Harvest

Chapters

Chapter One - Ideas
Chapter Two - Apple Bloom's Fantasy
Chapter Three - Scootaloo's Fantasy
Chapter Four - Sweetie Belle's Fantasy
Chapter Six - Let the Harvest Begin
Chapter Seven - Good Old Blackmail
Chapter Eight - The Last Straw
Chapter Nine - Rein Them In
Chapter Ten - Practice Makes Perfect
Chapter Eleven - Revenge is a Dish Best Served Freshly Harvested
Chapter Twelve - The End is Nigh
Chapter Five - Cutie Mark Crusaders - Mutiny, Inner Demons, Doubt!

Chapter One - Ideas

ATTENTION!

This following story is really quite grimdark. It may cause you to never look at specific MLP:FiM characters in the same way again.

It includes rape, gore, blood, murder, consensual minors and incest. Oh my! What doesn’t it have?

So please, don’t read this if you have a weak stomach or may be offended. You've been warned!

All you other guys who decided to brave it out, I commend you. Have fun reading this!

First I have to say thanks to my friend Megan, who helped this story develop from a little joke we had to something serious, and read all the parts along the way, offering her support. I also have to thank the author of Cupcakes, who helped inspire this very story, and I also have to thank the author of The Back Room, for helping out with the more… inappropriate parts as inspired by their story.

Right, onwards and upwards, I suppose!

Harvest v. 1. To gather (a crop).

To take or kill (fish or deer, for example) for food, sport, or population control.
To extract from a culture or a living or recently deceased body.

Apple Bloom stared at her paper listlessly, ignoring Cheerilee’s lesson completely. Her mind was on more important things than the soil in Ponyville – she was thinking about cutie marks again. However hard she and the other Cutie Mark Crusaders tried, all their efforts were in vain, getting them nowhere fast. It had become tedious to think of things they could try, they had slipped into a monotonous routine of trying an activity, not getting their cutie marks, being upset, then going back to the beginning again, a loop of failure. The situation was not made better by the belittling and catty remarks made by Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon on a daily basis, annoying the Crusaders to no end. It was easy for them – they had their cutie marks. If only Apple Bloom could just steal theirs – but wait, that was it. It came to her in a flash of genius, a sickening thought that made her blood run cold but grin with excitement.

The bell rang, a shrill noise accompanied by scraping stools and hoof beats on the floor, trotting out onto the field for recess. Apple Bloom ran straight over to Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo, a mischievous grin spread across her face, salmon pink bow bobbing as she ran.

“Guys, guys! Ah got the best idea jus’ now, in class!” she announced, her Southern accent ringing in each word. Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle nodded, intently listening. Apple Bloom motioned for them to come closer, so that no-one could hear. They both stepped closer, and Apple Bloom let her plan pour out.

“Well ah was thinkin’, y’know, about our cutie marks an’ all… We should jus’ take others!” she said proudly, smiling and waiting for her friends reactions.

“Apple Bloom, what do you mean?” Sweetie Belle said, cocking her head in confusion. Scootaloo nodded and said “Yeah, what do you mean take others? What, just cut them off?”

Apple Bloom nodded. “Exactly, Scoots! We can do what we like, an’ when we wanna! Then take their cutie marks!” she said, her gleeful voice rising too high to not be heard. She bashfully checked that the other fillies and colts in her class hadn’t heard and returned back to their conversation, a somehow malicious glint sparkling in her eyes. The other two fillies saw the expression on her face and immediately smiled too, evidently believing that Apple Bloom knew best.

“Well, if we are gonna do this-“ Sweetie Belle began, to be interrupted by Apple Bloom nodding her head vigorously, “I think Twist. She just got a really nice cutie mark – two candy canes that look like a heart!” her voice grew into an excited squeak on the last word, her eyes glistening with excitement. Scootaloo nodded and looked over at the red-maned pony, who was eating some confectionery she had made herself. She added her own thoughts on the plan. “I think you should invite her to a Cutie Mark Crusaders sleepover, Apple Bloom. ‘Cos she really likes you.” Scootaloo finished, jabbing her hoof in Apple Blooms direction. Apple Bloom took her turn to stare at Twist, and a rush of excitement swelled in her heart. “Yup,” she muttered slowly, “I’ll jus’ go over t’her now…” She made her way over to Twist, formulating an invite as she trotted across the grassy field. I have to look open and get her trust, she thought, smiling at the other filly as she drew nearer.

“Hey, Twist, ah was jus’ wonderin’. Would y’all like to come over to mah house, with Scootaloo and Sweetie? For a sleepover?” she said, ending with a confident smile. Twist stood there, mouth slightly agape for a little while before she abruptly shut it and nodded.

“Oh, yes, yes, that would be wonderful!” she said, her speech a little fuzzy while she pushed her purple rimmed glasses up. “What day? What time?”

Apple Bloom grinned happily and arranged a date, trotting back to confirm it with the other Crusaders. Quietly, they all pressed their hooves together and said “Cutie Mark Crusaders – cutie mark harvesters!” and dissolved into giggles, just as the bell rang to indicate that class had begun again.

Chapter Two - Apple Bloom's Fantasy

Apple Bloom sat at home, the same day, her crayons and paper out, but she had not gotten past writing her name in the corner of the page, for her mind was again wandering, but this time to the harvest. An elaborate fantasy formed in her mind, vivid and satisfying.

She picked up a twisted, half-rotted rope and looked Twist in the eye, edging towards her, a slightly psychotic aura pulsating from herself, emanating her will to shed blood. She could feel the frayed rope in her hoof; hear the sound it made as it whipped around in circles above her head, latching onto Twist as she screamed. She could feel her fear as she was hoisted onto a rafter, swinging like a pendulum, and feel the blood trickle onto the blade as she flayed her skin, tasting the crimson pouring out of the wounds, spreading it over her buttercup yellow coat, matting her already red mane. She could see the twitching muscles of the bare flesh, the shiny organs, and could smell the sickly scent of the blood. She expertly sliced and popped veins, swallowing the thick red blood that poured out, watching Twist lose her life. She wanted her to be alive to witness the harvest. Apple Bloom grabbed a scalpel, intricately carving out the candy cane pattern on both sides of Twist’s flank, licking her lips and deftly curving around the candy canes, a bead of blood continually springing behind the blade as it sliced through pale white fur and skin. Twist had long since given up screaming, her vocal chords raw and bloody. Apple Bloom licked her lips again and began to talk to Twist.

“Now, ah really am sorry, I didn’t mean t’get your insides in a twist.” She giggled, wrenching her intestines out and cutting them up, hanging them around her neck like a grotesque necklace and stroking it appreciatively with her hoof.

“I think you’ll understand, I’m just kidney with ya!” Apple Bloom said, snorting at her sick humour as she cut out two kidneys, first carefully inspecting them, and then throwing them behind her with a satisfying squelch. Next she edged closer to her stomach, slashing with a quick motion at the tubes that connected it. She pressed on the purple organ, a green, acidy liquid pouring out, drenching her coat and the floor.

“Ew, Twist! What in tarnation have you been eating! You need to eat more natural stuff, down at Sweet Apple Acres.” Apple Bloom sang out, stuffing a shiny green apple into Twist’s mouth. Twist finally gave up as Apple Bloom wrenched her heart out, blood spurting across the ceiling with the momentum. Apple Bloom flew backwards, landing roughly on the floor with a loud thump. The organ still twitched in her hooves, slowly beating until it finally stopped and the last of Twist gone. Apple Bloom cut it open and poured the blood onto her coat, smoothing it over her, her grin a mile wide. She then set to slicing off the rest of Twist’s coat, until there was a pile of bloodied white skin and fur and a red, cut up and empty corpse. Apple Bloom chuckled and spat on the body.

Apple Bloom shook out of her daze, her eyes glassy and her mind filled with the lingering images. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and blindly she realised she had picked up the red crayon whilst immersed in her fantasy and had daubed streaks of the colour across her page, as well as organ shapes. Embarrassed, she scrunched up the paper and threw it in the wastepaper basket, hoping no-one would see and deduce anything from the mindless scribble. But it was useless to ignore her need to draw out the fantasy, so she grabbed another sheet of paper and her yellow crayon, drawing her body, adding the mane and bow, drawing her face in a wicked expression like she’d visualised. A glimmer of silver was plunged into a lump of red with purple frames set on the head, skew-whiff, and squirts of red blood gushing from it. Apple Bloom signed her name and kept the drawing under her pillow, forever reminding her of the beautiful day dream.

Chapter Three - Scootaloo's Fantasy

Scootaloo swerved her scooter around the corner, the wind blowing through her purple mane as she gained speed, swerving between the other ponies trotting around Ponyville, dodging, kicking the pavement with her hoof to accelerate, before slowing to a stop just under Cloudsdale. She looked up to the skies, hoping to see her cyan idol swooping across the sky, clearing the clouds. A glimpse of a rainbow mane alerted Scootaloo that Rainbow Dash was on weather duty and not to be disturbed, so she turned to her scooter and dusted it off. Her beloved scooter, which had served her her whole life. Her mind drifted to a story, unknowingly just like Apple Bloom before her.

Scootaloo got straight to business, preferring to keep her head down and get on with the job rather than beat around the bush, but she still wanted some enjoyment – and what better way than to employ the help of her favourite possession, her trusty scooter? Scootaloo knelt by the quivering Twist, all compassion gone from her eyes. She was here to do what she had to do, no more, no less. Twist was a faceless filly, simply there for business purposes. Never was she a friend, or even just a classmate. Before the feeling could overcome her completely, Scootaloo fumbled for a nearby saw and began slicing away at the skin and flesh, blood seeping like a hot snake down Twist’s fur, not stopping until she had reached the pale ivory bone. Her hooves shaking, she took up a screwdriver and dismantled her scooter, spreading out the parts. She took a hammer and a few sturdy nails, and crept over to Twist, who was wailing in anguished pain. Holding the wheel of her scooter down to the bone with a nail hanging loosely in the center, Scootaloo drew back a shaking arm and hit the nail down with the hammer, hearing the bone splinter as the metal pierced into it. She swallowed and began cutting away at several other areas, until Twist’s body became covered in sick, wound polka-dots. Scootaloo dragged all her scooter parts over and hammered them all in, becoming more and more relaxed with each dull thump of the hammer, beginning to like the feeling. Soon, Scootaloo had no more room on Twist’s body, yet her two handlebars left. Twist looked at the handlebars and stared directly at Scootaloo, silently begging her to leave them out, her eyes pouring with tears. Scootaloo saw the tears flowing over her cheeks and bit her lip, scolding herself and finally realising what she had done.

“Twist, I’m… I’m so sorry… At least let me stop you crying…” Scootaloo whispered, convinced that stopping Twist’s tears would make everything okay. She took the saw that had been discarded beside her in her hooves again, and began sawing out Twist’s eyes. Blood squirted from her left socket, where Scootaloo was desperately trying to flick out the eyeball, the gritty saw grinding across Twist’s eye, scratching the protective film around it. Scootaloo managed to finally cut it out, and quickly executed the next eye. Twist’s screaming was pulsing through her head by now, and Scootaloo’s heart was ramming itself at the side of her ribcage. The copper filly struck her hammer again, binding first one handlebar into the empty socket, then another. She released the hammer and grabbed a scalpel, just wanting it to finish. She wondered how Apple Bloom could possibly have found this whole idea enjoyable as she reaped the bounty from her efforts, half-heartedly cutting a circle around the cutie mark and letting it fall to the floor, along with her scalpel. Her once-proud face crumpled, and a lone tear snaked out, for the integrity was too much to bear on even an adult pony, let alone a young, innocent filly.

The minute Scootaloo broke from her daydream, she instantly regretted agreeing with Apple Bloom. Sure, she would get a cutie mark from the ordeal, but the psychological aftermath was simply too much to bear. Yet she had seen the glint in Apple Bloom’s eye. She knew there was no way she could safely back out, so she decided to go along with the sickening plan, for her safety.

Rainbow Dash spotted the little Pegasus filly and swooped down to see her number one fan, who was looking rather dejected and distant.

“Hey, Scoots! What’s the matter?” the cyan Pegasus questioned, frowning. Scootaloo merely shook her head in reply, looking up at the rose coloured eyes of her idol and smiling sadly. She stepped away from her and walked slowly in the opposite direction, already a burden lying on her shoulders before the harvest had even begun.

Chapter Four - Sweetie Belle's Fantasy

Author's note: Heh, sorry for this one being a day late, guys. I had a bunch of stuff to do yesterday, so I hope you'll forgive me and enjoy this chapter. Bye!~

Sweetie Belle sang to herself, brushing her mane in her sister’s large, gem-studded vanity mirror. She looked at her reflection, and to her bemusement, saw Twist sitting in the background. She whipped round and saw nothing but Opalescence padding around, stopping to lick a paw. Sweetie Belle shrugged, but she could see her reflection begin to do things to Twist, exciting things that made Sweetie Belle ignore the fact that it was all a figment of her imagination. She dropped the hairbrush with a clatter and watched, transfixed.

Sweetie Belle took a large gem from Rarity's box and smashed it across a table, laughing in Twist’s face. She held the glistening gem to the light, admiring the blue rays shining from it, even through the ragged shards. She sped over to Twist, holding the weapon to her throat.

“You know the Cutie Mark Crusaders song, don’t you, Twist?” she said, her voice pseudo-sweet.

Twist gulped and nodded, not taking her gaze away from the brandished gem.

“Well, if you sing the whole thing without getting anything wrong, I’ll let you go. If you stumble on just one word, you are a goner.”

Twist nodded, hope welling in her eyes. She opened her mouth and began to sing, shakily but still trying to make a noble effort in the hope that Sweetie Belle would release her.

“When you’re… a younger pony… and your flank is very bare…” Twist began, pausing to gulp.

“Carry on.” Sweetie said, nonchalantly inspecting her hoof for any stray dirt.

“Feels like the sun will… never… come…”

“Yes, I’m aware.” Sweetie muttered.

“When your cutie mark… has not come…”

Sweetie Belle’s pupils grew large, her head whipping round to stare at Twist.

“Looks like your curtain finally drew, Twist.” She said, sharply cutting across Twist’s throat with the jagged surface of the gem.

“But there’s just no encore, this time.”

She pushed Twist to the floor, hearing a bone crack. No matter, she thought, bones aren’t important here. Twist was fading fast, she could see that, and there was business to attend to.

Still clutching the slightly bloodied gem, Sweetie Belle imparted her precious musical knowledge upon Twist silently. She cut shapes in the creamy white fur, musical notes, randomly scattered and varied in size, with muscles underneath twitching feverishly, to the beat of an imaginary rock song, the tempo rising as another crudely cut treble bass sliced into her skin.

Sweetie Belle began to hum the Cutie Mark Crusaders theme in perfect tune, even flourishing her dance moves with incisions to Twist’s skin.

“You know what Twist? I really like your mane!” she said, enthusiastically slicing off the ketchup red strands until Twist’s mane was merely patches in assorted areas, shorn close to her head. The lenses in her glasses were cracked, the shards digging into her cheek and piercing holes deep in, the glass jammed in the flesh.

Sweetie Belle held the curls in her hoof, staring from them to Twist’s crying and shuddering frame. Her face dropped as she took in what she had done, in a blind moment of euphoria and power. She numbly cut out the cutie mark and let it slither to the floor.

Sweetie Belle dropped the gem and ran, far away, the guilt taking over her like a red hot flame as she ran, sobs escaping from her throat.

Her fantasy coming to an end, Sweetie Belle looked at her real reflection and saw tears pouring out of her eyes, her hoof raised to her mouth, her frame shuddering. Sweetie already couldn’t do this, because Twist was so innocent. But the innocence excited her, willed her to carry on with the sick plan. The feeling of doing something so wrong thrilled Sweetie, made her feel adult, made her feel reckless. She kept a lid on her thoughts, for fear of releasing the emotional turmoil that raged within, and instead wiped away the salty tears and brushed her mane again and again, until she had forgotten what she was meant to be forgetting.

Chapter Six - Let the Harvest Begin

Author's note: Sorry guys, for this chapter being so late. I've been procrastinating a bit, toying with different ideas, but I hope you enjoy the outcome!

The other Crusaders nodded and shut the door to the barn, sliding the rusty bolt in place. With the loud chink of the rust grinding against the metal, Apple Bloom untied the knot in the sack, letting their captive out with a flourish.

Twist blindly stumbled around, tripping over and screaming through the gag, stamping on the floor and letting out loud sobs. Apple Bloom’s eyes lit up, and she took off the gag and blindfold, breathing in the scent of Twist’s fear, letting the ear-splitting scream sink into her mind. She looked at the pile of weapons Sweetie Belle had assembled – scalpels, knives, scissors, thick, knotted rope, even a screwdriver, hammer and nails for Scootaloo.

She took the rope in her hooves, her mind auto-piloting her actions. She tied it into a strong lasso, just like Applejack had shown her a few summers ago. She launched it up in the air, a passionate strength washing over her in a fit of excitement, and swirled it around, allowing momentum to build up in the frayed fibres.

She let it fly down onto Twist’s neck, pulling it tight. Striding towards the now silent, winded Twist, Apple Bloom laughed coyly, pulling the rope like a leash, until she was looking Twist straight in the eye, her hard eyes softening momentarily in the face of the defenceless filly, before instantly glazing over, indifferent to the guilt. Apple Bloom was resurfacing, but the demons inside her were determined to let her drown. She snaked the light brown fibre around Twist’s body, carefully avoiding the cutie mark area. She hopped up on a stool, tying Twist’s body up on a rafter like a sick piñata, ready to have the candy beaten out of her. Apple Bloom took the scalpel in her hoof, but Sweetie Belle tapped her, her eyes anxious. Apple Bloom gestured towards Twist, bowing her head.

“All yours.” She whispered.

Sweetie Belle only nodded and closed her eyes, trying to remember her fantasy. Notes filled her mind, drowning out Twist’s anguished sobs. Her eyes snapped open, revealing glimmers of hope in her grass green irises, narrowing as she grabbed a scalpel and stalked up to Twist, who was swinging like a pendulum. She steadied her with an ivory hoof and brought the scalpel to her throat. Just like I imagined, she breathed, stay calm.

“Now… I want you to sing, Twist. Do you know the Cutie Mark Crusaders song? The one we performed?”

Twist nodded mutely, a shaky hiccup emerging from the depths of her chest.

“Well, sing it. If you get everything right, perfect, I’ll… I’ll let you go.” Sweetie Belle murmured, her confidence suddenly sinking. What if she does it?

Twist opened her mouth, fresh tears streaming down her face. She let out the shaky notes, her lisp ringing out clearly.

“When you’re….a younger pony…” she shakily began, closing her eyes, blocking out the blurry, dark world around her, the glint of the silver blade beneath her.

Sweetie Belle nodded, trying to swallow down her guilt and focus on the euphoric feeling she had previously attained in her imagination. She didn’t look Twist in the eye, instead choosing to focus on the formation of beads of sweat on Twist’s brow, chuckling at her timidity.

“And your flank has nothing there…” Twist croaked, her lisp shrouding the words that fell from her trembling lips.

Sweetie swallowed and closed her eyes, sharply bringing the blade across Twist’s jugular vein. Blood dripped out, and Sweetie knew she had to operate quickly. She beckoned over the other two, and with a feeling of euphoria caused by the time pressure, she began slicing musical notes into the skin, whilst Scootaloo half-heartedly flayed at it.

Apple Bloom greedily licked at the wounds, drinking the blood, mixing her saliva into each wound, even gently pulling at some muscles. Twist was already growing weaker, far too weak to produce blood-curdling screams any longer. Anything particularly painful could only summon a whimper, but tears still ran freely from her eyes. Scootaloo looked into Twist’s eyes, silently apologising. Twist nodded slightly, understanding, only to be interrupted by Apple Bloom slicing open the cavity in which her organs lay and ripping out her intestines, the long, slimy banners of flesh curving around Apple Bloom’s neck as she wound it, nipping at the organ. She didn’t stay distracted for too long, however, and proceeded to take out the remaining organs, her laughing building to a screaming crescendo, ringing through the walls of the barn, Apple Bloom’s eyes becoming crazed as she eagerly bit into Twist’s stomach, ripping it in two. Blood splattered across the hay on the floor, and Apple Bloom leant in to Twist for the last time, ripping out her heart in a fluid arc, the momentum swinging her back with a loud crash. She scrambled to the nearest weapon – a knife. She noticed that the hammers, nails and scooter parts had gone un-touched, and silently wondered how Scootaloo could be missing out on something so wonderful. She cast the though aside and instead plunged the knife into the twitching organ, blindly hacking parts off, her laugh still screaming in the ears of the other fillies.

Sweetie Belle drew a circle around Twist’s cutie mark, letting the skin peel off. She scraped all the flesh off it and lay it behind a haystack, to dry. She looked at the mangled, broken corpse in front of her, and although guilt pulsed through all of her body, her heart hammered with excitement. Her eyes darted up to see a gleeful Apple Bloom screaming, cackling, her hollow eyes wide, almost bulging out of her skull. Sweetie Belle looked at Scootaloo, then to the floor. With the Harvest finished, so was their friend.

Chapter Seven - Good Old Blackmail

Apple Bloom’s mind went into a blissful paradise, a dreamy expression plastered on her face, satisfaction drifting across her features. The demons inside rested from driving their slave, laying their whips on the floor, choosing to reward their devoted minion with rest and happiness before they could put her to her gruelling and tiresome work again. She felt the reassuring weight of her saddlebag on her side, the pieces of skin folded up neatly inside. After no discussion, Apple Bloom had been given the first bounty of their harvest, to do with whatever she wanted. She interrupted her state with one of worry – what if Twist’s parents realised when their little filly didn’t come back home? Apple Bloom’s mind filled with what ifs, but her eyes narrowed and her mouth twitched into a mischievous smile as she answered her own questions. Her eyes darted to Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle, who were both silently trudging down the cobbled pavement, back to the clubhouse.

“Stop!” she barked, sending the two other fillies skidding at the sudden sound in their otherwise silent void.

Sweetie Belle looked at the yellow filly, her expression incredulous.

“Yes?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“We have to go to Twist’s house.” Apple Bloom’s voice dropped from a yell to a whisper, the corners of her mouth twitching further up as her inner demons inquisitively wrapped their hands around their whips. “We have to get her parents out.”

Scootaloo overheard the whisper, the hint of more danger beckoning, carrying on the breeze from Apple Bloom’s lips. Her ears pointed back, her features creasing with reluctance and worry at the thought of initiating another event that could lose someponies’ life. She looked up at Apple Bloom’s eyes again, still searching for just that one spark, that one thread to cling on to, that one remainder of her friend, but she came up with nothing. She looked down and stayed silent, her worry muting her usually brash, confident and humorous voice.

“We’ll blackmail them. Go to their house, show them the body. Tell them they have got to leave, otherwise they’ll get the same treatment. Sever their phone lines, so they can’t contact the royal guards. Simple.” Apple Bloom chuckled, the grin on her face as if she were talking about making Zap apple jam.

Sweetie and Scootaloo simply nodded in agreement, not looking Apple Bloom in the eye.

“Settled, then.” She drawled, sashaying towards Sweet Apple Acres, her carmine red mane swishing and bobbing. “Tonight, at midnight. At Twist’s house. You guys just be there – I’ll bring everything.”

Scootaloo gulped quietly, nodding timidly at Apple Bloom’s foreign accent. She looked up sharply and mumbled something along the lines of ‘gottaflyseeyouguyslater’ and galloped away, trying to blink back the prick of guilty tears. Sweetie Belle looked at her lingering figure until she couldn’t see her any longer, and then looked back to Apple Bloom.

“I guess I’ll see you there then. Midnight.” She said, over her shoulder. She too walked off into the slowly setting sun, leaving Apple Bloom to herself. She smiled inwardly and ran to the barn, to gather all her supplies.

Apple Bloom prised the lid off a wooden barrel, grunting slightly under the strain. She finally managed to pull it off with a pop, and inhaled deeply when the sickening smell rose into her nostrils – decaying flesh. She licked her lips and reached down into the depths of the wooden container, using her forelegs to dreg up the bloody, bruised and cut up corpse. The mane still lingered on the flesh, knotted, matted and dirty, but still unmistakably red and curly. Apple Bloom delved further into the barrel, scraping past parts of cut up flesh and organs until her hoof came into contact with plastic and glass – Twist’s frames. She grabbed them and balanced them on the mangled face, silently looking up into the deadpan, open eyes of her victim. Crusted tears rimmed the expressionless orbs, black pupils dull, even the light rose ring around them faded. Apple Bloom simply dropped the corpse and pushed it away, the demons inside her wrenching away remorse and throwing cold indifference into her heart. She took a hessian sack, abandoned in the corner of the unused barn, and stuffed the body into it numbly, and threw a large knife into the flesh. She coiled up a rope and pushed it in with a flourish. She was ready.

Apple Bloom slunk into the night, the shimmer of Princess Luna’s moon gliding over her face, which was set with a grim determination, her eyes steely and her jaw clenched. She dragged the heavy bag across her shoulder, her eyes set on the pleasantly light and airy cottage before her, the curtains drawn and the residents in a comfortable sleeping stupor, awaiting their beloved daughter’s return the next morning. A rustling noise emerged from a perfectly pruned bush near the home, and Apple Bloom’s adrenalin-heightened hearing caught it, her ears pricking up. Her eyes darted toward the source of the noise, and to her relief she notice a flash of ivory skin and a duo-toned pink and purple mane, with a flash of copper and amethyst behind. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo, she thought, relaxing. She silently glided towards the other fillies, her eyes serenely half-lidded. She cleared her throat gently. The other two fillies let out a short gasp, their eyes wide open with fear, which melted off their faces when they saw it was Apple Bloom. Scootaloo frowned at the bag, but decided not to question further.

Apple Bloom teased the knot out of the neck of the bag, immediately allowing a waft of decaying flesh to reach its grotesque and slimy tendrils into the other Crusaders’ nostrils. A wave of nausea slammed at them with the force of a sonic rainboom, whilst Apple Bloom closed her eyes to resist any temptation. She slid the blade out of Twist’s carcass and passed it to Scootaloo, who wore a confused expression.

“Go around the back and cut through the phone lines – so they can’t notify the royal guards.” She whispered, nodding towards Scootaloo. Scootaloo gulped and nodded, clutching the blade towards her body.

“Then just be quiet and wait. I’ll tell you when to go.” She said, looking for nods in her direction. She assumed her position at the front door, hoof on the polished golden handle. Apple Bloom took in the whitewashed walls, rosy red roof, potted plants. A typical Ponyville house. Every house seemed to be the same, an endless row of copycat buildings spread across the town – but that was always how Ponyville had been. It was the easiest way to populate the town and help it grow – build sturdy, reliable houses in record time. For this reason it lacked the grandeur of Cloudsdale, the refined elegance and beauty found in the soft clouds, but this had never bothered Apple Bloom. She’d always sought comfort in the familiarity of the area, and this had suited her. Her thoughts were interrupted by Scootaloo’s head appearing around the corner of the house, and with a quick nod, Apple Bloom launched into her plan.

She turned the cold handle in her hoof, and just as she expected, the wooden door gave. How foalish of them, she remarked, to leave their door unlocked. Ponyville isn’t the safe haven that everyone assumes. She rolled her eyes and thanked Celestia for their ignorance, moving into the warm house. The hearth was still crackling a little, and the scent of mint lingered in the room. Apple Bloom ignored her cosy surroundings and instead focused on the task at hoof. She wrapped the carefully coiled rope around Twist’s cadaver, and quietly threw the thick rope over the sturdy rafter, pulling it down to bring Twist to eye level, like a sickening piñata, entrails dripping out like the blood smothered candy. Apple Bloom smiled to herself and sat on the plush carpeting, mesmerised by what, to her, was a masterpiece.

Twist’s mother’s eyes fluttered open, after hearing a sharp cluttering noise downstairs. She immediately sat up in bed, nudging her husband awake from his lazy slumber.

“Psst. Pssssst. WAKE UP!” she whispered, her voice increasing with desperation.

“Huh? Wha’ on Earth is happening?” came the groggy reply from her spouse.

“I heard something downstairs.” She whispered. “Go check.”

Twist’s father stumbled out of the warmth of his bed, grumbling about worrying over nothing. His wife followed behind him, worried nonetheless. They trotted down the stairs, Twist’s mother flicking on the electrical light at the base of the stairs and stopping dead at the sight of an illuminated, red raw body hanging from their ceiling.

Twist’s mother let out a shrill scream, her whole frame shuddering in convulsive spams, retching loudly until she’d vomited on the floor, tears mingling with the acid. Twist’s father turned pale and started yelling, cursing, galloping towards the telephone, but Apple Bloom simply smiled and stopped him with a hoof.

“Your phone lines have been severed, Mr Twist. There is no point in trying to notify the royal guards, or even Celestia herself. Now, say hello to your daughter, Twist.” She said, her voice clear and confident.

Twist’s father went pale with the shock and said nothing, his hoof raised to his mouth, pupils tiny pinpricks.

“Well, say hello, then! She came a long way to come visit her favourite Mom and Dad! Aw, look, you’ve upset her!” Apple Bloom chided sadistically, holding a skinless lump of flesh that was once Twist’s forearm and waving it around frantically. She chuckled, first a low rumble, building up into a signature crescendo before fading into a quiet giggle. With a crazed look on her face, she ripped muscle from muscle and separated the forearm she’d been clutching. Apple Bloom edged closer to the figures, waving the lump of mouldy flesh in front of their faces.

“Give your favourite daughter a high five, Pops! Go on!” she spat out, grinning from ear to ear. Twist’s father reluctantly brought his hoof to his daughter’s, recoiling in horror as he touched countless muscles, nerves and flesh, his fur and skin tainted with the blood of his own daughter.

“Atta boy!” Apple Bloom whooped, throwing the arm into the putrid puddle of vomit with a satisfying splash. She wiped gleeful tears from her eyes and turned back to face the petrified figures in front of her.

“So, Mr Twist, Mrs Twist. I suggest you pack your things and leave, right now. If you let anypony know, we will find out, and we can guarantee you a special treatment, just like your daughter here.” She said, jabbing at the swinging body.

The two adult ponies gulped and nodded, grabbing bags and stuffing items into them hastily, never letting their eyes wander from the dead figure of their daughter hanging from the rafters. Her curly red mane, the purple frames perched on her nose, the shreds of creamy skin that still remained – everything they saw was evidence to the cruel murder of their daughter. Sobbing, they left their home and retreated into the night, heading towards Manehattan. Apple Bloom took down the body and took the knife into her hoof, which had been discarded in the heat of the moment. She plunged the knife into the back of the plush sofa, ripping a hole in the upholstery. She pushed the body into the sofa and cleared up all her supplies, taking a key from near the door and locking the house. She turned outside and gleefully stared at the other two fillies, disbanding them from their guarding positions. She trotted back to the barn, her demons proud of the cunning and deceitful mind they had inhabited.

Chapter Eight - The Last Straw

Apple Bloom sat in her room, thoughts racing through her head, all on one subject – the harvest. She replayed moments in her mind with elation, re-living the vivid scenery, hearing the screams, tasting the blood, smelling the flesh, touching the cold blade. She shuddered with delight at Twist’s agonised face, relished the victory and success of the whole procedure. She wanted to be in the place where it happened again, to feel the hay slip under her hooves, to look in the barrel and be able to see the rotting remains and entrails, stewing in a mixture of blood and bodily fluids. Apple Bloom suddenly unfolded herself from her sitting position, standing in a wave of giddy pleasure and running towards the scene of the crime, her heart swelling with joy.

Apple Bloom trotted towards the barn, her mind still swimming with images on a constant replay, a stream of memories flowing through the valley of her brain. When she finally came up the barn, she heard a curious scuffling and panting noises, along with something akin to… moaning. Intrigued, Apple Bloom checked her surroundings and peeked in through a little window. The breath was sucked out of her lungs like she had been dealt a swift blow to the abdomen.

A red figure leant across a stack of crates, in a rearing position, but staying there permanently instead of falling back onto all fours, a blissful expression on his face, whilst below, an orange, slightly smaller and more feminine body had her face turned to the red figure’s lower body.

Big Macintosh and Applejack.

Apple Bloom was confused at first, her young mind not capable to comprehend what they could be doing. She moved to another window which offered a different angle, and her eyes widened at the full on sight.

Big Macintosh was leaning against the crates, his brow sweaty, thrusting his pelvis forward in the direction of Applejack’s face. The usually quiet and reserved colt had come out of his shell in the erotic act, a steady torrent of filth pouring from his lips, punctuated with moans and sighs. Apple Bloom’s gaze flickered down to Applejack’s face, who was greedily sucking on Big Macintosh’s… penis.

Apple Bloom finally realised what was going on, from blindly stumbling upon some of Big Macintosh’s ‘magazines’, but could not believe that her big brother and sister were doing it. Apple Bloom found her disgust to be magnified when she realised that the small mound between her legs had become moist, her eyes still not flickering from the obscenely sexual act in front of her. In a blind moment of passion, she took her knowledge from the ‘magazines’ and gingerly raised her hoof to the moist area, first gently massaging and prodding, then building up in pace and pressure as she watched Big Macintosh reach closer to his peak, Applejack bobbing her head faster in a steady rhythm, until Big Macintosh’s groans and Applejack’s sucking noises became so loud Apple Bloom shuddered with delight, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as electric bolts surged through her body, she herself moaning in ecstasy, though quietly so as not to distract the blissfully ignorant pair inside.

Apple Bloom inhaled sharply, the fully reality of what she had done emerging in her mind. She had pleasured herself in front of her brother and sister, who were both engaging in dirty acts also. She bit her lip and remembered how one time, she’d ‘overheard’ two mares gossiping heatedly outside Sugarcube Corner.

“I’m not sure about that Apple family,” one had whispered, covering her mouth with her hoof and staring at Big Macintosh, who was pulling a cart in the distance. “You know what country folk get up to with their brothers and sisters when it’s a slow day on the farm.”

The other mare had raised her eyebrow in disbelief, questioning her friends theory.

“You don’t actually think…?” she said, scoffing at the accusation.

“Incest. I’m sure of it. How else do you think there are so many in the family?” she had confirmed, nodding wisely.

Apple Bloom, at the time, had thought nothing of it, as she had not known the meaning of the funny word the mare had used. She glanced through the small window at her brother and sister, who had both briefly stopped.

She heard Big Macintosh ruefully pull away from Applejack as she glanced at him mischievously, scraping away some damp hay and lying on the floor, spreading her legs open and staring at Big Macintosh seductively. Apple Bloom turned away, simply ignoring the warmth between her legs, ignoring the world around her. Everything went blank, just empty space, a void of silence and peace. Apple Bloom simply looked at her hoof, which was glistening with moisture in the light. Tears fell from her eyes freely, her body shaking until she was lowered to the floor, her hooves scraping at the earth in an effort to cling on to the world around her. Her mind went for one last battle, thoughts racing through her head as she sobbed, trying to suppress the demons she had conjured from within, her world slipping and sliding around her, as if she were spinning around, colours blending together. Her psyche chipped and chipped away, the tattered remains of what had been there gradually falling apart as vivid images cracked through her brain at lightning speed, flashes of red blood, organs, the glint of a blade, the anguished sobs ringing through her ears.

And, as suddenly as it had started, silence.

Everything was achingly quiet, and it made Apple Bloom’s ears ring. She stood up, numb.

The demons had finally taken full control.

Chapter Nine - Rein Them In

Scootaloo drew in her small wings, bracing her slim frame against the wind fluttering through Ponyville. She found herself gazing at the skies for not the first time that day, attempting to let her mind drift away from the miserable stupor she’d been in since the harvest. Tears dripped from her amethyst eyes, rolling down her ochre cheeks. She whimpered gently, each image flashing across her mind like a whip cracking across her skin, evoking a fresh flood of warm tears to stream over her face. She blindly stumbled under a tree, collapsing in a miserable heap by the rough, knotted trunk. She cried for what seemed to be hours, torturous memories collecting in her mind, her emotions running in confused circles – sad, angry, confused, and finally, the want to give up. She sobbed openly whilst sad, whined in frustration and beat her hooves on the floor whilst angered, buried her head in her forelegs when confused and stared blankly at the sky when she wanted to give up. The harvest was bringing her to the edge, her worries and paranoia clouding her personality, but she wouldn’t give in, not like Apple Bloom.

That was one thing the little Pegasus filly was determined of.

She wouldn’t let her sadness cloud her judgement, her sanity; not only for herself, but for those she loved.

Scootaloo’s ears pricked up, hearing fast hoofbeats resounding nearby, echoing through the otherwise quiet and peaceful landscape Scootaloo has settled herself in. She looked around wildly, dragging her hoof across her eyes in an effort to dry up the best of the tears, and spotted Sweetie Belle thundering down the cobbled path, her purple and pink mane flying haphazardly behind her, a worried expression painted on her face. Scootaloo stood up and met her filly friend half way.

“It’s Apple Bloom,” Sweetie Belle said. “She said we have to meet in the clubhouse, because she has… an idea. And a surprise.”

Scootaloo stepped backwards, shaking her head from side to side.

“No… nononono… I’m not getting involved in any more of her ideas… And I’m not sure I’d like her surprise…” she whispered, her body trembling visibly.

Sweetie Belle nodded, her concern shining through her face, empathising with her friend.

“I know,” she said, “That’s just what I thought. But you know what’s happened to her. Maybe we should just see what she wants… and then, when she’s happy, we can get her some help. The adults will know what to do, right?”

Scootaloo gulped and looked to the floor, reluctant to admit her agreement with the plan. She scuffed the ground with her hoof, nodding her head slightly. Sweetie Belle moved over to her friend, slipping her arm around Scootaloo’s neck, hugging her.

“We’ll get through this – we’re the Cutie Mark Crusaders!” she whispered, her eyes watering slightly, a warm smile playing across her mouth.

“Yeah,” Scootaloo sniffed, returning the smile meekly, “I guess we will.”

The pair arrived at the clubhouse, knocking gently on the weathered door.

“Who’s there?” Apple Bloom snapped, her eyes darting to the door, annoyed that her careful work had been interrupted.

“It’s us.” Sweetie Belle sighed, pushing open the door with her hoof and staring at the dishevelled Apple Bloom in front of her. Her mane stuck out in angles, hairs stray, matted, dirty. Her fur was dirty and matted too, and the slight silhouette of her ribcage indicated she hadn’t seen the business end of an apple in days. Sweetie Belle silently wondered why Applejack hadn’t noticed, but cast the thought aside as her eyes dropped to Apple Bloom’s flank.

A sharp, glinting needle protruded from it, thread trailing along from the silver shard of metal, which Apple Bloom was hurriedly poking through one last part of her skin. The needle’s point sunk into her skin, earning an excited gasp and giggle from Apple Bloom, who delved it in further before pulling it out and biting through the thread. She staggered upright, a quiet, dry giggle rumbling from her mouth.

“Well, girls, how do you like it?” she stammered, her eyes large and round, twitching and gaping at the fillies in front of her. She gave a small twirl, her dirty mane swinging around in an arc, her flank decorated with two striped candy canes, arching into a heart. Twist’s cutie mark. Apple Bloom giddily returned from her twirl, her grin strangely out of proportion from her face, warping her features.

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” she screamed, rage flaring from within her, wiping away the insane happiness she had experienced moments before.

The two other fillies mumbled praise, awkwardly shifting around from what used to be their friend, but they both felt she couldn’t even be called a pony anymore. Apple Bloom was a monster. She nodded wisely, taking in the praise, grinning, appreciating the cutie mark. She plonked down into a sitting position, clapping her hooves together.

“Now, for my next idea. I think, due to our success,” Apple Bloom shined brightly at this word, her grin stretching even further, contorting her features, “we should have a double hit. Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon.”

The other fillies nodded hesitantly, subdued.

“But, I think they should have a special treatment, because they’ve been so pleasant to us!” she said, sarcasm dripping from her words.

“Blanks flanks!” she screeched, mocking their voices, followed by an obnoxious laugh.

“So, I thought… why not give them something really… forbidden? Something we shouldn’t know about, but we will like so much…” she whispered, the light playing across her figure, creating an ominous shadow beside her as she slowly stepped closer to the fillies in front of her.

“Rape.” She uttered, a single word, but with so much satisfaction, a slight tinge of desperation mingling into a creepy grin, shadows looming over Apple Bloom’s face.

Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo stood silent, unconvinced. Apple Bloom realised this and smirked, rising to the challenge.

"Imagine them screaming", Apple Bloom said, breathing rapidly, her eyelids fluttering shut in a blissful expression.

"The screaming, while you do wonderful things to them... And no one will know. We'll feel all grown up, doing things we shouldn't know how, and they'll like it, they'll like it more than they know how. Doesn't that just thrill you?"

Her voice became thick and sensual, Apple Bloom biting her lip as she visualised the scene playing out, the small mound of flesh between her legs becoming sensitive to every movement. Her eyelids gradually lifted open to reveal an unsure Scootaloo and a mildly aroused Sweetie Belle, and Apple Bloom stood up, content. As long as at least one other Crusader would go along with this portion of the plan, everything was fine.

“Scootaloo, since you aren’t doing this, coward, you are in charge of getting them. You will climb up, drug them, and take them back down to us, where we will be waiting with sacks. Got it?” she said with ease, as if insulting her once best friend were nothing. Scootaloo nodded in reply, her eyes betraying her mistrust and hurt at the insult, opening her mouth to ask a question, only to be interrupted by Apple Bloom.

“I have a place to get the drug. It will be easy to administer, don’t you worry.” She said, stepping closer to Scootaloo,

inhaling the musky scent that radiated off her. She snapped around and looked at Sweetie Belle.

“You’re doing it with me, Sweetie Belle,” she said, her gaze steely and serious, yet the twisted grin still stretching across her jaw, “And you are in for some fun, I can assure you.” Apple Bloom flicked her knotted tail and sat down, her gaze sultry, her hollow eyes unblinking in Sweetie Belle’s direction.

The plan was decided, and the date set. Apple Bloom smirked triumphantly, peering over at the fillies who were wrapped around her hoof. Sweetie Belle looked flustered and shy, embarrassed of her arousal. Scootaloo sat dejectedly, looking out of the window.

Apple Bloom smiled to herself, smoothing her hoof over the pristine cutie mark, its vibrant pink colours sharp against the creamy white background. She savoured her victory, her triumph, her trophy, in a haze of happiness and accomplishment.

Chapter Ten - Practice Makes Perfect

“Pinkie?” Apple Bloom whispered, knocking on the door of Sugarcube Corner. She patiently stood alone, waiting for the pink party pony to answer. She heard a rapid hoofbeat noise as Pinkie Pie cantered upstairs from her basement, opening the door enthusiastically.

“Apple Bloom! Boy I haven’t seen you for a while, how have you been? I’ve been good, I was just making some cupcakes, man, I can’t get enough of those! Rainbow Dash is helping out, so I think these cupcakes are gonna be better than ever! Remember when we made cupcakes? I sang a song! Do you remember how it goes? All you got-“

Apple Bloom cleared her throat, interrupting the enthusiastic pony.

“Did I hear you are making cupcakes?” she asked, her brow rising when she noticed small flecks of blood in Pinkie Pie’s cotton candy mane.

“Yeah, but I’m really busy, maybe you can help me and Rarity next time, I dunno, are you any good with a knife, or maybe-“ Pinkie Pie began again, her eyes lighting up.

“Maybe,” Apple Bloom said, “But I just need to borrow some of your equipment. Do you have any of that chloroform left over?”

“Chloroform?” Pinkie said, cocking her head in confusion. “Ohhhh, that sleepy stuff! Yeah, I’ve got a ton. Hold on!”

Pinkie Pie bounced off, opening the heavy door to her basement and allowing a strange noise to erupt before silence resumed. She sped upstairs again, clutching a bottle full of clear liquid.

“Perfect. Thanks Pinkie, have fun. Say hello to Rainbow Dash for me.” Apple Bloom said, winking.

“Okey dokey lokey!” Pinkie Pie said, grinning and shutting her door. Apple Bloom hugged the slim, cool bottle to her chest briefly and admired the childish cursive on the pink label, spelling out ‘chloroform’. Trust Pinkie to decorate her anaesthetics, thought Apple Bloom. She threw the bottle into her saddlebag and trotted towards Sweet Apple Acres, licking her lips greedily.

Calmly tucking some of her mane behind her ear, Sweetie Belle took a deep breath and looked down at the glossy magazine beneath her, resting on a white, slightly battered and chipped table. Sweetie Belle remembered her sister remarking how it was ‘so chic’ and ‘positively vintage, darling!’. She smiled slightly, thinking of her sisters exaggerated manners and eye for all things fabulous, before a tide of uncertainty swallowed her positive thoughts as she closely studied the magazine below her, reading the text. Her eyes traced over three x’s, in an almost garish font, screaming out at her, so vibrant and shady Sweetie Belle feared Rarity would be able to spot it from a mile away. She swallowed slowly and flicked open the first page, unsure of what to expect.

Lurid images floated into her eyes, dirty, inappropriate, wrong. Sweetie Belle flicked through the pages, settling on a double page spread with two mares gazing at each other seductively, bodies close together, their hooves clutching each other’s flanks in one image, licking at the puckered folds of the spot between their legs in another, pushing a piece of sculpted plastic under their tails in the next. Sweetie Belle’s imagination ran freely, the feeling of rebellion giving her the most dominant pleasure of all. In her primal instinct of pleasure, she tried to remember the purpose of her practice, her brain desperately trying to find the answer amongst all the excitement, scrabbling at her memory until she remembered – to be safe from Apple Bloom. In her state, Sweetie Belle could not afford to do anything to anger or displease Apple Bloom, so she had feverishly plotted to sneak a magazine from Rarity’s room in the hopes that it could instruct her, but in her wildest dreams had not imagined that she would enjoy it so much… she had simply thought she’d learn what to do from it.

Now I see why Twilight reads so many books, she thought, slyly.

Chasing the purple mare from her thoughts, she instead focused on the images playing through her mind, narrating the endeavour from the depths of her mind, twisting the mares figures and names into that of her own and her victims’. She flushed and groaned, her skin searing hot and sweaty, her mane dishevelled in her frenzied movements, her joy building up into an unbearable crescendo, swelling in her loins until she reached her peak and let out a squeak of ecstasy, sinking down into the plush seat she had settled herself in. A grin played across her face, and she knew she was ready.

A cloud of dust sprang behind Scootaloo, her scooter whirling around Ponyville in a burst of speed. She skidded to a stop when she reached the familiar surroundings of Sweet Apple Acres, a subdued smile briefly lifting her tired features. She remembered all the happy memories she had experienced whilst crusading, the laughter, friendly arguments, determination. She longed for life to be the way it used to be, before Apple Bloom had thought of the idea that had started it all. Scootaloo stepped into the secluded barn, expecting to find it empty and clean, the way they had left it so that no questions would arise.

Instead, Scootaloo saw a twitching Apple Bloom sitting beside the barrel in which the body had been stored in, her back turned to the entrance.

Scootaloo cautiously took a step inside, unsure of what Apple Bloom could be doing.

Apple Bloom’s head snapped around, her ears picking up the sound of Scootaloo’s hooves crunching the hay beneath them. Her face and hooves was smeared in thick, slightly dried blood, and a putrid smell rose from what she held. A chunk of flesh.

White maggots writhed around in the sea of solid tissue, weaving in and out of the lump and squirming feverishly, gliding over the thick yellow pus that seeped out of each wound, lumpy and bruised. Blood splashed everywhere as Apple Bloom raised the flesh to her mouth and ripped at it savagely with her teeth, chewing each morsel giddily and swallowing, pus splashing across her golden coat to mingle with the crimson blood. Maggots squirmed out of her mouth in a bid to escape, but Apple Bloom snatched them and tipped them down her throat, swallowing with ease and staring at Scootaloo. She threw the lump in front of her, turning away from her to reach into the barrel, pulling out a slimy large intestine. She bit into it and a mixture of pus and acid dribbled out, mixing into a swamp green colour which was promptly licked up by Apple Bloom.

Scootaloo could only focus on the rotten mass of flesh within inches of her, the maggots crawling out towards her, fat and ripe. Scootaloo couldn’t hold out anymore and vomited on the floor, retching loudly as the puddle splashed across the strands of golden hay, painting them green.

Apple Bloom laughed and stood up, still clutching the intestines.

“You really are a chicken, Scootaloo, just like I said.”

She dropped one end of the intestine into the puddle and took the other to her mouth, closing her eyes and sucking inwards. The vomit slowly coursed up the makeshift straw, chunks moving freely up the flexible organ as Apple Bloom swallowed the liquid and bit down on the chewy chunks. Scootaloo watched horrified, staggering backwards.

“I…” Scootaloo stuttered, wiping her mouth with her hoof.

Apple Bloom saw the cowardice in her eyes and her expression set to stone.

“You are not backing out now. No fucking chance, Scootaloo. You do this now. Otherwise there will be consequences.” She said, her eyes narrow and voice guttural.

Scootaloo just nodded and ran, she ran until her lungs were on fire and her hooves were screaming in pain each time they hit the cobbled pavement, but she still carried on, though her throat was as dry as sandpaper. She ran for hours, until it was nearly dusk, and she only gave up when she knew she would have to start returning soon, for she could not bear to think of the consequences mentioned if she did not show up.

Chapter Eleven - Revenge is a Dish Best Served Freshly Harvested

Slowing to a standstill outside Diamond Tiara’s house, Scootaloo finally caught her breath, clutching her hoof at the agonising stitch that had developed whilst she had scurried back home when she saw Princess Celestia’s sun begin to set. She looked up at the impressive and intimidating building, her eyes scanning every window, picking out stable drain pipes, hoofholds, the stability of the windows. She carefully analysed each piece of information while she awaited Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle’s arrival, focusing on anything but the task that lay before her to keep her tear ducts at bay. She planned out her route, choosing to shimmy up the drainpipe near a florally decorated window, hoping against all hope that the pink frame indicated it belonged to the spoilt filly, and push the window ajar – it was the only window with no visible lock. She took a deep breath to quell her nausea, and looked in the distance to see a figure approaching – Scootaloo squinted until she could make out that it was Sweetie Belle, trailing two sacks behind her as she cantered towards her friend.

“Scootaloo, you came!” said a reddened Sweetie Belle, her chest heaving for air as she sat doubled over, clutching at her side.

“Of course I came, I never back out of-“ Scootaloo began, puffing out her chest in pride before abruptly realising what she had come to do, stopping her sentence short. She looked down dejectedly, scuffing the floor with her hood. “Forget it.” Sweetie Belle put her hoof under Scootaloo’s chin and brought her face up, looking into her eyes and smiling.

“Don’t get too sad, Scoots. This is the last time… just close your eyes and pretend it’s not happening.” Sweetie Belle tried to reason, looking doubtful herself. She hugged Scootaloo and over the fillies shoulder saw Apple Bloom, cantering wildly across the pavement, stains of blood lingering on her dirty coat. She arrived in a cloud of dust, panting savagely and staring straight at Sweetie Belle.

“Do you know what to do?” she spat, her grin lopsided. “Your sister is such a slut, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had seen her rutting before.” Apple Bloom chuckled at herself, still staring straight at Sweetie Belle. Sweetie Belle tried to restrain the urge to plant her hoof into Apple Bloom’s smug face, the only thing holding her back being her fear of how Apple Bloom would react.

Scootaloo coughed gently and motioned to Apple Bloom’s saddlebag, then the window, indicating that she needed the drug. Apple Bloom took out the cold bottle and gave to Scootaloo, who gripped it firmly in her mouth, her brow furrowed in determination. She began her ascent onto the drain pipe, gradually shimmying up as slowly and quietly as her impatience and adrenalin rush would give her leave. She set her hooves into natural grooves in the plastic and wood, trying to secure a safe path, but her back hoof slipped down from a hoofhold and she slipped, causing a racket and leaving her hanging from one hoof. Scootaloo sucked in her breath and closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable noise of a window opening, but it never came. Opening her eyes, Scootaloo saw nothing and exhaled in relief, carrying on climbing. She finally reached the window and nudged the glass pane open, just wide enough for her slim body to fit through. She crept over to the plump pink bed, where a small, gently snoring filly lay, curled up in her bed. Scootaloo silently drew out the bottle, soaking a rag Apple Bloom had handed her in the clear, odourless liquid and holding it around Diamond Tiara’s mouth, whose eyes fluttered open in shock, the first note of a scream ringing out before she fell into a deep sleep, wooziness washing over her in a tide.

Scootaloo dragged the limp, unconscious filly out of the window, gripping her tightly and making the long and more treacherous descent downwards, surprisingly unhindered. When her hooves tentatively hit the ground once more, Apple Bloom immediately began savagely stuffing Diamond Tiara into the first sack, sparing no courtesy with her class tormentor. She began walking to Silver Spoon’s house without a word, the other Crusaders following.

Apple Bloom paced the ground, gazing lustfully at the roughly made hessian sack confining her victim. She couldn’t wait to tear Diamond Tiara apart, to make her feel the pain she’d made her feel, to finally seek revenge on the smug little filly who had wrought havoc upon her life with her catty, snide remarks and insults. She wanted to kill her personally, to give her as much pain as she could possibly bring upon her without breaking the boundaries of reality. Her shattered mind could only think of what she couldn’t wait to do, pumping adrenalin around the small fillies’ frame, only fuelling her desperation to harvest Diamond Tiara and take that one patterned piece of skin from her.

She snatched Silver Spoon from Scootaloo as soon as she hit the ground, stuffing her into the other sack and cantering wildly towards Twist’s home, the numerous flowers that had previously sprouted outside wilted and dead, devoid of the usual well-tended vibrancy that made the modest home so attractive. She stuffed the key into the lock, bursting in to the smell of rotting flesh, saliva building in her mouth. Now isn’t the time to eat, she thought, trying to put the image of the tantalisingly rotten corpse stowed away in the couch out of her mind, instead focusing on the kidnapped fillies that had begun to awake. They stumbled around blindly, trying to understand their surroundings. Apple Bloom took advantage of their bleary eyes and grabbed a sharp knife from the nearby block in the kitchen, wielding it to their throats. She pushed Diamond Tiara to the floor, her head snapping back and hitting the cold floorboards with a snap. She cried out in pain, realising that Apple Bloom was now looming over her, wielding a glistening knife and staring manically at her, a twisted and lusty grin plastered on her face. Diamond Tiara let out a shrill scream, sobbing loudly and trying to squirm away from Apple Bloom, garbling pleas for help.

“Don’t try and get away, Diamond Tiara. You fucking deserve everything you are about to get.” Apple Bloom said, her voice cold and low. She restrained the squirming filly forcefully, her hooves pressing hard into her chest, Diamond Tiara still wailing and screaming. Apple Bloom grew annoyed with the constant racket, yawning pointedly, then just punching Diamond Tiara in the face, her hoof smacking her jaw out of its socket before the bone shattering into fragments, wedged in her flesh. Diamond Tiara stopped keening abruptly, tears flowing from her eyes as she clutched at her jaw. Apple Bloom smirked and picked her up, slamming her against a corner of the room, losing focus of everypony else around her. She stared menacingly at her victim, still clutching the knife in one hoof. She suddenly dropped down to where Diamond Tiara’s legs met, eyeing the folds of skin with a painfully acute lust. She took the knife to the folds, easing the blade further up, slicing everything inside, blood pouring down the blade in steady streams, pumping the makeshift toy inside Diamond Tiara, who was screaming out at the pain building inside her, feeling faint. Apple Bloom began to groan, licking at the blood that seeped out from Diamond Tiara until the anticipation became too much, and she mounted on top of the knife, sliding the harmless plastic handle into herself. She began to grind, sensually moaning and forcing the blade further into Diamond Tiara, her anguished cries bringing her closer and closer to a twisted and sadistic orgasm, bolts of pleasure coursing through her in a fit of ecstasy, until she reached her peak and the world around her became blindingly white, like she had looked into the sun directly. As she subsided from the peaks of orgasm, Apple Bloom looked over to see Sweetie Belle having a little inappropriate fun with Silver Spoon. Holding a knife to Diamond Tiara’s throat, Apple Bloom settled to watch, enthralled by how Sweetie Belle knew exactly how to please herself and make Silver Spoon feel good against her will.

Sweetie Belle dragged Silver Spoon’s hair out of its tidy plait, the silvery strands lying loose against the green floorboards, curly and wild. Sweetie Belle grabbed t with her hooves, pulling it as she prised open the grey legs below her, delicately lapping at the faintly wet area as if it were frosting on a cupcake. Her tongue delved in and explored the depths of Silver Spoon, tasting her flavour as she squirmed and sobbed, distraught that she could possibly remotely enjoy this… this blank flank engaging in anything sexual with her, against her will or not. She desperately tried to kick at her, but Sweetie Belle deftly dodged her ill-aimed kicks, and began sliding her hoof inside Silver Spoon, biting her lip as she groaned and whispered dirty words in Silver Spoon’s ear before occupying her mouth with nibbling at the folds of puckered skin below. The charcoal grey filly whined and sobbed, her eyes pouring tears as she looked over to a bleeding Diamond Tiara. She could see that her best friend was fading away fast, and fresh tears spilled out of her eyes as Sweetie Belle slapped her flank painfully, grinding her hoof against her. Sweetie Belle suddenly yanked Silver Spoon’s hoof and guided it inside herself, using her hoof to pleasure herself. Soon the white filly was blinded in ecstasy, and still not releasing her captive from her grasp, she climbed off her and hung her head, the integrity of what she had done heavy on her shoulders.

Scootaloo had been sharpening more blades in a corner, refusing to face the obscene act in front of her and instead deciding to face the wall, focusing on the shining blades in her hooves. She heard Sweetie Belle cough, and she whipped around, wincing when she saw a copiously bleeding Diamond Tiara and a bloodied blade held to her throat, a wave of nausea threatening to overtake her. She saw the pain in Diamond Tiara’s eyes, and took the sharp knives in her hooves. She threw them in a perfect arc, aiming towards her fellow Crusaders.

Silver Spoon thrashed out, catching Sweetie Belle off her guard and catching one blade in her mouth, another in her hoof, throwing the second one to Diamond Tiara. They both turned to their respective captors, armed against them.

Apple Bloom roared in fury, a vein stubbornly pulsing on her forehead.

“YOU. I’LL DEAL WITH YOU LATER.” She screeched, jabbing her hoof at Scootaloo. “YOU’VE COMPLETELY FUCKED THIS UP, YOU SIMPLE FUCKING IDIOT.” She stamped her hooves on the ground in frustration, her eyes bloodshot and bulging out of her skull. She whirled around to Diamond Tiara, who was clutching the knife protectively. She lashed out with it, slicing Apple Bloom’s cheek. Apple Bloom gouged back at her, twisting the blade around in her flesh before pulling it back out, and the two began in combat, each dodging slices and cuts from each other until Apple Bloom plunged the blade straight into Diamond Tiara’s heart, stabbing at it again and again until the pale pink pony lay on the floor, her pupils large and empty, spilling blood. Apple Bloom had no time for anything fun – she could see Sweetie Belle was fighting a losing battle. She cut a rough circle around the silver tiara on Diamond Tiara’s flank, letting the skin slither to the floor. By the time she looked up, Sweetie Belle lay crumpled on the floor, tears pouring out of her eyes to mingle with the blood seeping from her wounds. Silver Spoon stood trembling, letting the knife fall to the floor before cantering out of the house, sobbing as she ran but not looking behind, as if she could run away from the memories left there. Apple Bloom stomped and whined, looking from the dead body of her friend to the fleeing grey figure on the horizon. She took all of the knives and stalked over to Scootaloo, who was singing the Cutie Mark Crusaders theme song valiantly, accepting her fate with as much dignity as she could muster.

“LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO OUR FRIEND, YOU STUPID, FUSSY BITCH! YOU KILLED HER! HOW COULD YOU HAVE BEEN SO CARELESS WITH THE WEAPONS?” Apple Bloom yelled, spit flying into Scootaloo’s face in flecks. Scootaloo remained silent, just begging for it to be quick and relatively painless.

“SPEAK UP, SCOOTALOO, I CAN’T HEAR YOU APOLOGISING.” Apple Bloom screamed again, planting a hoof into the side of Scootaloo’s head. Scootaloo grimaced and spat out an apology.

“Sorry, Apple Bloom. Sorry for getting involved in your fucked up fantasies, sorry for always doing it wrong, sorry for making the right decisions. Yes. I did it on purpose – I wanted them to get away, because this is ridiculous. You just have to be patient for your cutie mark, Apple Bloom, we could have gotten it next week. But no. You know what? I can’t wait for you to kill me, so I don’t have to tread on glass around you anymore.” AB spat on Scootaloo’s face, the foamy froth sliding down her cheeks.

“Fuck you, Scootaloo. You were just too chicken for the harvest. And now it’s time for you to go. Have any last words?” she screeched, cackling as she held the knives.

“Yeah, actually. Y’know, I loved you and Sweetie so, so much. You were my best friends, and I loved you guys more than anything. We are the Cutie Mark Crusaders. We always will be, even when Sweetie Belle and I aren’t here anymore. Remember that.” Scootaloo said, smiling bravely in the face of her murderer.

With a flourish, Apple Bloom dug each blade into Scootaloo’s heart, plunging it again and again until the blissful smile would dissolve from her features, but it wouldn’t. Apple Bloom slowed down, choked up sobs punctuating the stabs. She drew each knife out, dragging the body over to Sweetie Belle’s. She let all her tears flow out, hugging the corpses of her best friends, her life, close to her, her salty tears cleaning their bloodied coats.

Chapter Twelve - The End is Nigh

Applejack serenely trotted across the dewy and crisp grass, watching Princess Celestia raise her sun with her usual awe, hauling rosy apples in her saddlebags to the market, ready to sell the Apple families’ wares to the eager crowd. Big Macintosh trailed behind her, carrying several barrels on his back. She stopped by Twist’s house, where she would usually say hello to Apple Bloom’s friend and smell the pleasant flowers her mother grew outside. The orange earth pony stood confused, seeing all the flowers lying limp and lifeless in their pots, and more curiously, they key left inside the lock to the small house. She couldn’t fight back the temptation, and turned the key, intending to check if Mrs. Twist was okay – she’d never left her flowers like this as far as Applejack could remember.

Applejack numbly felt the apples spill out of her bag when she stumbled at the sight in front of her, her hoof raised to her mouth.

Apple Bloom’s neck clicked around, a giant grin plastered on her face and the orange and white fillies still cradled in her arms. Dried blood clung to ever surface, coated over her buttercup yellow coat and crimson mane, the sickly sweet smell lingering in the dark room. Apple Bloom’s eyes gave off a slight luminosity, the crack from the open door shining on her wide eyes, the larger than life whites glowing vividly, only her eyes and mouth standing out in the dark room.

Applejack stepped back shakily, allowing the door to swing open and reveal the full horror of what had happened.

“What in tarnation…” she yelled, shaking with fear. She saw her little sister, coated in blood and holding her dead friends bodies, another dead body behind her, a cutie mark lying discarded on the floor. She swallowed the hard lump in her throat and exhaled shakily.

“Sis?” Big Macintosh ventured, his heavy hoofbeats sounding behind her. He peered over his sisters shoulder, his eyes widening as he too realised.

“I…” was all Applejack could whisper, tears trickling down her cheeks as she looked at the husk of her sister, her pupils tiny and her body wounded. Big Macintosh pushed past Applejack, scooping up the filly in a fluid movement, not realising she had been holding a blade.

Big Macintosh groaned deeply as the blade sank into his shoulder, but he simply drew it out with his teeth and restrained the insane filly in his hooves, once his youngest sister. She screamed and yelled and pummelled at him, sliding out of his hooves in a bid for freedom. Applejack stood in shock, for once not knowing what to say.

“We’ll take ‘er to the loony bin, sis. It’s the only place she can go.” Big Macintosh said gruffly, finding his eyes wet too. Ponies all around stood in silence, staring at the psychotic filly covered in blood struggling to escape her brother’s arms, the well-loved orange pony trailing behind in a state of shock.

A lone, steel grey building loomed ahead, ugly and plain yet secure, for a heavy, wrought iron gate flanked its entrance with two burly ponies guarding it. Big Macintosh nodded towards Apple Bloom, showing the guards the crazed filly.

“Are you her legal parent or guardian?” one of the two questioned, looking Big Macintosh up and down.

“Eeyup.” He replied calmly, sniffling slightly as he gazed into Apple Bloom’s maddened eyes, looking for anything that could be his loving, caring sister before he gave her up to this mental prison.

“You too?” the guard asked, pointing at Applejack. Finding she still could not speak, Applejack simply nodded, tears still streaming freely down her freckled cheeks. The guards opened the gates briefly, allowing the three ponies to pass through before they shut with a loud clang, the noise echoing around the empty hill.

Big Macintosh lifted the heavy knocker to the door, letting it fall once, twice, thrice before a pony hurriedly answered. She kind-looking mare smiled warily at Apple Bloom, inviting the ponies inside.

“Hello, and welcome to the Equestrian Lunatic Asylum. Can we note down your names, for security purposes?” the mare said, holding a notepad and pencil ready.

“Big Macintosh.” He said bluntly, cradling the young filly in his hooves.

“Ah’m… ah’m Applejack.” She whispered. “And this here is mah sister Apple Bloom.”

The mare finished scribbling down the names and smiled patiently. “Please come this way.” She said, trotting to the left of the cold entrance. Three of the ponies trotted down the lengthy corridor, Apple Bloom still being constrained. The mare excused herself briefly, reappearing with a white jacket with straps and buckles dangling from it, hanging from a metal rack on wheels, with three straps on it – two low down on the frame, and one large one in the middle.

“If you could hold her arms out while we get this straitjacket on – don’t be afraid to be forceful. We encourage you to realise that she isn’t who she used to be anymore.” The mare said, smiling sympathetically. Applejack silently wondered how many times she had had to go through this routine before, seeing all sorts of fillies and colts in a ridiculously scary state. After much struggling, screaming and biting, Big Macintosh had managed to get the white garment on Apple Bloom, who now sat with her hooves confined against her chest, the buckles being done up by the mare. Big Macintosh helped lift Apple Bloom onto the frame, pulling the straps around her midriff and hooves tight. The mare pushed the rack along another corridor, taking his sister to a bare cell with cushioned walls and a lone slit of a window, the heavy bars blocking the sunlight and rendering the window useless.

The mare pushed a stack of paper towards Big Macintosh and Applejack, a series of boxes and dotted lines sprinkled upon all the pages.

Patient ………………. Is:

1. Mentally unstable: Yes/No

2. A danger to other ponies: Yes/No

3. Murderous/suicidal: Yes/No

4. Unable to recognise friends/family members: Yes/No

5. Part of a family where mental illness has occurred before: Yes/No

Applejack ticked all the boxes, except the last one. She and Big Macintosh scrawled their signatures, indicating that they agreed to any treatment the asylum found fit for Apple Bloom’s condition. They pushed back the forms and pencils, looking for one last time into their sisters eyes, tears freely pouring down their faces as the mare thanked them for their time and help and wheeled Apple Bloom away to be tested and to have a therapist conduct a report on her. They turned away and began the long walk home, dreading to tell everyone the news – especially about those who had died.

Patient Name: Apple Bloom

Patient Number: #O87WH7

Description of Case: Found with dead bodies, identified as one ‘Sweetie Belle’ and ‘Scootaloo’. Patient #O87WH7 has been subjected to regular hypnosis sessions to learn more about her past. Patient #O87WH7 often becomes uncomfortable and can even cry uncontrollably when questioned on this subject. Patient had engaged in a plan to remove the cutie marks of fillies and colts in her school and enlisted the help of said ‘Sweetie Belle’ and ‘Scootaloo’. Questionably violent and sickening acts performed on members of Patient #O87WH7’s class, including but not limited to rape, murder and assault with a deadly weapon. Patient #O87WH7 has shown bouts of violence and abuse whilst institutionalized, and has been confined to a singular cell. Hypnosis has been proven to not work well on Patient #O87WH7, but when it has Patient #O87WH7 has mentioned demons inside her, a notion often linked to Lunar Lunacy. Patient #O87WH7 has been deemed to mentally unstable to be returned into society and should be held in secure conditions until further notice.

Suggested Treatment: Pericyazine (Neulactil)

Side effects: More sedating that chlorpromazine, and lowered blood pressure when treatment starts. Dosage: Usual maximum 300mg per day. May be given to fillies and colts for severe mental or behavioural disorders only.

Form: Tablets, Oral syrup.

A beige coloured mare finished scribbling down her report on her newest patient, Apple Bloom. She sighed as she watched the filly play with ABC blocks, the drug doing wonders to ease her mind, yet putting it back into a younger and more vegetative state. She tucked a strand of silvery hair behind her ear, adjusting her glasses and setting down the clip board she held in her hooves, sitting cross-legged opposite Apple Bloom. She smiled tentatively, watching the filly play with the wooden cubes.

Apple Bloom concentrated on the blocks, spelling out words with delight, her mind processing simple commands and emotions. The drug they’d given her to placate her mind was working at full capacity to keep anything related to the harvest at bay, but when her dosage level slipped down, she felt her mind cloud over with a rush of thoughts, of ecstasy as the memories flooded back and her previously dilated pupils shrank. The mare turned around to re-read her report, and when she looked back to Apple Bloom, the ABC blocks spelt one terrifying word.

Kill.

Author's Note: And with that, I give you Harvest! I hope you guys all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I really am quite sad that this project has come to an end. But it wouldn't have been anything without all your guyses' support, so thank you very, very much!

Chapter Five - Cutie Mark Crusaders - Mutiny, Inner Demons, Doubt!

The three fillies, minds still reeling over the strangely vivid fantasies they had experienced, trotted down to the Cutie Mark Crusaders clubhouse, to prepare themselves mentally before Twist arrived. Apple Bloom was tired, cranky, her footsteps resonating with an almost savage sound. She had been up all night, sweating, tossing and turning, voices in her mind shouting at her to stop, others telling her she had to carry on with what would be an exciting adventure and would get her cutie mark. Her once vibrant eyes were washed away, hollow and lifeless. Her mind had conjured up images of dark, soulless creatures, demons, and they were taking over, chipping away at her sanity. The demons inside her had sucked away the previous Apple Bloom, and had only left the psychotic shell intent on killing and seeking revenge. Even her once pleasant, Southern voice had faded away to a hoarse, regular one, sometimes becoming guttural whenever the Harvest was mentioned. Apple Bloom was no longer with them. The self-conjured demons controlled her now, and the effect was achingly obvious, from the droop in her walk, the bags under her eyes and her desire to kill, savagely, to satisfy the demons, to get them out.

Sweetie Belle tried to look bright, tried to ignore the guilt, to satisfy the edgy Apple Bloom. She could not be sure of Scootaloo’s opinion on the plan, but judging by the way her head hung as she walked, she could tell it was not positive. The trip seemed longer for Sweetie Belle, somehow, as if Celestia had known of their intentions and tried to wear down the little fillies before they could get to their destination. Celestia, Sweetie Belle thought, biting her lip. If she found out, we would be sent to the moon, like Nightmare Moon, or maybe even executed on the spot…

Scootaloo dragged her hooves across the path, dread muting her usually loud, happy voice from within. Images of Twist crying, bleeding, dying were burnt into her mind, repeating, eating her from the inside out. She just wanted to get the harvest over and done with, and hope to live through the tale long enough to tell an adult, someone who could help her and Sweetie get better from the whole ordeal and help Apple Bloom’s head get better. She looked up to look at Apple Bloom, and looking at the shell of the previously determined, honest and playful filly, Scootaloo wanted more than anything for the old Apple Bloom to come back. She smiled ruefully, imagining what they’d be doing if they weren’t about to steal the life of an innocent classmate. She pictured them trying another scheme to get their cutie marks – perhaps tight rope walking, or even cooking? She laughed inside, picturing Sweetie Belle pulling some theatrics about how she nearly fell off the rope, or how the oven was obviously not working, and Apple Bloom rolling her eyes and pulling silly faces behind her. We are only fillies… she thought. How can we even be doing this?

Finally, the little clubhouse appeared in view, and each taking a sharp breath, the three fillies filed in to the room, sitting on the cushions laying on the wooden terrain and looking at each other, eyes shining with different emotions – determination, doubt, regret. All they could do now was wait for Twist to arrive, the subject of their thoughts for the previous few days, arriving at long last.

An hour passed, but it seemed like an eternity to the impatient crusaders, Apple Bloom even pacing the area repeatedly, snorting, stamping, and whipping her neck back with a crack to let a maniacal laugh trickle from deep within her lungs. Scootaloo looked into Apple Bloom’s amber eyes, searching for any signs of sane life in the orbs. Nothing. Scootaloo hung her head, willing the wait to go on forever.

However, Twist, being herself, was punctual. She arrived laden with a sleeping bag, pillows, and a bag stuffed full of various treats, fresh from Sugarcube Corner, delicious, buttery pastries, rich chocolate treats, delicately iced cupcakes, freshly popped popcorn slathered in butter and crystals of sweet sugar, sweet, fizzy drinks in cold, curved glass bottles. She knocked on the weathered wooden door enthusiastically, her purple frames slipping briefly. Apple Bloom immediately cantered over to the door, whipping it open, a freakishly wide grin on her face.

“Twist. You’re here.” She yelped, pupils shrinking. She licked her lips and invited the filly in.

“Are you guys… okay?” Twist said, her speech fuzzy and masked in confusion. Scootaloo looked up, her amethyst eyes full of remorse and pity. She nodded, a tiny movement, barely noticeable. She stood up shakily, holding a piece of crumpled material. She stepped towards Twist, her vision blurring with the uncontrollable tears slipping out. She lunged at her, ramming the rag into her mouth and tying it securely behind Twist’s head. Sweetie Belle ran slightly behind, another rag trailing like a banner behind her. She clamped it around Twist’s eyes, blinding the worried filly. She desperately gurgled, muffled pleas for help, but nothing coherent came out. Apple Bloom savagely snatched her body, even though it was heavier than herself, and stuffed her into a bag. She left a small gap, allowing Twist to breathe.

“We don’t want our prey to die before we can have a play, do we?” she said

Reluctantly, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo nodded. They set out in the chilly night, navigating twisting paths by the silvery moonlight, hauling the bag in turn when they got worn out. Soon, Apple Bloom had led the Crusaders and their victim to a lone, ramshackle barn on Sweet Apple Acres farm. Sweetie looked at Apple Bloom, doubtful. As if she had read her mind, Apple Bloom explained.

“Applejack has gone to Appleloosa for the weekend. Big Macintosh is out with some friends tonight. And you know Granny Smith – she’s asleep by now.” She said, in a dull, monotone voice.