You flex your fingers, brushing the soft bed sheets beneath you along your palm. Slowly, your eyes begin to open. As you quietly regain your motor functions, a groan escapes from you. Your groggy, sleep-addled brain takes a moment to realize where you are and what you’re doing.
You’re lying comfortably in the bedroom of your Canterlot home. You were sleeping peacefully until mere moments ago, and now that you’re awake, you’ve become very aware of two distinct problems. First, you are very, very parched. Second, you’ve gotta get to the bathroom right freaking now.
Practically throwing yourself out of bed, you rush into the small bathroom attached to your master bedroom and do just that. As you turn on the faucet and begin to wash your hands, you briefly contemplate taking a sip out of said faucet. It doesn’t take long for you to dismiss that idea, however, as the numerous strands of bright orange hair littered across the sink and makeup-covered countertop make the idea of taking a drink more than a little unappealing.
If you want to quench your thirst, you’re going to have to go to the kitchen. The way God intended or whatever.
With a heavy sigh and even heavier footsteps, you depart from the bathroom. You don’t bother turning on the lights. Doing so would probably give you a headache (or, even worse, mildly annoy you in the middle of the night), and it’s not like you need them to get around in the first place. It is your house, after all.
As you open the bedroom door and step out into the dark hallway, you realize that something is missing from your bedroom. After only a moment’s contemplation, you simply shrug and close the door behind you. You’ll find what you’re looking for soon enough.
Passing by two other bedrooms and your personal study, you make it to the stairwell at the end of the hall. Rolling your head and wincing at the admittedly satisfying pop your neck makes, you slowly trudge down the old, hardwood stairs. Each one makes a creaking noise beneath your weight, and if this were any other context, it might be downright creepy. However, you know better than to fear that which lives in the dark.
Speaking of which, a strange (albeit completely expected) sight is ready to greet you when you reach the bottom of that stairwell.
To your right is the living room. Said room is just as quiet as the rest of the house, but it isn’t quite as dark. In fact, it’s fairly well lit on account of the television being turned on. Specifically, it’s showing nothing but static. You’re thankful that it’s muted, otherwise that’d be really annoying.
More interestingly, to your left is the kitchen and attached dining room. Aside from the LED displays on the microwave and oven, the kitchen itself lacks any light. The dining room, however, is probably the brightest part of the house right now. Unlike the living room, which is lit by the cool white-and-blue hues of television static, the dining room is filled with the warm light of a desk lamp. Said lamp is positioned near the center of your dining room table, carefully positioned to illuminate a specific half of that table.
And there, beneath the light, is the unmistakable, attention-demanding head of curly, fiery hair of Adagio Dazzle. She’s known as many things. A siren. A villain. A monster. One of the women responsible for nearly taking over the world until getting bested by a bunch of high school girls somehow. You, however, know her by a different name.
“Hey, honey.”
She jumps at the sound of your voice, apparently having not heard your loud, completely unsubtle trek down the stairs. There’s a look of surprise on her face that quickly turns to annoyance as she locks eyes with you.
“I told you not to call me that.”
“Dagi, then.”
“You can’t call me that either.”
“What do you want to be called?”
“Hmph. If you insist on being familiar, ‘Adagio’ works just fine. Of course, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll refer to me as ‘mistress’ or ‘my lady.’”
“That’s nice, honey,” you say with a yawn as you trudge into the kitchen and begin mindlessly digging through a cupboard.
“Sometimes I wonder if you listen to a word I say.”
“Of course I do. I just know better than to take your words at face value.”
“...Ugh. Marrying you was the dumbest decision ever.”
“You say that every night, dear.”
A gentle smile creeps across your face as you fill a glass with water from the sink and quickly gulp it down. It only takes a couple of seconds until the water has disappeared, prompting you to fill your cup a second time.
“It won’t be long now. Tonight, I’ve finally got it.”
“Oh yeah? What makes tonight so different?”
“It actually works, that’s what!” She begins to let out a long, drawn-out, overly pompous laugh in a failed attempt to sound evil. You can’t help but let out a quiet chuckle of your own.
“That’s nice, honey, but it’s two in the morning and you’re going to wake up the neighbors.”
“Hmph. We’ll see who’s laughing when I return to the stage.” Her smile widens as she reaches out in front of her. Resting on the table before her is a small red gemstone. Cracks are visible across the stone’s surface, obviously having been filled with cheap glue. Using a small string attached to it, Adagio brings the stone-made-necklace over her head. She would be putting it on, if not for the veritable mountain of hair getting in the way. Her cheeks begin to turn crimson as she’s forced to squeeze and contract the hair for a few seconds too many to get the necklace on properly. “Behold!”
After clearing her throat, she begins to sing. There are no words, but there also doesn’t need to be. Gemstone or no gemstone, she is a siren. She might not have magic-absorbing, discontent-spreading abilities anymore, but she does still have a beautiful singing voice. As she continues to hum her wordless tune, the gemstone begins to glow. Slowly, light spreads out from the red gemstone, filling the dining room with an ominous hue. Adagio’s magenta eyes begin to glow, and her smile becomes downright menacing.
You take a nonchalant sip of your water.
Just as her song reaches its peak, the glow from the gemstone also seems to reach a climax. There is a flash of red before the gemstone shatters, its broken pieces falling harmlessly to the floor. The red glow immediately dissipates, leaving only the light of the lamp and the television in the otherwise pitch-black house. Adagio freezes in place, her smile gone. She wears a surprised expression, reluctant to move a single inch.
Finally, after a long, tense moment, she lets out a sigh. Wordlessly, she bends down to pick up the pieces of the broken gemstone. She drops them onto the table without any care, the downtrodden look on her face more than enough to prompt you to approach her.
“Don’t–”
“Too late.”
Without hesitation, you wrap your arms around your dearly beloved wife. She remains frozen for a moment before giving you a weak punch on the shoulder, after which her arms go slack. There are no tears, no vocalizations of her disappointment. All that is left is the quiet, tired acceptance of a woman who has given up.
It’s been six years since the day you met her, and four since the day she made you sign the papers legalizing your marriage. It was all a ploy to give her a legal identity, of course, and she had no intention of ever actually seeing you again after “taking advantage of your kindness.” Imagine her surprise when you put a roof over her head and food on her plate the next day. And not just her, but her sisters, too.
Long story short, your wife is a siren-turned-human who has spent the last six years trying to fix her magical gemstone thingy to get revenge on a bunch of girls that went to the local high school or something. In truth, you don’t really care about any of that magic mumbo-jumbo. All you care about is being a good husband. And right now, a hug from that husband is exactly what she needs.
Even if she doesn’t express it.
“Why don’t you come to bed, Dagi? It’s really late.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Even so, do you really feel like trying to fix that thing again right now?”
“...” After a moment, she lets out yet another sigh. “Fine.”
You pull away from her while keeping your hands on her shoulders. A warm smile spreads across your face before you lean forward. Just before your eyes close, you swear that you see her smiling back at you.
Then, less than a second later, your lips meet.
The two of you remain like that for longer than you probably need to. A slight moan rings out in the dark dining room before it goes quiet once more. When you eventually part, you’re left wide-eyed and gasping for air.
“...Wow. Y-you’re passionate tonight.”
“And your mouth is dry. Get another drink before coming to bed.”
With a playful smirk, Adagio punches you on the shoulder again as she stands from her seat and struts through the kitchen and up the steps, her movements careful and practiced. Her footsteps are silent and her hips sway with every movement. She’s a performer through and through, even when no one is watching.
If only she’d let all the “evil” stuff go.
Chuckling to yourself, you turn the lamp off and slowly begin to make your way back into the kitchen. After getting one more glass of water, you turn off the silent television and bathe your house in darkness once again. Closing your eyes, you let out a deep, contented sigh.
Maybe you’ll wake up early tomorrow night, too.
Author's Note
Adagio is an adult in this story. She arguably already was in EQG, but then she attended a high school and yadda yadda yadda. No arguing, she's an adult here. End of story! 
Just a little something I wrote while very, very tired and somewhat delirious.
