Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. (Rewritten)
It began with a knocking at my door. Wandering down the staircase to the shop floor of my house and business, Carousel Boutique, I fluffed my luxurious indigo mane before opening it—a lady has to look her best, especially when answering the door—to find a certain wall-eyed grey pegasus hovering just above the ground in front of me.
“Got a letter for you, Rarity!” Derpy said, spitting out a white envelope, which I caught with my magic.
“Thank you dear,” I replied. "And how are you today?"
“Busy busy busy! Lots of ponies are receiving mail today. Speaking of which, I'd best be off. I’ll see you around, Rarity!” Without further adieu, she flew off. I wandered back inside, closing the door behind me. I stopped as I passed one of the many mirrors that decorated the boutique, admiring my slim, white flanks and the three blue diamonds that made up my cutie mark.
“Oh, darling, you are just fabulous,” I said to myself, fluttering my blue eyes at my reflection. I trotted into a back room and reclined on a couch, holding the mystery envelope above me. “Now who could this be from?” I asked my cat, Opalescence, who replied with a lazy yawn. “Well, the postmark is Ponyville, but I don't recognise the hornwriting—and what lovely hornwriting it is, such delicate flicks and joins.” I realised I was rambling at this point and decided to end the mystery by simply opening the letter. A brightly decorated slip of paper slid out, which I grasped with my magic so I could read it outloud.
“Dear Miss Rarity,
You are cordially invited to the first session of the Ponyville Royal Art Society, where artists of all varieties, from fashion designers such as yourself, to musicians, authors, poets, dancers and conventional artists, are encouraged to meet and show off their work. Afternoon tea will be provided. Our first session will take place on the 3rd Thursday of this month, at the town hall, from 4.00 PM until late.
We look forward to seeing you and your designs,
Concept Art, President of the Ponyville Royal Art Society."
I blinked and reread the letter. A soft giggle left my lips, causing Opalescence to look up from her pillow and glare at me. I ignored her and leapt into the air.
“Did you hear that, Opal? I, Miss Rarity, have been cordially invited to join the Ponyville Royal Art Society! Cordially invited! Oh how wonderful!” I held the invitation above me as I pranced around the room. “The third Thursday of the month... why, that’s tomorrow! And I do believe I have just the thing to show them.” I trotted back into the shop floor and began sorting the clothes, before holding up my prize. “They will just be astounded when they see me wearing this!” I declared. Opal gave a bored meow in return.
I turned up to the town hall five minutes early. I know what they say about arriving fashionably late and all, but that only works if you are the only one doing it. A meeting for artists is bound to have half the group appear “fashionably late”, and besides, I wanted the chance to speak to this 'Concept Art' before we began. I tugged my dark-blue hat, decorated with silver wire and powdered diamonds, the latest in my 'Night Sky' collection, which was growing popular now that Princess Luna had set up her own royal court, and approached the building, only to be stopped by a leathery wing.
“Invitation please,” intoned a night guard. I passed over the letter, with a small amount of confusion, since the night guard were usually found accompanying our new Princess of the Night. The wing retracted, and I entered the town hall, my eyes widening as I saw Princess Luna already inside. I quickly bowed out of habit and respect, although Twilight had informed me she found it annoying. My choice in headwear suddenly felt very appropriate.
“Please, Rarity, there is no need for that,” she said, as I rose. “Are we not friends?” She flashed me a smile.
“Forgive me, Princess—” I said, but was interrupted by a dark-blue hoof.
“Luna,” she softly, but forcibly, interrupted.
“Forgive me, Luna,” I said, returning her smile. I looked around and saw another pony, a tall, light blue unicorn stallion, with a blank canvas for a cutie mark. “Hello, sir, I’m Rarity,” I said, sticking out a hoof, expecting him to shake it. Instead, he bent down and kissed it, prompting a blush to spread across my face.
“A pleasure to finally meet you, Rarity. I am Concept Art, founder and president of this society, although you can call me Arty. And I must say, I am just loving your hat. I assume you made it yourself?” We made polite small talk as the other artists filed in—as I predicted, there was a massive rush at ten minutes past four as ponies attempted to arrive 'fashionably late'. Luna excused herself and began wandering around the hall, talking to the varied group. Ever since Nightmare Night, she had taken it upon herself to integrate with the common people, to the extent that many tabloids referred to her as the "People's Princess". I returned my attention to Concept Art as the topic shifted to cutie marks.
"If you don't mind me being so bold, may I ask what your cutie mark means?" I asked, referring to his flank.
"Of course you may, my dear! It's quite simple really, but my special talent is seeing potential. When I gaze upon a blank canvas, I can see what it can become. And the same is true for ponies."
"Pardon?" I asked.
"When I look at a pony, I can see their artistic potential. For example, if I look at that mare there," he said, pointing at a light-purple unicorn with a yellow saddle, "I can tell that she has the potential to be a great dancer."
"You are correct, Arty. That is Amethyst Star, a very talented dancer. Although I only know that because I make her dancing shoes." A thought struck me. "Say, that wouldn't be why you were able to bring us together, was it?"
"Correct! I hate seeing wasted potential, so I thought that if I brought you all together, you would be able to inspire each other to produce great works of art."
"And the Princess?"
"Well, she is funding this little get-together, but she is also an artist in her own right. In her words, she paints the night sky for us all. And you can't disagree that it is a source of much inspiration in itself." We chatted a bit more, before drifting off to mingle with the others. I ended up getting drawn into a conversation by the buffet table with a pegasus stallion with a beret and goatee, who claimed to be a poet. However, our conversation ended with an announcement from Concept Art.
"Fillies and gentlecolts, your royal highness, if I may have your attention please," Concept Art said. "With your permission, I would like to begin the presentation of our members’ work."
We all gathered together before a stage, each pony taking turns to display and talk about their work in front of an appreciative audience. Amongst the group, there were several painters, a singer, a few poets, a sculptor, Twilight’s university friend Lyra, who played a piece of music on her lyre, and Amethyst Star, who put on a short but interesting performance. I spoke at great length about my Night Sky series of clothes, which generated a lot of interest, if I do say so myself. After I had finished my piece and the conversation had died down, a small black unicorn I hadn't noticed before stepped forwards, a covered easel floating behind her. Her cutie mark was a red pentagon, which matched her crimson mane and tail—very unusual colouring for a pony.
"My name is Dark Arts," she said, her voice quiet, but strong and confident. "I'm a painter, and I painted this. I call it 'The Muse of Madness'." Pulling off the cover, she revealed her work. A gasp of surprise and horror shook the room. Thick acrylic paint covered the canvas, a hideous dark grey face framed by abstract green flames that seemed to move in the corner of your eye. Looking closely, I saw that the face was twisted in a demonic grimace. Or was it ecstatic joy? The expression appeared to change each time you looked at it. Regardless, black, piercing eyes shone out, looking straight into me, into my soul, promising great violence, and great pleasure. It was a disgusting, horrifying, nightmare-inducing piece of work.
It was fabulous.
There was a moment or two of silence before somepony, I am not sure who, began to applaud, stomping their feet against the ground. I quickly joined in, and within seconds the entire group was stomping their hooves against the wooden floor in recognition of the skill, the talent, the power of the art before us. Dark Arts nodded modestly, proud of her work and talent, but lacking the overt arrogance so many artists suffered from. After the applause died down and she had stepped off the stage, I looked around expectantly, wondering who would be next, before realising that almost everypony had displayed some work. Only Concept Art and Luna had yet to show off something.
"For my piece, we have to step outside," Luna said, heading for the door. I nodded in understanding and followed her, leading the rest of the group. As we left the room, I could have sworn I heard a scratching noise behind the walls, but I rationalised it away as mice. Upon exiting the building, I noticed how late it was getting. The sun had nearly set, which made sense, as Luna couldn't raise the moon during the day. I watched in fascination as the Princess's horn began to glow. Moments later, the sun dipped beneath the horizon, and the sky changed colour, from bright blue through to oranges and reds and finally black, with the stars twinkling, points of light in a dark sea. To see the moonrise like this, not as an everyday occurrence, but as a work of magic, a work of art and beauty, was astounding and inspiring.
This time, I led the applause, stomping my feet as loudly as I could. The Princess was just magnificent. Once the applause had died down, Concept Art stepped forwards.
"I am afraid, fillies and gentlecolts, that is all we have time for tonight. However, I look forward to seeing you all at the same time next week." With this, the group began to disperse, some heading straight home, others milling around to continue a conversation. Myself, I headed home after saying my goodbyes, my mind awhirl with new ideas.
I got back home and rushed straight to my inspiration room, picking up my ideas book, scribbling madly, words and rough sketches outlining the new set of clothes I held in my mind’s eye. The Moonrise collection, I would call it. Suddenly, my concentration was interrupted by a scratching noise coming from downstairs.
"Must be Opal on her scratching post," I said to myself, yawning. "Oh my, I'm getting tired. Oh dear, it's getting very late. Time for bed!" Opal gave a hiss of agreement from her pillow behind me. "Huh, how did you get upstairs that fast? Oh my, I do believe I'm losing my mind!" With a laugh, I trotted off to bed.
A colour that was not a colour on a shape that was not a shape speaking words that were not words from a mouth that was not a mouth. Caged by blue, the lock and key made of stars, the beast that wasn't stirred from a slumber that wasn't, a sleep deeper than death, yet more awake than anyone alive. Flames reared up, and hope fell. And a scratch scratch scratching.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
I awoke with a start, my fur slick with sweat, my sheets soaking wet. I lay there, gasping for breath, a half-remembered nightmare on the edge of my mind. My eyes rolling wildly around the room seeing things that weren't there—a dress, no a hat, wait, a saddle. Designs for new clothes flicked across my sight. I leapt out of bed with a cry and rushed to my inspiration room, grabbing at materials.
"Dark green velvet, yes that's right, some midnight blue cloth, black ribbon, oh where did I leave the silver wire? Oh, here it is. Now, diamonds or rubies? Diamonds, I’m running low on rubies." I carried on, busily working away through the night, my actions accompanied by a scratch scratch scratching. Opal was nowhere to be seen.
The following week flew by in a flurry of activity. Throughout it all I remained secluded in my inspiration room, sewing and stitching and cutting, cloth and thread and ribbon bending to my will. I was a goddess, and this was my world, my domain.
Finally, Thursday morning arrived, my work complete. I gazed upon the dress before me, marvelling at the craftsmanship, the colours, how the diamonds accentuated the cloth. It was fabulous. No, it was divine. As I left the room, I caught sight of myself in a mirror. Puffy, bloodshot eyes, gaunt cheeks and a dishevelled mane looked back at me. I tried to remember when I had last slept or eaten, but I couldn't focus.
“Oh my dear,” I said to my reflection. “You have been working too hard. A little bit of makeup will easily fix that, however. A lady must always look her best, you know.” I continued chatting to myself as I wandered into the washroom and fixed my appearance. After I was done, I wandered downstairs to my kitchen to get a bite to eat. After I was done, I realised that Opal wasn't in the house.
“Oh dear, I hope I didn't forget to feed her again. Well, she knows to go to Fluttershy when I am in the zone, as it were,” I said out loud to the empty house. I glanced at a clock. “Well, would you look at the time! If I don't get a move on, I’m going to be late!” I gathered up my things, including my new piece, and left. As I shut the door, I heard a scratching noise come from upstairs. “Oh, good, Opal must have come back.”
I reached the town hall just on time, meeting the other members of the society. As we entered the building I noticed that Princess Luna was again present, chatting with a group of ponies near the buffet table. I wandered round the room, chatting and mingling with the other ponies, many of whom looked as tired and dishevelled as I had that morning. The topic of the day was about a series of dark dreams, almost nightmares that many members had been suffering from. Several ponies, however, were glad of the dreams, as they had provided a peculiar inspiration and drive, allowing them to create what they considered to be great works of art. I found myself agreeing with these ponies, more often than not.
After a while, Concept Art called us round to present our various works to the rest of the group. The first to stand up was the pegasus I spoke to last time, Perfect Rhyme, I think his name was. The poem he showed us last week was about flowers and spring. I wondered what this week’s topic would be.
“I call this poem "Night-Gaunts",’ he said, pulling out a notebook and sitting on a stool.
Out of what crypt they crawl, I cannot tell,
But every night I see the rubbery things,
Black, horned, and slender, with membranous wings,
They come in legions on the north wind's swell
With obscene clutch that titillates and stings,
Snatching me off on monstrous voyagings
To grey worlds hidden deep in nightmare's well.
Over the jagged peaks of Thok they sweep,
Heedless of all the cries I try to make,
And down the nether pits to that foul lake
Where the puffed shoggoths splash in doubtful sleep.
But ho! If only they would make some sound,
Or wear a face where faces should be found!
My jaw dropped at the performance. Last week his poems had been dull and amateurish, but this was amazing. Dark, flapping wings flitted across my vision, my imagination sparked by the evocative words. As one, the entire group applauded loudly, although I noticed a frown upon Luna’s brow.
Lyra stepped forward next, her lyre floating in the air beside her. She experimentally plucked a few strings, before playing. Harsh, discordant tones struck my ears, the sound wrenched from the instrument. While she played, the room seemed to darken, with terrible whispers lingering on the edge of my hearing, accompanying notes that sounded not unlike the scratching of a creature against the wall. A shiver of fear and ecstasy flowed down my spine, the beat of my heart joining with the strumming of the instrument. A primal growl built itself in my chest, but before I could release it, the music stopped. I shook my head, glancing around at the suddenly too bright room, my ears aching from the intensity of the performance. Again, the group applauded enthusiastically, although I could see that Luna only joined in to avoid looking rude, if her sour expression was anything to judge by. I wonder what's wrong? Does she not like it?
Amethyst Star was next, wearing a simple set of silver dancing shoes—ones I had made for her. She walked into the middle of the stage, where she struck a pose. After a moment, her body began to shake, moving back and forth to a beat only she could hear. She moved rhythmically, hooves sliding across the floor, head gyrating in the air. Sharp, pointed movements flowing into faster and harsher poses, Amethyst spun in a circle, my eyes straining to follow her. I watched, enraptured, when suddenly, the silent beat changed, her movements became more sensual, more orgasmic in nature. Strange emotions rose, unbidden, lust and desire warring for control of my body. My thoughts grew animalistic; I wanted nothing more than to pounce and ravage the twisted, flailing body that had been offered up before me. Blood pumped through my ears, as my lips curled back in a savage snarl.
Abruptly, she stopped, her body frozen in place, sweat dripping off her flanks. My mind became my own again, the desire to violently force myself upon Amethyst's body dissipated, and glancing round I saw that I wasn't the only one enraptured by the sexual display. The applause, when it came, was ecstatic, everypony trying to rid themselves of the tension that had built up during the performance. Everypony, except Luna, that is. She stood stock still, fear, surprise and anger warring for control of her face, before settling down under a diplomatic smile.
Next was my turn as I strutted into the centre of the stage, turning so everypony could see my dress. It started with deep blue at the collar, a hoofful of diamonds decorating it. It then drifted through various shades into dark green, each colour separated by a black ribbon, decorated with silver wire forming swirls along its length. The bottom of the dress, which was a deep, dark green, rested on the floor, black stitching giving the illusion of green flames licking at my hind legs. All in all, it gave the impression of a night sky being consumed by green fire, the pony wearing it being drawn into a great abyss.
"This," I began, after everypony had gotten a full look at it, "is the first item in my new range, tentatively titled 'That which is beyond the stars', or 'Beyond' for short." There were several approving murmurs from the group, but I couldn't help but notice that Luna's expression had frozen. I chose to ignore this, and began to describe my dress, the significance of each part and the overall theme of the design. Suddenly, a night guard trotted in and whispered something into the Princess's ear.
"I am terribly sorry, my little ponies," she said, interrupting my speech, "but I am required back in Canterlot. I don't wish to cut our time short, but I must leave. My duties await me." We all nodded in understanding as she left, although many artists who had yet to share their work showed clear disappointment on their faces.
Several more artists came forwards and presented their work, but there wasn't anything inspiring, although there was a dark theme running throughout each piece. Finally, it came round to the most eagerly anticipated piece, Dark Arts's latest canvas. The small mare stepped forwards, a strong, confident smirk on her face, her easel floating behind her.
"This piece is called 'Scratches'." Pulling the cover off, she revealed the painting underneath. Drawn with dark, thick acrylics, the canvas depicted a grey, bipedal figure, prancing around a dark room, long wicked claws on the end of a twisted, bony arm, resting on a wall, scratch marks clearly visible. Its horned face was clearly the same being as before, grinning with ecstasy, or grimacing with pain, I couldn't tell, but its piercing black eyes again threatened to inflict upon me either sensation. My first thought was that it was a diamond dog, but it had scales rather than fur, lacked the distinctive snout and had ram's horns growing from its head. Some sort of dragon? But again, it had no snout. What is it?
The applause was deafening, shaking the rafters with the vibrations. Dark Arts bowed before the applause, revelling in the noise and attention, before returning to her corner. Concept Art stepped forwards now, preparing to speak.
"Well, I am afraid that is it for tonight, everypony. Since Princess Luna had to leave halfway through, she won't be able to display her work. This means we will be finishing early. Feel free to stay and mingle, or to leave and go home."
Many ponies began chattering as they made a beeline for the door; however, I elected to stay behind, as I wished to talk with Dark Arts.
"Darling," I said, approaching the black unicorn, "if I may, I just wish to say that I find your art to be just fantastic. Wherever do you get your ideas from?"
"Why, thank you, Rarity, I think you said your name was?" she said, and I nodded my confimation. "If you must know, well, ever since I was a filly, I have had the misfortune of being plagued by night terrors."
"Oh dear! That must be terrible for you!" I said, raising a hoof in shock. Dark Arts merely shrugged.
"I've grown used to them now, and anyway, I feel that they have had a positive impact upon my art, don't you agree?"
"Well, I suppose I can't argue with that." I clapped my hooves together. "I do so look forwards to seeing more of your work."
"If you wish, you can come round to my place—I have a lot more like this back home." She indicated to the canvas behind her.
"I would love to, dear! If you don't mind, that is."
Dark Arts flashed me a chilling grin, causing me to instinctively shudder with fright. "Rarity, it would be my pleasure."
Dark Arts's house was located down a small alley on the far side of town, styled as one of the typical Ponyville cottages. As I entered her house, I gasped in amazement. Every inch of the walls appeared to be taken up by a canvas, each one different, yet depicting the same demonic creature as before—the Muse of Madness, Dark Arts had called it. One painting depicted it praying before an altar, another had it looking through a window at a family sharing a meal, this one showed it grinning madly as it destroyed a flower bed. I wandered from room to room, marvelling at the grotesque paintings, wholly enraptured by them. Suddenly, I heard a scratch scratch scratching.
"Damn rats." Dark Arts rolled her eyes, before grabbing a stick and wandering into the next room. "The blighters get everywhere, you know."
"Oh tell me about it. I'm quite glad my cat, Opal, keeps them away for me." I continued wandering through her house, admiring the paintings. On the edge of my hearing, I thought I heard Dark Arts's voice, but I ignored it and moved on. Eventually, I reached what must have been her painting room, a half-finished canvas taking pride of place in the centre of the room. Approaching it, I saw that the Muse was once again the central figure, but I was unable to make out what it was doing. Disappointed, I stepped away and glanced around the room. It was fairly plain—white unadorned walls, contrasting with the rest of the house, a bookcase stacked with old books against one wall. Strangely, besides the bookcase was a candlestick, mounted upon the wall. Its archaic, gothic design stood out against the utilitarian room. I wandered over to it and placed a curious hoof upon it, when suddenly it fell forwards. I jumped back in surprise, frightened that I had damaged it, when the bookshelf moved, sinking into the wall and revealing a tunnel.
“Well now, this is interesting. I wonder what secrets Dark is hiding.” I entered the tunnel, curiosity gripping me to the point where I nearly missed the wall sealing itself behind me. Well, that's ominous. Ah well, there's probably a way to open it from this side. I carried on down the dimly lit, rough-hewn tunnel, stumbling over rocks and pebbles scattered across the path.
Eventually I came to a large, flame-lit cavern. My eyes swept over the mostly empty room, glancing at the five large braziers arranged in a circle in the center of the room. Suddenly, I heard noises coming from a tunnel at the far end of the cavern. I ducked back into the tunnel, trying to make sense of the noises. That sounds like the clinking of a chain, and are those hoofsteps? Looking at the entrance, I gave a gasp of surprise at what came out. It's...It's the Muse! Oh Celestia help me, the Muse is real!
It strode into the room, holding a chain that snaked back into the darkness of the tunnel. It gave the chain a couple of tugs, and out came a pony, bound and gagged, the chain linked to a bit that cut off her cries of fear. She futilely strained against the chain as the creature dragged her towards the flames. That's—That's Amethyst Star! I have to help her! But no matter how hard I tried, my hooves would not move. I was rooted to the spot, forced to watch the horrifying display before me. The creature dragged poor Amethyst into the center of the circle and attached the chain to a ring in the floor. Throughout all this, Amethyst pulled and strained against the chain, but she was no match against the strength of the Muse.
Once the creature was sure that Amethyst was secure, it pranced around, throwing terrifying shadows against the walls, leering at her, running a clawed hand through her mane and tail, raising and tugging the latter in a provocative and humiliating manner. From my hiding spot I could clearly see the tears running down her face. It laid one of its horrible claws against her flank, softly and gently, almost a lover's caress, before dragging its hand down, gouging three red lines over her cutie mark. Amethyst gave a muffled shriek of pain as her teeth clamped down on the bit in her mouth. Red rivers of blood flowed down her flank, running down her thighs and pooling at her feet. The Muse lifted its blood-soaked claws and licked them clean, revelling in the fear and suffering that gripped Amethyst. Her eyes began to grow wild, rolling in place, froth bubbling between her lips. She pulled harder and harder against the chain that bound her to the floor, straining until the froth around her mouth turned bloody. Eventually, struggling to stand against her wound and her exhaustion, she collapsed, the creature laughing at her torment. It then scooped up her blood into its hands, and began to prance around, using the red liquid to paint a circle on the floor.
When it had finished its dreadful artistry, it stood up, tall and imposing. It's as tall as the Princess! It clapped its hands together, flecks of blood splattering across its face. Then it began to speak. High pitched chattering assailed my ears, unfamiliar sounds tormenting me. No...Not unfamiliar, I’ve heard this before...somewhere... As I continued watching, the creature began to circle Amethyst, maintaining its chant. Abruptly, it bent down to the floor, its clawed hand extended and—
Scratch.
I blinked as a sense of horror came over me.
Scratch.
No, it can’t be...
Scratch.
...The Nightmare!
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
Memories assaulted me. I remembered being led down the tunnel. I saw myself try to resist. I felt the heat of the flames against my body. I looked back, and there, underneath my coat, over my cutie mark, were three thin scars.
I have to get out of here! I have to warn someone! Twilight! The Princesses! But as before, my legs refused to move. They may as well have been fused with the ground. I glanced back at the creature and saw that it had finished its ritual, arms stretched up high. Flames leapt upwards, licking the ceiling of the cavern, the intensity of the light and heat blinding me. Just as suddenly, they died down, a terrible stillness occupying the cavern. In the center of all this was Amethyst Star, lying down, her face expressionless. The creature moved forwards, and removed the bit from her mouth, freeing her. Amethyst didn't move or react. For a moment, I feared she was dead.
Then she began to dance.
It was the same, sensual, orgasmic dance of lust and desire she had performed earlier today, but it was also... more. The movements were sharper, clearer. Her body twisted and bent in shapes physically impossible. Her hooves beat against the floor, creating the rhythm by which she danced.
There was a squeal as her body slid over the blood slick floor, popping noises as her body contorted into unnatural shapes, a crack as her hooves split against the stone floor, blood flowing freely from her hooves.
And through all this, the creature, the Muse of Madness, stood, staring, not at Amethyst, but straight at me.
Cold black eyes pierced my own, my mind, my soul, my very being itself bared before the creature.
I screamed, and finally found the strength to run, turning back down the corridor, hooves clattering against the rough ground.
My flight was cut short when I ran face first into a glowing red wall. No, not a wall, a shield! Shaking the spots from my eyes, I gazed in horror at the black and red unicorn before me.
“Now, Rarity, where do you think you’re going?” Dark Arts asked with a mocking smile. Before I could form an answer, there was a flash of red, and then nothing.
Twilight Sparkle trotted nervously down the gleaming white halls of the Princess Luna Asylum, a doctor keeping pace beside her.
"These cases are all very peculiar, Princess Sparkle," the silver-coated pegasus said. "An entire group, falling into a violent insanity almost overnight? It's practically unheard of."
"Well, doctor, it’s happened. Do you have any idea why?" Twilight asked, worry making her words terse.
"I'm afraid not. The only link between the patients is that they were all members of the Ponyville Royal Art Society, where some rather dark artistry was encouraged to flourish over the two weeks it was open. Indeed, only three members appear to be missing—Concept Art, the founder, who committed suicide on the 'night of madness', as we're calling it, Dark Arts, whom we believe to have instigated the madness, and has also vanished into thin air and Princess Luna, who is yet to show any symptoms of insanity—probably because she left that night's meeting early."
"Well, that’s one piece of good news," Twilight said as she peered through a window into a padded cell. "Doctor, is she supposed to be tied down like that?" she asked, indicating to the patient within.
The doctor looked down at his clipboard. "Ah yes, Amethyst Star. She cannot stop dancing. At all. When we found her, she had pounded her hooves into bloody stumps and was in the process of drawing out some sort of design via her dancing. If she hadn't been in such pain, I would have loved to know what she was trying to draw. Many of the new patients have such "ironic disorders", as we have taken to calling them—Perfect Rhyme chants in an unknown language that grates on the ears, causing one nurse to faint, whilst Lyra ripped open her hooves trying to play her lyre, even though she normally plays it with her horn. Anyway, here we are; Miss Rarity's cell."
Twilight looked through the one-way glass into the room. In the middle of it was Rarity, although not as Twilight remembered her. Her violet mane was frazzled, looking more like a bush than the well-kept coiffure she usually sported. There was a cut on her cheek, just below her bloodshot eyes, which rolled wildly in their sockets, staring at things that Twilight couldn't see. Gone were her glamorous dresses, replaced by a straitjacket which pinned her forelegs to her sides. She sat there with a crazed grin, giggles bursting out from her chapped lips.
"Doctor," said Twilight, visibly distressed at her friend’s predicament, "is the straitjacket necessary?"
"I'm afraid so, your Highness. She was found attempting to skin her sister alive. Apparently she wanted to use the hide for a saddle," the doctor said, looking at Twilight, who was clearly horrified. "Thankfully, she was stopped in time by her cat, which attacked her, and Sweetie Belle escaped unharmed, if traumatised. However, it doesn't change the fact that she is potentially violent."
"Doctor, can I go speak to her?" Twilight asked. The pegasus paused for a moment, before nodding.
"She's been sedated, so she shouldn't be too aggressive. And we'll be watching anyway, so yes, you can. Knock on the door if you wish to leave." He opened the door and Twilight entered the padded cell.
"Rarity? It's me, Twilight."
"It's scratch scratch scratching!" Rarity laughed.
"Rarity? Can you hear me? Are you in there?"
"Scratch scratch." Rarity's eyes focused on Twilight for a moment. "Oh aren't you a lovely shade of purple. Gives me an idea for a dress. Now, where did I put my scissors? Snip snip!"
"Rarity, please, answer me," Twilight begged, but Rarity didn't react. "Rarity, do you remember my first sleepover? You got so upset about the messy bookcase, you forgot about the tree that had fallen into my bedroom, remember? Rarity?"
But Rarity gave no indication she had heard, instead shuffling around the room, trying to find her scissors. Twilight’s friend was gone, lost in a broken mind.
"He-he-he! Scratch scratch! You know, your mane will make a lovely scarf. Now where are my scissors? Snip snip snip! And off it comes!"
Twilight sobbed, distraught at her friend’s madness. No, this wasn't her friend, this was a monster dressed in Rarity's skin. Even when she had been discorded, there was still a trace of her personality, but this, this just couldn’t be her. Twilight couldn't take much more and turned to leave, when a voice stopped her.
"Twilight!" shouted Rarity. Twilight spun round, hope in her heart, only to find Rarity's face pressed up against hers, bloodshot eyes staring unblinkingly into Twilight's. "Beware, for it awakens. A beast that isn't, from a slumber that isn't. It feeds on the madness of artists. The stars are the lock and key! Beware!"
"Rarity? What awakens, what are you on about? Beware of what?" Twilight asked. However, whatever sanity Rarity had left fled once again, her eyes returning to their mad swirl.
"Why you have a lovely coat. Gives me an idea for a cloak you'll just die for! Hee-hee-ha-ha-ha-ha!" Rarity cackled madly, causing Twilight to back away in horror, quickly exiting the room.
"Are you okay?" the doctor asked, concern heavy in his voice. Twilight shook her head, unable to speak. Suddenly, a cacophony of noises down the hall was heard. Looking up Twilight saw a gurney roll past, a patient strapped in, thrashing against her bonds.
It was Princess Luna. Her eyes were wild, with bloody froth spilling from a mouth that snapped wildly at thin air, hooves straining against her bonds. Twilight was given the impression of a rabid dog—no intelligence, just pure primal rage and violence. The doctor stopped the gurney with a snap command.
"What happened?" he demanded.
"We don't know! She was fine one minute, the next she had gone feral! Tried to rip out Celestia's throat!"
"Celestia!" Twilight called out. "Is she okay?"
"Thankfully, the Princess was unharmed thanks to the quick actions of the royal guard. They were able to pin Luna down long enough for us to sedate her."
"You call this sedated?" the doctor exclaimed.
"Compared to the ferocity of her attack, yes. Anyway, we're taking her down to cell 101."
"Carry on then. But I want a full report as soon as possible," the doctor ordered. Twilight Sparkle could only look on in horror as the gurney and its passenger—another friend lost to madness—continued their journey down the hall. A thump from behind startled Twilight, making her turn around. There, staring through the soundproof mirrored glass as if she could see them, was Rarity, mouthing soundless words. Twilight didn't need to be able to read lips to understand her.
It feeds on the madness of artists. The stars are the lock and key. Beware.
Author's Note
Thanks to Pascoite, Windmill 7 and Ezn for proofreading and editing.
Okay, just a quick note—some of the more astute readers may notice that I talk about a sequel in the comments. Heck, the epilogue is one big sequel hook. I just want to mention here, that yes, I do have a good idea for a sequel, but I also have a lot on my plate at the moment, so don’t expect it anytime soon, I’m afraid. I’ll let you know when it comes, however, so don’t worry.
Edit—just upgraded Twilight to an alicorn. It's barely noticeable and doesn't affect this fic, however, but will come up in the sequel, which I have began planning.
