—”

“The Blue Witch!” the colt yelled to finish for her.

“Perhaps,” I began. It took me a moment to choose a merciful wording, but I eventually came to, “You might consider running away now.”

I barely even followed their fleeing with my own eyes.

This “myth” today has taught me a few things. For one, children are gullible and imaginative, yet I still haven’t suppressed the emotions necessary to capture some for study. In addition, there are lapses in security to be attended to. Somehow, children can make it onto the grounds without my notice, despite locked and barred gates. I may have to resort to magic, if I can find a way to make it less conspicuous.

But the most interesting thing of it all is that I have been seen personally. I could see how, what with my mindless strolls from place to place during the day. What I can’t see is from where I’m being seen. All I could think of is carelessness around the gates. Or Pegasi. Honestly the latter may be the better alternative, what with being too inherently stupid to process what they are really seeing.

The Blue Witch. What an interesting name, and an interesting tale. Perhaps I may appease my boredom by playing the part for a while.

And isn’t it funny? This city really is cursed. I am the curse.

— The Blue Witch

Day 37? —

I have no idea how many days it’s really been and nor do I care. I may be driving myself insane. Sure, there are the children to terrorize, still coming around the University grounds like it’s theirs!

Oh, and another guard that showed up today. Apparently he believes in children’s ghost stories. But more on him later.
It is not theirs. It is mine. It belongs to me, Honey Comb, and the rest. Well mostly my consciousness but I’d rather be more polite than that.

Ah, yes, the children. Oh, the children. Still telling stories. On the grounds, too. Not much has changed. I pick and choose which to show myself to, just to keep things interesting. I even decided on a schedule. Every prime-numbered visit I make an appearance, while every even-numbered visit I stalk in the shadows. Oh, the second visit was wonderfully fun. I swear, I thought that colt’s heart really did stop. There was a part of me that wanted to actually eat him for good measure. But I haven’t been hungry in days.

Then on the seventh, I got creative. I lured them into the groundskeeper’s shed, then sealed the door behind them. I made them do a little dance for me. Almost enslaved one, too, but that wouldn’t be any fun. Can’t have worried parents. Worse than the royal guard. Luckily both are too concerned with their respective flocks to worry about little old witch-y me.

And then some side effect of I-don’t-even-care-what made it all the better. My magic, upon lifting and spinning a colt around, turned purely red, or what was the word I used— sanguine! Yes, that! Oh, how they thought I was using his own blood to fuel me. But I’m no vampire or parasite or whatnot. No, I have dignity.

But yes, the testing. Science. Conscience. Prescience. I always knew science was wondrous. It really is everywhere, even where it shouldn’t be!

Anyway, anyway, I prepared a poem to construct my notes of today. I do believe it is my best attempt yet.

No amount of wings snapped or
Unicorns' horns entrapped will
Compare to six skull cracks or
Twenty-seven bone fractures
In ending a pony's firm stature

I am no poet, but this will help me remember. Physical limitations. There is a breaking point for everypony, even those without minds anymore. It took these numbers of hits to get them to stop moving. And even then, all I had to do was reanimate them and they were fine for a secondary round of testing. Strangely enough, the limitations pre- and post-mortem were consistently about the same.

I’m not a sadist. Of course not! I’m a scientist. They only happen to have four letters in common.

Oh, and I did some theorizing. About the power of magic, to be precise. No idea if any of this has any merit, but I’ll be sure to run the thralls through more gauntlets tomorrow to test it.

The unit of measure I have devised is the “Soleme”. “Where does this come from?” you might ask. From the base of measure, of course! Princess Celestia, measured at a level of exactly 1 Soleme, or “sm” for short. She is theoretically the most powerful pony one will ever come across, if she even still counts as a pony, so this makes sure the measurement never goes to some absurdly high quantity.

Some more estimates: Princess Luna, 0.8 sm; Nightmare Moon, however, 1.24 sm. The Elements of Harmony are of course a variable, but I imagine their enhancement, being a last resort, to be something absurd. Perhaps an entire additional Soleme of power? If not merely doubled or something. I imagine their enhancement to have something to do with the embedded crystals, just as the ones my thralls are given.

I need to order more. I need to get more, somehow. I need to send children to fetch more. Yes, yes, that works.

The average Unicorn would only measure to about 0.02-0.03 sm. Particularly stupid ones, such as how Limelight once was, might only reach 0.01. I have no idea how far I’ve come, but realistically I would estimate 0.36 sm. Oh, and it’s a non-linear comparative unit: 1 sm is not one hundred times stronger than 0.01.

Oh, but how amazing 0.36 feels. If I wanted to, I could levitate myself throughout the grounds without batting an eye. Not due to the speed of flight, mind you, but due to the lack of required effort. I always knew that phrase was stupid.

And on top of it all, I am not only maintaining hundreds of instances of mind control, but thirty four cases of reanimation. Honey Comb, you get your special little mention here, as usual.

The magic feels great. The everything-else does not. I still haven’t slept yet, and that doesn’t help the boredom. Oh, the boredom. Why else would I still be keeping this journal? Future readers? For all I know, I’ll be the only one near enough to the journal to ever read it again. So hello, future Crystal! Did you miss me? I thought not.

I shall now proceed to beat my skull against a stone wall until I think clearly enough to regret writing that.

— Crystal

P.S. I almost forgot about the guard. See, he wandered too close to the dining hall, and I may have slightly panicked.

I’m considering using his blood for ink and his helmet for a container. Either way, he seemed unhappy when I let him into the hall. Perhaps because I shut the door behind him and issued a generic “kill” command to anypony I could within range.

One might worry over the repercussions of such an act.

Oh sweet fuck the Princess. She might get a clue now. This is a bad thing.

New idea, let’s cut that down a bit: “Fuck the Princess.” I can handle this. Just more illusions. More hiding. Yes. Good.

Day 43 —

Today I “awoke” from non-sleep to a peculiar feeling in my mouth. Some mass was there, taking up almost the entire space, but I couldn’t quite determine what at first. I wasn’t too concerned until I felt it slip to the back of my throat. On reflex, I flung myself forward and coughed.

What dropped out of my mouth turned out to be about three to four ounces of putrefied flesh. It took a moment to strike me that the blob didn’t even appear until it landed and smattered a thick green substance on the floor.

I took the opportunity for a personal inventory, disregarding the illusion of myself. Once it was gone, I was surprised to learn that not only was my mouth numb to the touch, but my vision was foggy and my hearing muffled. I had long since numbed the olfactory sense due to the smell of Honey Comb’s rot, but that didn’t seem to want to come back to being either. I’m still not sure whether I feel anything by touch or not.

Curious, I wondered what could be hidden underneath the self-centric illusion I had cast weeks ago. Walking proved to be a little off at first, but I passed this off as nothing more than “sleeping funny”.

Yet as I found a mirror I began to understand just why nothing worked as it should. Without the illusion, I wasn’t even capable of looking at myself. Pardon, my reflection was incapable of looking at me.

In detail, this is what I saw: One eye was missing from its socket, in its place a small family of maggots; the other eye was milky white and cocked to one side. One of my ears had, or has, holes in it, while the other lays limp against my skull. Somehow my horn remains perfectly intact and of the proper color, unlike the rest of my coat and my hair. I’m pretty sure more than half of my mane has fallen out, mostly on the right side, while what remains is disheveled and dripping with something off of a hole in my skin.

My coat is paler than it once was, and would appear to be crusty in places. Again, from some fluid I know nothing of. A large portion has fallen off, but mostly only around the missing pieces, if that is a consolation. My back leg seems to be bent the wrong way, but I believe this is just a bone fracture. My rib cage is exposed on the right side, while the left side is only not because it got lucky with the locations of the chewed-through holes.

I would go on, but that is all I bothered to remember. The rest bored me, at least once I realized how little it mattered. With or without the illusion active, my senses and motor skills are at their peak and simply do not diminish.

I did, however, look up this phenomenon in the available textbooks from the school’s library.

“An undead being sustained indefinitely by its own magic or the magic and life of others.”

That is the definition listed of a lich. So, that is what I am. No longer a pony, no longer a unicorn, but a lich. Or perhaps still all three. The book was vague on the technicalities.

But this second part of the definition intrigues me. I’ve seen what can be done and still maintain the thralls, yet I do not know the turning point between alive and undead. Perhaps this is for the better. I failed to notice it in myself, after all.

I am their master. They obey without question, without fear or possibility of death. They work to my end, to sustain my needs.

Honey Comb, I understand now. The University, it is our hive. The thralls, they are the workers and the drones. Even our minds are connected as one, through my magic. A hive mind.

So then I am their Queen.

They obey. They follow. They will follow. They will listen. This is perfect beyond my wildest dreams. Thank you, Honey Comb. If it weren’t beyond tradition, I might honor you with the title of Princess.

— Her Putrefied Majesty, Crystal Shard