Scootaloo was running. Running outside of town, along a trail less made than trampled, the grass starting to recover, as fast as she could run, until she came to the base of a small yet noticeable hill in the land near the town itself.
There, panting, she swiftly looked around, appearing almost fearful of finding somepony nearby, her face damp with tears. Seeing nopony nearby, no cloud for any pegasus to be hiding behind, she relaxed, taking a deep breath and heaving a relived sigh. Then, with a firm sniffle, she wiped her face with a hoof, and began walking up that little hill, looking up to the little tree planted on its top, and the two graves that laid before it.
One of those graves was made of plain stone, and it was surrounded by flowers, singular blooms and small collections of common flowers. In the bare dirt in front of the grave was a small blue cloth, atop which were two pony dolls; both white unicorns, one a mare, the other a filly, the filly made well, the mare lumpy and poorly, though lovingly, made. Both dolls had fallen over sometime, and Scootaloo couldn’t help but notice that almost all the flowers with the grave were dry and stale.
Scootaloo moved to put the dolls back up and reached to her back before realizing that the flower she’d had with her had likely fallen off sometime during her run. The thought stung a little; more, considering the clear age of the majority flowers. She shut her eyes and took a breath, trying to stop thinking sad thoughts, and then looked at the grave’s inscription:
Sweetie Belle
Age 9
She faced a nightmare alone to save those she loved and countless more
Winner of The Game, the victor over Emptiness, the Horn Hunter
Dearly loved sister, she will be missed
The day that Scootaloo realized that Sweetie was gone had been the worst day she could remember. It had come at the worst time too; after weeks of Sweetie being missing, nopony knowing where she was or what had happened to her, itself following Sweetie acting rather concerningly and worryingly, refusing to tell anypony what was going on with her.
The grave declared what Scootaloo already knew: that Sweetie had died a hero. And that helped, a little, but it didn’t help nearly so much as to make anything better.
So what if Sweetie had died a hero? So what if Sweetie had defeated a monster? She was gone, and Scootaloo had so much she wanted to say and so many things she wanted to do and plans she’d made for when Sweetie came back and none any of it mattered a single crumbling dandelion because Scootaloo’s first best friend was dead.
And she may have just lost the second.
Scootaloo paused then, and almost aggressively wiped at her eyes, forcefully beating back the sorrow she felt. Looking at Sweetie’s grave made it hard, so she turned to the other, glaring a little.
That grave was made of pristine marble, decorated in gold and beautifully encrusted in tiny sparkling diamonds. A small army of expensive toys laid in front, and behind it towered two huge arrangements of flowers, taller than a stallion could rear up. The flowers were fake, made of some special fabric that made them look real; expensive things you wouldn’t find in Ponyville. A couple of real flowers, lilies, were present, but both had gone stale
There had been a third, and Scootaloo e4asily spotted it, having fallen over at some point. Seeing something to distract herself, Scootaloo went to push the arrangement back up, took some of the fallen fake flowers to put around the grave, and put some of the toys back up. Those little tasks done, she looked at the grave and read its inscription:
Diamond Tiara
Age 11
She found the courage to give her life up, so that Sweetie had the chance to bring Emptiness, the horn hunter, to her final end
Dearly loved daughter, her father’s light
Even then, it felt… wrong to think that Diamond, Diamond Tiara of all ponies, had done what the grave said she did, what everypony else believed she did. Diamond Tiara, that nasty, cruel, mean bully, not only doing something good and right, but giving up her life? And for Sweetie? The filly she had hated and bullied each and every time the two ever crossed paths?
It felt so wrong to say that Diamond did that, like saying up was down or hot was cold, but… it felt worse to say otherwise.
Scootaloo sighed, and looked at the toys. All those had been Diamond’s toys before. The super special grave, the huge fake flowers arrangements: those were due to her father. Scootaloo remembered him at the funerals. It had been almost frightening to see a stallion cry as hard as he had over Diamond. But he hadn’t of been the only pony to cry over Diamond Tiara.
Silver Spoon had cried over her too. The lilies there by Diamond’s grave had been left by her. Scootaloo remembered seeing her leaving them, accompanied by a mare she felt confident in saying was Silver’s mother a few days past. Remembered how the earth in front of Diamond’s grave had been wet after they’d left.
And Scootaloo hated, just hated, how she had so perfectly understood Silver at the funerals, how she had continued to understand her afterwards.
Once, Silver and Diamond had been inseparable. They never went anyplace without the other, never did anything not together, the tightest knit pair of bullies you’d ever hope to meet. Diamond had been the leader, but Silver had been just as mean; and they’d done they’re best to make her, Sweetie’s, and Applebloom’s days worse whenever they saw them, tried their hardest to make them mad or cry. Silver even had a mother and Scootaloo wanted, dearly wanted, to keep hating her like she had hated her, but… but she just couldn’t anymore.
Because Silver had lost a dear, dear friend, and Scootaloo knew exactly how terrible she felt. Sometimes she’d spot Silver following her mother around town, sad, silent, and looking… lost.
It was fairly clear that Silver had been Diamond’s only friend; it had become clear that Diamond had been Silver’s only friend. And Scootaloo sometimes felt just as lost as Silver did, in these new days without Sweetie.
Scootaloo glared at the grave, feeling her eyes growing wet again. She didn’t want to feel sad for either of them, so she instead told herself that the lack of flowers were proof that Diamond had not been well liked. Unlike Sweetie, who had many flowers.
Lots and lots of old flowers, Scootaloo thought as she moved back to Sweetie’s grave, sniffling, blinking teary eyes as she felt angry. All those not old or stale were flowers she’d left.
It was like only she still cared.
Like only she still remembered.
That thought sliced through the frail anger, and Scootaloo lowered her head, feeling tears tickling her face. She hadn’t been the only pony to leave flowers, just as she hadn’t been Sweetie’s only friend. Applebloom was a friend too. Or she had been.
Scootaloo understood that Applebloom couldn’t make a daily trip to Sweetie’s grave like she could. Her family farm needed her there most often, the trees were covered in green apples and all sorts of things had to be prepared for the eventual harvest and cider season and all the rest. She just didn’t have the time to make a daily trip to Sweetie’s grave, not when it was on the other side of Ponyville from the farm, and Scootaloo totally understood that, didn’t hold it against her even a little bit.
But to ask her who Sweetie was?
It hadn’t of mattered that she’d remembered a second after asking. It had been too late the moment she’d asked.
The three of them together had been friends for almost a year; it was maybe a month before the anniversary of when Sweetie and Scootaloo had come to Applebloom’s aid against Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon at her party, and ever since, they’d been the best of friends together. They’d played together, spent time together, fended off the terrible duo together, they’d even started a club together and swore that they’d always be the best of friends.
And Applebloom forgot who Sweetie was.
It had been so shocking that Scootaloo had honestly been unable to comprehend what she had just heard at first. But Applebloom’s own shocked realization had made it all too clear that it really had just happened.
Scootaloo hadn’t even of waited for anything more than just Applebloom’s gasp of remembrance and shocked eyes; she’d fled. Ran away as fast as she could, hearing Applebloom scream apologies and pleas for her to stop; she didn’t. Hearing those apologies had only made it worse, because they didn’t matter. How could they?
Applebloom had forgotten Sweetie. She’d forgotten one of her best friends as easily as she might forget a chore.
And then, as she was running away from the farm, Rainbow Dash had flown down to ask her what was wrong and Scootaloo hadn’t been glad to see her then. She’d been mad, so very, very mad that her idol saw her crying and saw her weak, and she’d screamed at Rainbow to leave her alone. And Rainbow had given her the space she’d demanded to have quickly, even sort of looked like she maybe understood that Scootaloo hadn’t meant to scream at her, but her having been there at all had just made everything so much worse.
Scootaloo stomped hard then, tears leaking from tightly shut eyes. She could feel sorrow welling up in her, and she tried to beat it back with anger. Tried to remember the terrible things that Diamond and Silver had said and done before. Tried to be angry at Applebloom for forgetting Sweetie. Tried to be angry at Rainbow for not realizing that Scootaloo would never want to have her idol see her crying and weak. But none of it worked, the anger just making the sorrow bigger and stronger and harder and harder to hold back until Scootaloo gave a tiny sob.
Hearing herself make that sound startled her a little, and she swiftly wiped her teary eyes and checked her surroundings once again. The skies clear and bright, nopony to be seen anywhere nearby, she relaxed a little, and sniffled as she moved to stand in front of Sweetie’s grave, trying to focus on it.
“I, I’m back, Sweetie.” She began, her throat feeling tight, her throat hurting a little. She swallowed, firmly sniffled, again wiped her eyes, and continued, her voice a little better, “Apple, Applebloom… did, didn’t want to come. S, so it’s just y, you and, and me.” She said, doing her best to try and hold back the sorrow welling up inside her for just a little longer. “S, Scootaloo an, and S, Sweetie Belle! Jus, just like, like… o, old t, times, r, right, S, Sweetie?” she managed, ending in a squeak before she sobbed, unable to stop herself any longer. She sat down and covered her face, muffling her crying despite that she was confident that she was alone, and struggled to pull herself together; she wasn’t done talking to Sweetie just then.
“…hear me…!?”
After a few moments, she managed to stop crying, and sniffling, she struggled to speak through a pained throat, “I, I… I, I don’t kn, know wh, what to, to d, do any, any more, Swe, Sweetie.” Speaking that aloud made it impossible to stop any longer; Scootaloo sobbed and dropped onto her belly, throwing her legs over her head to muffle her wails.
“…that you hear me!”
The last time she’d cried like that was when she really, truly understood that Sweetie was gone; and that had hurt worse than anything else ever had, but it had been better than what she felt right then. Sweetie’s death had been, if nothing else, final; it couldn’t possibly be worse than what it was. What she then faced could be, and Scootaloo had no doubt that it was worst it possible could be.
She couldn’t even imagine happening across Applebloom. The mere thought of running into her again seemed a nightmare to Scootaloo, sure that Applebloom would try and apologize, sure that she wouldn’t care about a single word no matter how many tears her once best friend might cry. The only thing she could determine was that she never wanted to see Applebloom again, yet, couldn’t deny the fact that, in her heart, she wanted it to be different, terrified that it never, ever would be different.
Thus unable to even imagine a future to look forwards to, unable to even guess as to what she should do, Scootaloo completely broke down, her legs tightly over her head, muffling what would have been her bawling.
“…crying and listen!”
She wanted, needed somepony to turn to, somepony to rely on, but who could she? She didn’t know anypony enough to be this sad in front of, or even somepony she knew that might be able to help her even if she was willing to try. She’d already driven Rainbow Dash away, if she’d ever have gone to her idol with such a problem in the first place. The only pony that came to her mind was Applebloom; and that only because Applebloom had sobbed over Sweetie too.
Except she couldn’t go to Applebloom because she hated Applebloom now and she hated hating Applebloom now and everything had gone wrong and everything was horrible and nothing would ever make anything better and,
“Scootaloo!”
Scootaloo gasped, an icy shard of fear piercing through her as she recognized her name despite her despairing sobs and how quiet the cry had been. She near forced herself to stop crying, hurriedly got back to her hooves and vainly trying to dry her face with wet legs, gasping in some fear. The idea of somepony having found her bawling like a foal was terrifying, and if that was Applebloom calling her, her nightmare was only just starting…
“…hear me now that you’ve stopped!?”
After a moment, she managed to wipe her face using her shoulders, and with blurry vision, looked to try and spot where she’d heard her voice from. Despite the blur though, she didn’t see anypony nearby at all; and now that she was being quiet, had she really heard something, or was just the faint wind?
“Answer me right…!”
Scootaloo startled a little, hearing rage in what sounded like the quietest yell ever, before stopping suddenly; it hadn’t come from far away, it had come from nearby.
From the graves.
She blinked, tears slowly drying, but there wasn’t anypony there, and despite that having been an angry shout, it had been as quiet as Fluttershy’s shyest whispering.
She then heard something that she first considered to be the wind before realizing that the sounds weren’t much like the wind at all, before startling a little again as she heard what sounded a little like a yell somehow weakly whispered, “Can you hear me!”
Blinking, staring at the graves, Scootaloo weakly nodded, hardly aware of having done so as she wiped at her eyes with a damp leg again before moving to quickly check behind the graves. Failing to see anypony behind them, or down the other side of the hill, she moved back in front, looking up at the tree and feeling certain that nopony could be hiding within the young tree’s top.
Then confident that the voice had come from the graves, Scootaloo asked, “S, Sweetie?” in a weak, trembling tone, the idea of somehow hearing her again too appealing and desired to have her dismiss the idea just because it was impossible… right?
“I am not her.” The answer came, clearer, but still so weirdly quiet, the answer itself making Scootaloo pause.
“…Then, then who,”
“Who I am is not important.” The voice interrupted, Scootaloo pausing, hearing its iron tone despite its ongoing whisper level of sound. “You need to listen to me.” It told her, Scootaloo staring between the graves where… something was, maybe?
There wasn’t anything there, but… the best way she could think of it was as if the air between the graves had gained a shape. Like something was invisible, yet somehow able to be seen just… not be seen at the same time.
Her confusion over what she was seeing, and the start of tentative idea of what she was hearing stopped as the voice asked her, “This Applebloom… is it true that they didn’t want to come or… have they forgotten?”
Over everything else, the realization that the strangely quiet voice knew what she had said when she had been speaking to Sweetie’s grave triumphed. The idea made her blood go cold and her face to warm, but… that it had been the voice, the weird invisible but not thing that had heard her, instead of a pony she could actually see made it… different. Tolerable.
So she didn’t deny it or try to run, instead struggling to ask, “H, how did you know that she for,”
“They did not do so on their own.” The voice snapped, Scootaloo pausing. Before she could ask, the voice told her, “They have been harmed.”
“H, harm,”
“They will not have been the sole victim, and what has hurt them wants you.” The voice interrupted again, firm. “You are in great danger.”
“I, I don’t get it!” Scootaloo objected, shaking her head as she tried to understand what she was speaking to, what she was seeing, even as she tried to consider what was being told to her. “Harmed, I’m in danger?” she asked, trying to pick out what seemed most important.
The voice didn’t clarify, however, as it instead told her, “You need to find Gentle Flowers.”
“G, Gentle?” Scootaloo asked, only more shocked for hearing that name then.
“She is a white filly about your size with dark purple hair.”
“I, I know her, but, but,”
“If you want to save yourself, you need to find Gentle, and quickly!” the voice snapped, almost sounding pained suddenly; a tone of desperation followed as it continued, fading away fast, “You’ve little time, for its hunt has already begun! Tell her a nightmare wants you! And when you do make sure to also tell...!
Scootaloo blinked, the thing she was and wasn’t seeing gone, hearing the voice fading into nothing, despite sounding like whoever was speaking was screaming louder and louder. After a moment, she asked, “M, make sure to what?”, but no response came, and no matter how hard she looked, there wasn’t anything there anymore. After a few moments more, Scootaloo sat down, and tried to think about what she’d just experienced.
She felt fairly confident in thinking that she’d just spoken and sort of seen a ghost; there was no better explanation for the invisible but not thing with the weird, super quiet voice she’d heard. However, ghosts weren’t supposed to be like that: they were supposed to look like ponies made out of fog or something, haunting scary places and scaring ponies, or even hurting them. Not being out in the sunlight at a grave not theirs, being invisible but not, and saying some shocking stuff.
Applebloom had been made to forget? She’d been hurt, maybe lots of ponies had been hurt? What had hurt Applebloom wanted her? She was in great danger? Its hunt had already started? She had to find Gentle, and quick, if she wanted to save herself?
Find that strange filly that gave Sweetie something strange to drink that had her go from falling asleep to awake and hyper in moments? The one that Sweetie had called a good friend despite having just met her and told Scootaloo and Applebloom to treat like somepony they already knew? The filly that had thrown Silver Spoon through the schoolhouse wall? The thief she’d seen stealing stuff and hearing all about, ‘Ponyville’s Little Thief’, the one that Rainbow had been so frustrated about not catching? The one that had caried Sweetie when Rarity revealed the truth of what had happened to everypony? That Gentle Flowers?
As for her being in danger… that she needed to find Gentle, and quick if she wanted to save herself… that something had already started hunting her…
Scootaloo stood up and looked around again. The day was bright and warm, the skies clear and blue, nothing was out of place, nothing seemed wrong or bad. But…
…
She didn’t feel safe anymore.
She had a goal at least; finding Gentle. Scootaloo shut her eyes and tried to remember; when last had she seen or heard of her? Ponies still talked about Ponyville’s Tiny Thief sometimes; she stole a ton of stuff, but none of that was helpful. She carried Sweetie into town when Rarity revealed the truth of the past weeks, but that had been weeks ago. She could have gone lots of places by now, but…
She’d carried Sweetie, not Rarity. That had to have meant something, and whatever it meant, it would mean something to Rarity. If she was lucky, Rarity would know exactly where Gentle Flowers was.
With a nod, Scootaloo got back to her hooves, took a second to look at Sweetie and Diamond’s graves again, another to see if anything strange was present, and then turned to hurry towards Carousel Boutique.
Redheart looked up at the aged tree that was Ponyville Library as she neared, and came to a slow stop before it, momentarily unwilling to approach further. Looking at the library, what had started as confidence when she’d left her home, which had slowly been replaced by a growing nervousness as she went, finished its transformation into mild fear as she came to stand before the living structure. She was then aware that she was near a dangerous precipice; that once she stepped inside, and did what she planned, there would be no turning back. But she had no real choice:
This was her last hope.
What she intended wouldn’t be easy, she knew. Nopony at her work had connected the dots she had, refused to even begin to listen to her, all unwilling to hear her out. When she’d managed to secure a meeting with Mayor Mare, she’d got to speak a little and then somehow bullied out of the office by the old mare herself with an angry referral to the guard that had likely been more a threat than anything else. The guard had half listened and then warned her about ‘wasting official time’ and ‘medical legalities’ as if she was some simple farm mare that knew nothing about her own profession.
Unlike Redheart’s colleges and apparently those in office, however, Twilight Sparkle was known to be a logical mare. A unicorn known for her intellect, a pony that bore a lot more respect than she, Nurse Redheart, head nurse of Ponyville General, did. If anypony could see and understand what she had seen and understood for the past week, it would be Twilight, and if she got Twilight’s help, then ponies would surely listen then.
If only there wasn’t the very worrisome possibility that Twilight would notice what she was sort of doing wrong, or worse, hear her out and then become extremely mad at her. Redheart could even imagine having to leave town if it went poorly enough, find someplace else to live and work; her sister’s farm maybe, because the chance of keeping her license if things did go wrong were poor at best. Worst case, she’d get stabled for this, just like the guard had warned her she might.
But this was her last hope.
Her last hope that justice would prevail.
Focusing on that, she took a deep breath, checked her bags to make sure she had everything, and ran through the thing in her head to make sure that she knew what and how she was going to do what she planned. Feeling ready as she ever might, she firmed herself, told herself that surely, the sun shone on good and burnt evil, prayed for the sun to smile on her, and stepped forwards.
Entering the library had her pause, however, as Redheart found it surprisingly different than she recalled it. She remembered hearing that the library had been closed, but her work, official and otherwise, had precluded reasons why. At first glance, she guessed refurbishment; a lot of it.
The interior had that certain smell of fresh wood and polish, the floor shiny and sparkling, clearly freshly installed. The stair’s banister and stairs themselves seemed the same way, with a new, yet traditional, design, akin to the old but seeming that touch different. However, it was just as clear that refurbishment wasn’t the only thing going on.
The shelves were almost gone, leaving just three of them in place, of which one appeared brand new as well. Those three shelves only had a scattered number of books, far from the full shelves the library had once had. The normal furniture once present was all missing, and all that was left were a few fold-up chairs, the sort that claimed to be so useful and easy to use, but never really were, a pair of folding tables near them, and smaller one which stood just by the stairs.
Spike sat behind it, the drakling setting down a small tome and standing up on a stool behind the table near the stairs as she entered. “Hello Miss Redheart.” He greeted, picking up a small quill and pulling a different small tome that laid open on the table to him. “We apologize for the inconvenience, but most of the collection is currently unavailable for borrowing, however, the records are still available and complete; I can sign you in and get the keys if you want.”
“Oh, I wasn’t here for that, Spike.” Redheart told him, heading to him; the book before him appeared like a sign-in book, but closer examination revealed that it was just a plain diary, repurposed. She vaguely hoped that the semi-historic sign-in book hadn’t of had anything happen to it as she told the drakling, “I was actually wanting to meet with Twilight Sparkle, privately, if possible. Is she available?”
“She’s really, really busy getting books back together,” Spike said, hopping off the stool, “but I can go check if she can make time for you.”
Redheart nodded as Spike headed up the stairs, and looked around the library again. Other things stood out to her then: the small alcove beneath the stairs seemed to have been damaged somehow, some cloth set up to hide something, surely. That the floor and banister had changed had to be more than Twilight deciding to have a new look; the sudden lack of shelves and books also implied something, though what that was, or why Twilight was ‘really, really busy putting books back together’, seemed impossible to guess.
“She’s available.” snapped her out of her wondering, and she shook herself, refocusing, spotting Spike coming back down. “Just head up the stairs and into the study; third door on your right.” He told her, climbing back onto the stool behind the desk. “I’ll write you in myself.”
“Thank you, Spike.” Redheart said, throwing any thinking about the library, and focusing on what shew as there for. Determined, but unable to not feel a little worried, even a tad fearful, as she climbed, she ran through what she intended in her head, determined to get it just right. Then those thoughts and Redheart herself paused at the top, finding a very strange opening in the wall in the right wall at the top of the stairs, a rather powerful magical light in the back of it.
It took her several moments for her to realize that she was looking at an entirely empty and bare closet that lacked a door and had a bright light in it for some reason. Just why that was there baffled her, but after a moment, she dismissed it and the rest of her wonder, focusing on her plans as she went to the third door on the right, and knocked.
“Come in.”
Redheart did so, taking a moment to take a breath, and almost losing focus again as she beheld the inside of the study. She’d never really been inside before, but she was very certain that it was not normally filled with books. Piles and piles of damaged books, seeming as if some madpony had attacked them with a sword or something, some lightly scarred, others sliced into pieces. The room was illuminated not by the hanging chandelier, but instead by magical lights, multiple of which floated over two desks that formed ‘walls’ against the hoard of damaged books beyond. A couch formed the third, leaving enough space for a few ponies to comfortably stand in the room.
Redheart stood stunned for a moment, looking around at the piles of what had once been books with wide eyes before looking at Twilight, who, not looking at her, levitated two halves of a tome up and very slowly brought them together, reconnecting the spine with a bright glow of magic. She then eyed it and faintly groaned, pulling the tome apart again and putting the parts aside with a mildly frustrated sigh before turning to Redheart. “…Nurse Redheart, right?” she asked. “You’re a semi-common visitor to Ponyville Library, or well, you were before we closed.”
“Y, yes, but I have to ask:” Redheart told her, unable to not anymore, “What is all this? What happened to all the books, and does it have anything to do with the renovations downstairs?”
Twilight paused and then asked, “I take it that you hadn’t heard that the library had been mostly destroyed?”
“I, I heard it had been closed.” Redheart responded, blinking.
“That too, but mostly destroyed.” Twilight sighed. “We’re getting back on our hooves here, but we’re still waiting on some repairs to the structure, the new furniture and shelves, and most of the collection was damaged. I am currently the best mare to restore them, and that’s what I’ve been doing for longer than I care to think about. It would be so much easier if the how to repair books book hadn’t of been one of the casualties.” She finished in a mildly upset mutter, glancing to where less a pile of books and more a pile of assorted scraps were piled in a box.
“I do hope that I’m not interrupting,”
“No, no, I’ve been doing this for a few days now and I could use a distraction.” Twilight interrupted, waving a hoof. “Have a seat if you’d like and tell me why you wanted to meet with me, Nurse.”
“Thank you, but it’s just Redheart when I’m not on duty.” Redheart told Twilight, recognizing that Twilight appeared a little worn, the cause blatantly obvious. It did concern her a little, as Twilight’s patience would obviously be lessor than normal, but she forged ahead, telling Twilight, “I am afraid that it’s a… rather sensitive subject. Can we be overheard here, Miss Sparkle?”
“Just Twilight, please.” Twilight answered, glancing at the large window and door. Her horn lit for a few moments, during which the curtains pulled shut, and as her horn dimmed, Twilight told Redheart, “That spell should make sure that we can’t be heard through the door or window; you have my guarantee of privacy.”
“Thank you, Twilight.” Redheart said, moving to deposit her saddlebags on the less occupied desk. “For your consideration and your time.” She added, pondering just how she wanted to begin.
“It’s nothing.” Twilight dismissed. “Now, what is this ‘sensitive subject’ you wanted to talk to me about?”
“It concerns a patient that Ponyville General received just about three weeks ago.” Redheart told her, fishing a few documents from a bag and spreading them on the nearby desk. “Our most noteworthy case ever.”
“Oh?” Twilight asked, watching and curious as Redheart organized. “How so?”
“Well, amongst the reasons,” Redheart said, taking a few documents in particular as she turned to face Twilight, papers held against her chest, “the chief was that her injuries were quite severe, to the extent that we were deeply concerned for her life.”
“That is… noteworthy.” Twilight said, uncertain before quickly asking, “She is alright, though?”
“She is.” Redheart confirmed, Twilight relaxing with a small sigh of relief. “I have her charts right here with me, detailing her physical state a few minutes after her arrival.”
“Wai, wait, her charts?” Twilight asked, frowning a little and eyeing what Redheart held close to her chest. “What about doctor-patient confidentiality; are you even allowed to have those outside of the medical facility?”
Having known that she was going to be asked that, Redheart was quick to explain, “There charts were made before any such consideration was made, Twilight; the patient was first classified as an unknown foal, and lacking all family and in need of immediate medical attention, her chart is not as protected as would be anypony else’s.”
While that was sort of true, it wasn’t true enough for Redheart not to worry, but Twilight didn’t remark on the technical legality of it, instead looking away slightly, and murmuring, “Unknown foal, admitted to Ponyville General about three weeks… Gentle Flowers.” she said.
“You know her?” Redheart asked, surprised.
“Not firsthoof, but yes, I know her.” Twilight said, and Redheart wondered a little bit as to the odd look of apathetic frustration on Twilight’s face. “Mostly through paperwork.” Twilight added, looking at the papers Redheart had spread onto the desk with a worn and tired expression that yet seemed upset and worried.
After a moment, Twilight asked, “Was she really Ponyville General’s most noteworthy case? And are these actually really alright for you to have and for me to see?”
“She was, and their time of make is very clear; Gentle Flowers is in possession of new ones that were created after she was classified as an independent mare despite her youth.” Redheart told Twilight, feigning confidence as best she could. “These are effectively defunct and cannot be considered her actual medical charts.” She said, confident that they couldn’t be: they could be her records, which would equally make her having and showing them like this wrong, but she didn’t say that.
Twilight looked between Redheart and the papers several times, Redheart doing her best to maintain an expression of confidence and silently begging Princess Celestia that Twilight would just accept her technically legal arguments.
Then Twilight said, “Let me see them.”, Redheart relaxing as she offered the charts to Twilight, who magically took them and began scanning them.
“I can help explain anything that you need me to, if you’d like.” Redheart offered with a small smile, feeling very much better for having safely navigated the first real danger she was aware of.
“I shouldn’t need you too; I got an A in medical studies before and after Rainbow broke her wing I got acquainted with medical diagnosis.” Twilight told her. “However, this makes you the seventh pony to bring up Gentle Flowers in the last three weeks and the fourth in just the last one.”
“Really?” Redheart asked, surprised to hear that.
Twilight lowered the charts as she sighed, and seemed tired as she told Redheart, “All my friends have had something for me to see or something to explain to them about her, and Mayor Mare came by not three days ago so I could help her understand the legalities of Gentle’s rather abnormal case; the whole her legally being an adult mare despite not even having a cutie mark yet.”
“This might be presumptuous of me, but would you happen to have any insight into just how,?”
“The whole tangle basically hinges on the interpretation of two laws that technically relate to one another, but were never considered together.” Twilight began, Redheart going silent. “The first law is about inheritance, and it basically covers cases when an heir is too young to legally own or operate part of or all of their inheritance. In simple terms, they are recognized as their own representative and are given direction to obtain professional guidance. In simple terms, this makes Gentle her own guardian because she’s too young to ‘inherit’ the rights given to an adult pony.”
“That doesn’t sound right at all.” Redheart remarked, frowning.
“Because it isn’t, and it could easily be struck down if not for the use of the second law.” Twilight told her. “You are likely aware of it, as it covers foal rights. The important part of it, though, is the foal’s right of choice when no proper guardian can be identified, basically protecting vulnerable foals by making sure that they have some say over themselves. In Gentle’s case, this is interpreted a little differently than normal, and the whole thing breaks down something like this:”
“Gentle is her own guardian because she can’t inherit due to her young age, and because her age is less than fifteen, Gentle is given right of choice, which makes her able to effectively tell ponies trying to correctly legally identify her ‘no’ and they can’t do anything about it because she’s her own guardian. This then leads us down a rabbit hole of laws and rulings dating back multiple hundreds of years and it effectively ends at the foot of the celestial court itself, which will require that Princess Celestia herself sit in attendance because of the importance of these two laws. The court meets once per year, and while notable, Gentle’s case is very minor considering their normal course-load, and its more than possible that Gentle’s case won’t be considered until she’s actually a mare and it doesn’t matter anymore, the result nothing more than making sure that it won’t happen twice.”
“I see…” Redheart said, considering it all and feeling rather surprised to find that she rather well understood everything Twilight said. “You’re rather well versed in law, Twilight.” She remarked. “That was simple and easy to understand, and from my own experience, it’s normally the opposite.”
“I spent an entire day with Mayor Mare digging through the library records, and then town hall’s records, and then had to explain it to her, and then had to explain it to Rainbow Dash, and then to Applejack, and you heard the version she heard, which was made after I put Rainbow to sleep with the modified version from the one I gave Mayor Mare.” Twilight huffed, returning to looking at the charts. “I used to think that I’d never get tired of books and study, but I’m almost starting to understand Rainbow Dash now and... and… And Gentle was hurt this badly?” she asked, blinking as she looked at Redheart briefly before returning to her charts. “Multiple breaks in left hind leg, multiple broken ribs, heavy internal hemorrhaging, internal damage.”
“We feared for her life for many hours, Twilight.”
“This is so much worse than what Applejack told me, and…”
Redheart waited as Twilight trailed off, staring at the charts. Then Redheart blinked as Twilight looked at her, her eyes seeming a little empty. “…Twilight?” she gently encouraged, unsure.
“…H, her horn… her horn was… torn off?” Twilight weakly asked, whispering the last.
“…Yes, it was.” Redheart confirmed, watching Twilight carefully, recognizing the signs of fainting in the unicorn, readying herself in case she had to catch Twilight unexpectedly.
“But… but that… that’s not… survivable.” Twilight said, slowly recovering, losing the empty look, confusion replacing it.
“Gentle’s case proves otherwise, Twilight.” Redheart told her.
“But… H, how?” she asked, lowering the charts and focusing on Redheart. “Just how?”
“I asked that same question myself, and posed it to a number of specialists in unicorn physiology and horn injury in Canterlot.” Redheart answered, turning to take a few letters from her prepared material. She barely got to hold them out before Twilight took them, placing the chart on the other desk as she read those. “Suffice to say that unicorn horn physiology is equally a magical subject as it is a physical one, but I believe I understood their responses fairly well.”
“Forgive me if I am oversimplifying,” Redheart began, thinking, “but from what I understood, a unicorn’s horn grows alongside the unicorn themselves; I like to think of it as a unicorn foal having a horn that’s like a new sprout, if you will; it doesn’t have deep roots yet.”
Twilight mutely nodded as she flicked a letter aside, seeming determined and less faint to Redheart’s mild relief. She continued as Twilight did, “While this lighter physical connection does not allow for such an event to occur without death due to trauma and multiple contributing factors, impairment of a foal’s consciousness can dull the shock enough that, with proper aftercare, it’s feasibly possible for them to survive such an injury. I find it important to note,” she added, “that an earth pony or pegasus would find this aftercare impossible, due to the magical instability that results from such a wound being the primary danger to the victim’s life.”
Twilight finished the letters, and glared at Redheart. “…You’re making a case.” She identified, surprising Redheart. “A, against who? Who do you think would ever do this to a filly?” she angrily asked, almost aggressively glaring at Redheart.
Redheart remained stoic in the face of anger, however; she’d anticipated Twilight figuring her goal out before she stated it, and Twilight wasn’t screaming at her already, which was a great sign in her mind. “I only ask a little more time before I tell you that, Twilight.” She said, and then took Twilight not responding as a sign of acceptance.
“First, are you aware that there is no record of Gentle Flowers anywhere?” she asked, turning back to her materials, both to search for her next requirements and to stop having to face Twilight’s glare. “She appears to have just suddenly appeared at Ponyville Elementary, causing the ‘school incident’ as it’s come to be known. Apparently, she lied about her parents and place of residence; Cheerilee was very willing to speak to me about it.”
“I know that.” Twilight angrily told her, coming to stand beside Redheart, focusing on the mare as she shuffled papers. Redheart just noted that Twilight seemed less angry, but withheld any premature celebration; she hadn’t succeeded yet.
“She’s also a good match for Ponyville’s ‘Little Thief’, who will likely go down in history as Ponyville’s most proficient and greedy thief ever, rounding out a shocking day of thievery with a few assaults.”
“Gentle Flowers is not proven to be Ponyville’s Little Thief.” Twilight responded.
“That is true,” Redheart began, “However, Gentle Flowers was notably near Sweetie in the days before her disappearance.” Twilight paused, and Redheart continued, “Diamond Tiara herself is the pony responsible for making the report on Ponyville’s Little Thief and curiously, claimed that Sweetie Belle and two unnamed others acted in tandem with them, though that claim seems to have been dismissed. Multiple ponies saw her wandering town days before the ‘school incident’ and even after Ponyville Little Thief; I find it notable that when she was talking to ponies, it was almost always because she was looking for Sweetie Belle. Otherwise, her past is completely unknown, and we can only guess,”
“What does Gentle’s past matter, Redheart?” Twilight asked, mad. “You’re making a case that somepony, that somepony almost killed her, and it couldn’t have been the Horn Hunter, because she was dead two weeks before Gentle’s admittance! Are you just trying to upset me, or do you have a suspect in mind!” Twilight snapped.
Redheart recognized that she was at the end of Twilight’s patience, but still took hope, because when other ponies reached this point, they were already decrying her. She had a real chance now, there was no turning back, but she had to have exactly the right thing or else Twilight would likely get too angry and turn against her. Fortunately, she had just the thing for a logical mare that wanted a clear, determined answer:
“I’ve a final thing for you to read.” Redheart said, pulling a single note free of her packs.
“Just answer me!” Twilight demanded.
“I feel that this letter will do just that.” Redheart said, holding the letter out, thanking the sun that she could remain calm in the face of Twilight’s anger and the threat of failure, startling only a little with how aggressively Twilight snatched the letter from her.
With a firm glare that promised trouble, Twilight read the letter.
And all at once, her anger fled. It briefly returned after a moment of shocked staring, as if Twilight was trying to angrily defy what she’d just read, but that too faded away in almost blank staring as she read the letter again, and again, and again. Redheart’s concerns rose as Twilight began to lightly shake, looking more and more faint as she did so.
“Twilight?” Redheart gently asked, moving just a bit closer.
Twilight swallowed, and put the letter back calmly and carefully despite her shaky stance, her eyes staring at nothing in particular. Then she spoke, her voice weak and trembling, quoting the letter, “Gentle Flowers was in good health when she arrived at Carousel Boutique, where Rarity met her at the door and then levitated her inside.”
“Before later leaving, coincidently with new arrivals, bearing Gentle Flowers on her back, possibly fainted.” Redheart finished for her, moving closer to support the shaky Twilight. “Orange Bloom and her sister, Lemon Flower, swore on the sun that they witnessed this and are willing to say so in official capacity if called upon.”
“If, if this is, is some sort of sick joke,” Twilight began, struggling to pull herself to rage.
Redheart interrupted her before she could even truly begin, calmly and confidently stating, “I am confident that Rarity Gems, in a fit of temporary insanity, took Gentle Flowers into her home where she assaulted her to the edge of death, before coming to her senses, giving her capable first aid, and then rushing her to Ponyville General, to then take immediate steps to ensure that nopony could attempt to take Gentle into their care.”
Twilight stared at Redheart with wide, shocked eyes, but remained silent even as Redheart encourage the limp unicorn to move to the couch. Wanting to make her case good as possible, she continued, helping Twilight lie down, “Gentle told us her name; Rarity didn’t. She also refused to tell us how she was so badly hurt; abused fillies often feel deeply ashamed of their injuries and life, and keep it secret. The moment that Gentle realized that she could say no and we had to listen, she laughed for several minutes and spent the remainder of her time with us smiling; evidence of her having been helpless before.”
“She was last seen when Rarity brought Emptiness to light, and Orange Bloom said that she saw her following Rarity back to Rarity’s home, staying close, head down, nervous or even fearful; possibly because she’d been caught by her abuser, and despite her newfound freedom, she’s only a filly and didn’t have the will to defy somepony that hurt her before. She hasn’t been seen since, and I fear that Rarity may have ensured that nopony will ever learn what really happened to Gentle Flowers.”
“No, no, no this, this can’t… it can’t be right.” Twilight groaned, mostly limp on the couch. “It can’t, it just… can’t be right…”
Twilight wanted to deny it. She wanted to be enraged that Redheart would even suggest such a thing to her. To say that nopony would ever do something like it save for Emptiness herself. She wanted it to be wrong, or mistaken, or have some flaw or mistake that would make it false, something, anything, that would let her refute it.
But there wasn’t. It all made sense. The only defense Twilight could make was that Rarity would never and that rang hollow in her own thoughts long before it could do so from her lips. It was easy to imagine:
Rarity, already driven past her breaking by Sweetie’s then inexplicable behavior, falling into a terrifying depression that saw her enrage if anypony reminded her of Sweetie after her disappearance, finding Gentle Flowers, the strange filly that had appeared at the start of it all, on her doorstep.
Suddenly, a chance for answers, a chance to get Sweetie back; she caught Gentle, took her inside, and would surely have demanded those answers. Who was Gentle, what had she given Sweetie the day of the school incident, what had happened to and where was her little sister?
It didn’t matter if Gentle had been honest, because an honest answer, that Sweetie was gone, having sacrificed herself to end Emptiness, would never have been accepted. Rarity, unable to get the answers she wanted to hear, would quickly snap; and she’d kick Gentle or throw Gentle, some series of actions that led to Gentle’s varies injuries, screaming in rage, demanding that Gentle tell her something that would make it all right, and Gentle would be nothing but honest and Rarity would think she was nothing but the worst kind of liar. Until, driven to sanity’s end, Rarity would grab Gentle, and she’d threaten the single worst thing she could think to threaten, and when Gentle, badly hurt, did not, could not, give her what she wanted…
It was possible it was accidental. Possibly she’d only meant to terrify Gentle to either giving her what she wanted or fainting, but… it had happened. Rarity, even if by complete accident, tore Gentle’s horn off and the hurt and traumatized filly endured the shock and trauma because she was already so very hurt and terrified that it must have all blurred together into nothing but fear and pain.
The resultant wound would have shocked Rarity back to her senses, and Rarity had to have been swift to save Gentle’s life. Almost as swift to clean the mess up and get Gentle so presentable that her friends, surprising her outside her door, failed to recognize just how hurt Gentle truly was as Rarity rushed her to Ponyville General. And while they were busy trying to make sure she was alright, Rarity moved to make sure that nopony would ever learn exactly what happened that day in Carousel Boutique, tricking Mayor Mare to sign documents she wasn’t well acquainted with hurriedly to ‘help a poor filly in desperate need’. The sole thing she may have missed would be Gentle Flowers herself.
Last seen following her back to Carousel Boutique, and not seen since.
There was no specific proof, but Redheart’s evidence and Twilight’s own intellect made it impossible to deny, impossible to refute. She tried, but she just couldn’t, and in the chaos of her thoughts then, there were but a few questions that stood clear and strong:
Where had Gentle Flowers come from, where was she now, and why had she knocked on Rarity’s door in the first place?
If Redheart’s fears were correct, then none of the questions truly mattered.
There was just one thing to do now:
“I, I need to talk to Rarity.” Twilight breathed, calming, pulling herself back together. “And tell her to tell me that she didn’t hurt Gentle Flowers.”
“Twilight, that is invitation to,”
“And she’ll be honest with me!” Twilight yelled, pushing herself off the couch, Redheart leaping back. “I’ll ask, and she’ll tell me that she didn’t hurt Gentle! That, that some horrible accident happened, something, anything not her tearing a filly’s horn off!” she screamed, Redheart wincing. After, Twilight breathed hard, and then, calmer, told Redheart, “She’ll be honest, and tell me. And she’ll tell you too.”
“M, me?”
“We are going to Carousel Boutique, together, right now.” Twilight said, heading to the door.
“J, just let me get my things back toge…” Redheart began, only to hesitate as her materials all levitated up, swiftly organized, and then neatly fit back into her saddlebag before those lifted up, Redheart reacting fast enough to catch and settle them rather than having them dumped on her. “Thank…” she tried, only to spot Twilight’s tail as she left, Redheart pausing before hurrying to catch up with her.
“Spike, watch the library for me.”
“Twilight, what, what’s wrong, why do you look so,”
“Just watch the library for me, Spike!”
Redheart was fast enough to spot Spike startle from the outburst, Twilight making her way to the door. She kept following, but slowed as stopped by Spike, seeing his wide, shocked eyes watching Twilight. “Don’t take it to heart.” She tried to comfort, “She’s just very stressed right now.”
“Redheart!”
“Coming, coming!” Redheart answered, spotting Twilight angrily glaring at her outside the open door. She barely got outside as Twilight slammed the door shut, Spike jumping at the slam and slowly relaxing as silence descended upon the library once again.
Spike swallowed, his gaze wandering the mostly empty, brightly lit, silent library before it focused on the tip of his tail, flicking to his side. He yanked his gaze away, but it was soon drawn back. He reached for it, hesitated again, and then grabbed it, pulling it up in front of him and twiddling with the tip with both hands, looking around the library and constantly twiddling with his tail more and more until he focused on it again.
Then, with a faint whimper, he shut his eyes, curled on the stool, stuck his tail tip into his mouth, and startled suckling on it.
Redheart, meanwhile, was feeling out of breath as she followed Twilight’s quick, determined gait, but felt spirited and even excited anyway. She’d cleared the hurdles she’d foreseen, very nearly had Twilight on her side, and this meeting with Rarity would surely find Rarity unable to answer Twilight’s questions, Redheart more than able to ensure that Rarity couldn’t trick or distract Twilight from the truth!
A final gallop, a final hurdle, then she would have Twilight Sparkle’s, the bearer of magic, protégé of the Princess Celestia herself, support, and finally, finally, the truth would be known and Gentle Flowers given the justice she deserved!
