The Uninvited Pillow Ponies
Anon had always considered himself the ultimate My Little Pony fan. His room was a shrine to the Mane Six, with posters, figurines, and even a custom-made bedspread that featured all his favorite ponies. But the crown jewels of his collection were his two prized dakimakura body pillows—one of Pinkie Pie and the other of Rarity. They were always there to brighten his day, offering a comforting presence whenever he needed it.
Today, however, the comforting presence was gone. The pillows were dirty—really dirty. He couldn’t quite remember what had caused the stains (somewhere between his third pizza and the latest marathon of the series), but it was time to clean them.
He carefully removed the pillowcases, handling them like rare artifacts as he brought them to the washing machine. “It’s okay, ladies,” he murmured to the fabric. “You’ll be clean and sparkly soon.”
The pillows tumbled into the washing machine, and Anon set it to the gentlest cycle possible. “Nothing but the best for my gals,” he said with a grin, pressing the start button. He turned around, giving himself a mental high-five for adulting so hard. “Now, time for some snacks.”
No sooner had he turned his back than there was a loud *POP* behind him. Anon froze mid-step, a half-eaten carrot stick dangling from his mouth. Slowly, he turned around, his eyes widening at the sight before him.
Standing in the middle of his small laundry room, looking just as confused as he felt, were Pinkie Pie and Rarity. Not the pillows—the real, living, breathing ponies.
Anon blinked. Pinkie Pie blinked. Rarity blinked. Then, Pinkie blinked again, faster, like she was in some sort of blinking competition.
Finally, Anon managed to find his voice. “Uh… did the washing machine do that?”
Pinkie Pie bounced up, her curly mane springing with every move. “Hiya! Wow, what a surprise! One second, I’m lying around all flat and boring, and the next—BOOM! Here I am! It’s like magic! Or maybe it is magic? Or maybe it’s washing machine magic, which is the best kind of magic!”
Rarity, looking a bit more dignified (as one would expect from the Element of Generosity), was busy examining her pristine white coat. “Darling, what is this place? And more importantly, what is that smell? It’s… industrial.”
Anon’s brain had officially checked out, replaced by a blinking error message. “You’re… you’re real.”
“Well, duh!” Pinkie Pie said, bouncing over and poking him in the chest with her hoof. “What did you think, silly? That we’d stay as pillows forever? Where’s the fun in that?”
“I… I just washed you,” Anon stammered, still trying to process what was happening.
“Well, that explains why my mane is feeling a bit more… voluminous than usual,” Rarity said, flipping her perfectly coiffed hair. “Though, darling, you might want to reconsider your choice of fabric softener. It’s a tad… cheap.”
Anon stared at them both, his mouth hanging open like a door that had forgotten how to close. “This isn’t real. This can’t be real. You’re my pillows!”
“Pillows?!” Pinkie Pie gasped dramatically. “You mean you’ve been sleeping on us? Oh boy, we’re going to need a lot of explaining for this one!”
Anon stumbled back to his room, his legs moving on autopilot. Pinkie Pie and Rarity followed him, the former bouncing along like a pogo stick while the latter walked with the grace of a runway model. He slumped down on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands.
“I’ve lost it. I’ve finally lost it,” he muttered to himself. “I’ve gone mad.”
Pinkie Pie popped up beside him, peering at him with wide, curious eyes. “Nope! You’re not mad, just lucky! How often do your favorite ponies just pop into your life, huh? This is like a dream come true! Except without the chocolate rain and dancing buffaloes.”
“Honestly, darling,” Rarity said, carefully sitting on the bed with an air of refinement, “if you were going to have a breakdown, this is certainly one of the more elegant ways to do it. But really, why on Equestria would you turn us into pillows?”
“I didn’t turn you into pillows!” Anon exclaimed, finally snapping out of his daze. “You were always pillows! I bought you that way!”
“Bought us?” Rarity’s eyes widened in horror. “Like some sort of… common household item?”
“Aw, Rarity, lighten up!” Pinkie Pie said, bouncing on the bed and causing the mattress to ripple like a wave. “We’re here now, and that’s what matters! And this place—wowzers! Look at all the pony stuff! You’ve got us on everything!” She pointed to the bedspread, the posters, and even the MLP-themed lamp in the corner.
“Do you… do you like it?” Anon asked hesitantly, as if their opinions could make or break him.
“It’s… it’s…” Rarity struggled for the right word, eyeing the décor with the critical eye of a fashionista. “It’s… enthusiastic.”
Pinkie Pie beamed. “I love it! It’s like a party, but with us everywhere! I mean, who wouldn’t want to party with themselves?”
“Thank you?” Anon wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not, but he decided to roll with it.
“So,” Anon said, still grappling with the sheer absurdity of the situation, “what are you guys going to do now that you’re… real?”
“Well, we certainly can’t just go back to being pillows!” Rarity said with a shudder. “The thought alone is simply dreadful.”
“Yeah! Who wants to be a pillow when you can have fun, fun, fun!” Pinkie Pie started bouncing around the room, peeking at every nook and cranny as if it held a hidden treasure. “And boy, are we going to have fun! Ooh, is this a snack?” She grabbed a random snack packet from the nearby desk, tearing it open with her teeth.
“Wait, don’t—” Anon started, but it was too late. Pinkie Pie had already crammed the contents into her mouth, and she froze, her eyes widening comically.
“Mmmm! Salty! Crunchy! Weird! What is this stuff?”
“Those are chips,” Anon said, watching her with a mix of fascination and terror. “Uh, do you like them?”
“They’re different!” Pinkie said, spraying crumbs everywhere as she talked. “But I like different! Different is fun!”
Rarity, meanwhile, had discovered Anon’s closet and was busy examining his wardrobe with a critical eye. “Darling, do you ever wear anything besides T-shirts and jeans?”
“I, uh, I like to keep it casual,” Anon said, defensively crossing his arms.
“Casual is one thing, but this is practically a uniform!” Rarity tutted, pulling out a particularly worn-out shirt. “This fabric, this cut—oh, it’s just begging for a makeover!”
Anon frowned. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”
“Darling, don’t take this the wrong way, but you have the fashion sense of a Diamond Dog,” Rarity said with the same tone one might use to console a grieving widow. “But don’t worry! I’ll help you find something that suits your, um, unique taste.”
“Gee, thanks,” Anon muttered, though he was secretly kind of excited. A personal stylist? That didn’t sound half bad.
Over the next few hours, Anon tried to wrap his head around his new reality. Pinkie Pie and Rarity were real, they were in his house, and they were definitely not going back to being pillows anytime soon.
Pinkie Pie had taken it upon herself to explore every corner of the house, leaving a trail of chaos in her wake. Anon found her trying to bake a cake in the kitchen with half the ingredients missing. (“Where’s the chocolate?!” she had cried, to which Anon could only shrug helplessly.)
Rarity, on the other hand, had commandeered his bedroom and was busy giving it a complete makeover. Anon had to admit, her suggestions weren’t bad. She had a knack for turning even his most questionable decor choices into something that actually looked… good.
“Are you sure this is the right way?” Anon asked as he watched Rarity carefully rearrange his shelves.
“Trust me, darling, you’ll thank me later,” Rarity said with a flick of her tail. “A proper living space is essential for a proper life!”
Anon sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed, watching the two ponies with a mixture of disbelief and amusement. “So… what now? Are you guys just going to live here?”
“Why not?” Pinkie Pie said, popping up beside him. “This place is super fun! And besides, you’re our number one fan, right? We wouldn’t want to disappoint!”
As Anon took a load off of his feet, he found himself surprisingly calm with the whole situation; Rarity and Pinkie Pie’s physical forms now seemed fully integrated into Anon’s life—or at least, they were fully integrated into his bedroom. The initial shock had given way to an odd sense of normalcy as they busied themselves with their new surroundings.
Rarity was putting the finishing touches on his newly organized bookshelf, a look of satisfaction on her face. “There we are, darling. Now your books are organized by color, then by size, and finally by how much they clash with your decor. It’s much easier on the eyes, wouldn’t you agree?”
Anon nodded, although he wasn’t entirely sure if he could ever find a specific book again. “Yeah, it’s… different. But in a good way.”
“Different is always good!” Pinkie Pie chirped from across the room, where she was in the process of inflating several balloons she had somehow produced out of thin air. “Except when it’s bad, but then it’s so bad it’s good, so it’s still good!”
“Right,” Anon said, trying to keep up with Pinkie’s logic. “Uh, I was wondering… do you guys remember what it was like when you were, well, pillows?”
Rarity and Pinkie exchanged glances. Rarity raised an eyebrow, and Pinkie gave a knowing nod. “Of course we remember, silly!” Pinkie Pie said with a giggle. “It was like being in a really long nap, but without the dreams. Or the snacks. Or the parties. Wow, it wasn’t fun at all!”
Rarity shuddered delicately. “It was dreadfully boring, darling. Just lying there all day, being squished and… stained.”
Anon winced. “About that… I, uh, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to get you all dirty like that. It’s just that, well, life gets messy sometimes, you know?”
Rarity waved a hoof dismissively. “We understand, dear. Although, I must admit, some of those stains were rather… alarming. It’s a wonder how you managed to get them in such…places.”
“I’m a little worried about asking where those stains came from,” Pinkie Pie added, wiggling her eyebrows in a conspiratorial manner.
Anon’s face turned redder than Big Mac’s coat. “It wasn’t anything weird! Just… you know, food and stuff.”
Rarity smirked. “Stuff… how drôle, darling. Well, whatever the case, we appreciate the cleaning. It’s rather refreshing to be spotless once again. Although, I do hope you’ll be more careful in the future.”
Anon nodded vigorously. “Absolutely! I’ll make sure to keep everything clean from now on. You won’t have to worry about any more messes. Promise!”
“Cross your heart and hope to fly?” Pinkie asked, leaning in with a serious expression that was slightly undermined by the fact that she had a party hat on.
“Stick a cupcake in your eye?” Anon replied, completing the familiar phrase with an awkward but sincere gesture.
“Perfect!” Pinkie Pie beamed. “Now we’re all on the same page!”
A brief silence fell over the room, and Anon’s smile began to waver. A thought had suddenly struck him, one that he couldn’t ignore. “But, uh, if you guys are real now… are you going to stay real? Or are you going to turn back into pillows?”
The question hung in the air, making the room feel oddly tense. Rarity and Pinkie Pie exchanged uncertain looks. This time, their glances were less confident, more filled with the weight of a question neither of them had considered before.
“I… I’m not sure,” Rarity admitted, her voice tinged with a rare note of vulnerability. “This isn’t exactly something that happens every day. At least, not in Equestria.”
Pinkie Pie tilted her head, her mane bobbing with the movement. “I don’t know either. I mean, I’ve never turned into a pillow and then back into me before! Or at least, I don’t think I have. There was that one time with Discord and the cotton candy clouds, but that was different. Or was it?”
Rarity shook her head, her eyes narrowing in thought. “Darling, if we were to return to being pillows, wouldn’t we have done so by now? Perhaps this transformation is permanent.”
Anon felt a flicker of hope. “So… you’re saying you might stay like this? Like, real, for good?”
“Maybe!” Pinkie Pie said, her usual optimism returning. “Or maybe we’ll turn into something else! Like a toaster! Or a blender! Or a—”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Rarity interrupted with a chuckle. “The point is, we don’t know. And that uncertainty is part of the adventure, don’t you think?”
Anon wasn’t so sure about the whole “adventure” angle, but he nodded anyway. His life wasn’t a TV show after all. “Yeah, I guess it is. But if you did turn back into pillows… would you remember any of this?”
The ponies looked at each other again, their expressions unreadable.
“I hope so,” Pinkie Pie said softly, a rare moment of introspection crossing her usually cheerful face. “I wouldn’t want to forget all this fun! But then again, if I did, maybe I wouldn’t know what I was missing. Oh, that’s a tricky one!”
Rarity placed a comforting hoof on Anon’s knee. “Darling, whether we remember or not, we’ve enjoyed our time here. And if we do turn back, well, you’ll still have us with you. Just in a different form.”
“That’s… actually really deep,” Anon said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never thought about it like that.”
“Well, I’m full of surprises!” Pinkie Pie said, her usual exuberance returning. “Like this one!” She pulled out a cupcake from somewhere—Anon didn’t dare ask where—and presented it to him with a flourish.
Anon took the cupcake, looking down at it with a mix of gratitude and confusion. “Thanks, Pinkie.”
As they sat in the living room, an uneasy quiet settled over the group. Pinkie Pie, however, wasn’t one to let silence linger for too long. Within seconds, she was up and bouncing around the room like a ping-pong ball, her energy levels skyrocketing to a level that made even Anon’s anxiety rise.
“Whee! This place is so cool! So much room for activities!” Pinkie exclaimed as she bounced off the walls—literally. She knocked over a stack of papers on Anon’s desk, sending them flying in every direction like oversized confetti.
“Pinkie, darling, please, some decorum!” Rarity pleaded, her hoof firmly planted on her forehead as she watched Pinkie’s hyperactive antics with a mixture of horror and embarrassment.
“Uh, Pinkie,” Anon began nervously as Pinkie somehow managed to find a way to hang upside down from a light fixture, “maybe we should, uh, get something to eat? You know, to calm down?”
At the mention of food, Pinkie immediately dropped from the light fixture and landed perfectly on her hooves. “FOOD?! Why didn’t you say so earlier?! I’m starving! What do you have? Cupcakes? Muffins? Cupcake-muffins?”
Anon chuckled nervously, realizing he had to actually produce something edible now. “Uh, yeah, let’s head to the kitchen.”
The kitchen was as sad as a room could be without actually crying. The linoleum floor had seen better days—maybe in the 80s. The yellowing cabinets were chipped and had mismatched knobs, each telling a story of desperate replacements over the years. The refrigerator, an old beast from another era, hummed loudly as if to remind everyone that it was still somehow alive.
Anon opened the fridge, which groaned in protest. Inside was a pitiful collection of bachelor survival food. There was a half-block of cheese that looked suspiciously sweaty, a carton of eggs, and a plate of something covered with a paper plate that was probably pasta but was definitely moldy. Anon had been avoiding that particular science experiment for a while now.
“Hmmm…” Anon said, scratching his head as he peered inside. “Not much, but I’ve got cheese, eggs, and, uh, this thing… probably best not to touch that.”
Pinkie Pie peered in, her nose wrinkling at the sight. “Ooooh, what’s that smell? Is it alive? Can we name it?”
Rarity, standing on her tip-hooves to get a look, immediately recoiled. “Good heavens, Anon! How do you live like this? That refrigerator is a war crime waiting to happen.”
Anon grinned sheepishly. “It’s, uh, an acquired taste. But wait! I just remembered I have something better.” He rushed to a cabinet and pulled out a dusty tin. “Holiday gingerbread cookies from last year!”
Pinkie Pie’s eyes lit up like Christmas lights. “Gingerbread?! Gimme, gimme, gimme!”
“Sure thing, Pinkie!” Anon said, opening the tin and presenting the slightly stale cookies to her.
Pinkie inhaled deeply, taking in the spicy, sugary aroma. “Yum! Stale or not, they’re gonna be delicious!”
Rarity, however, raised an eyebrow. “I appreciate the effort, darling, but I’d rather not indulge in anything too sweet. Do you have something more… sophisticated?”
Anon thought for a moment. “I’ve got just the thing!” He reached into another cabinet and pulled out a pack of rye crispbread. “Brought these back from Norway. They’re… well, they’re not sweet.”
Rarity examined the crispbread with an appraising eye. “Hmm, I suppose this will do. At least it’s not covered in sugar.”
Anon put the cookies and crispbread on plates and carried them to the small, round, white picnic table that had been serving as his temporary dining table for the last two years—though “temporary” was starting to feel more like “permanent.” He pulled up two more mismatched chairs and gestured for Pinkie and Rarity to sit.
They all took their seats at the table, Pinkie already halfway through her first gingerbread cookie, crumbs flying everywhere. Rarity nibbled daintily on a piece of crispbread, while Anon just sat back and watched the bizarre scene unfold in front of him.
“Bon appétit,” Anon said with a smirk, and they all dug in.
As the three ate, Rarity and Pinkie Pie exchanged glances as they took in the sight of Anon’s apartment. The place wasn’t exactly in shambles, but it had an undeniable air of melancholy about it. The furniture was minimal, the walls were bare, and the lighting was dim. There was a stack of textbooks and papers piled up on a small end table, and the only other signs of life were the couple of empty coffee mugs scattered around the room.
Rarity couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh. “Darling, this place is... well, it’s rather dreary, don’t you think?”
Pinkie Pie nodded in agreement, her usual bubbly demeanor dampened by the gloominess of the apartment. “Yeah, it’s super sad in here! It’s like all the fun got sucked out by a big, grumpy vacuum cleaner.”
Anon scratched the back of his head, a bit embarrassed by their reactions. “Yeah, I guess it’s not exactly the most cheerful place. But it’s been home for the last two years.”
Rarity’s brow furrowed as she continued to look around, her eyes lingering on the sparse decorations. “Do you really live like this, Anon? All alone?”
He nodded, his expression softening with a touch of resignation. “Yeah, I do. I’m a grad student, studying biochemistry. It doesn’t leave a lot of time for much else.”
Pinkie tilted her head, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait, wait, wait. You live here all by yourself? No roommates or anything?”
Anon shook his head. “Nope, just me.”
The ponies exchanged another look, this one filled with even more concern. “But… don’t you have any friends?” Pinkie asked, her voice tinged with worry. “Or a special somepony?”
Anon smiled slightly at the term. “You mean a special someone. And no, I don’t have one of those either.”
Rarity’s eyes widened in shock. “You mean to tell me you’ve been living like this, with no friends and no companionship, for two whole years? How do you manage?”
Anon shrugged, trying to downplay the weight of the question. “It’s tough, I won’t lie. But it’s not like I had much of a choice. Grad school’s demanding, and most of the people I knew drifted away. That’s kind of why I had you two as pillows, I guess. Kind of like ersatz girlfriends…”
Pinkie’s ears perked up at the mention of the pillows. “But now we’re real!” she exclaimed, hopping a little in place. “So maybe we can help!”
Rarity, however, still seemed a bit taken aback. “Yes, darling, we’re real now, but... you’re suggesting we could be your friends? Or even… your girlfriends?”
There was a note of hesitation in her voice, and Anon caught it immediately. He felt a sudden wave of self-consciousness, realizing how odd the whole situation was.
“Yeah,” he said softly, “I mean, now that you’re here, maybe things could be different. I know it’s a lot to ask, but… maybe you’d want to stick around? You’ve been a big part of my life, even as pillows. I guess… I just hoped you might want to be friends. Or more.”
The room fell silent as the weight of his words hung in the air. Rarity and Pinkie Pie exchanged yet another look, this one full of uncertainty. The idea of being someone’s friend was easy enough—after all, they were the embodiment of friendship. But the suggestion of being his girlfriends… that was something entirely different.
“I… I’m not so sure about that, darling,” Rarity said carefully. “Friendship is one thing, but... a relationship, well, that’s something we’d have to think about.”
Pinkie nodded, her usual cheerfulness dampened by the seriousness of the conversation. “Yeah, Anon. We like making ponies—I mean, people—happy, but this is all so new. We’re not even from this world, you know?”
Anon sighed, nodding in understanding. “I get it. It’s just… after being alone for so long, it’s nice to think that maybe things could change.”
Rarity stepped closer, her expression softening. “Well…it’s nice that you have these thoughts and that you feel comfortable enough with us to voice them…but, I don’t know if we can be the ponies for that job.”
Anon’s frustration simmered under the surface, the weight of rejection pressing down on him like a physical burden. He could barely focus as Rarity and Pinkie exchanged uncertain glances, their earlier cheer now replaced by a palpable tension. The words they’d just spoken echoed in his mind, cutting deeper than he’d ever admit.
As the seconds ticked by, something inside him snapped. Anon pushed back his chair abruptly, sending it crashing to the floor. Rarity and Pinkie gasped, their eyes wide in shock.
“Anon, darling, please, let’s talk about this!” Rarity pleaded, her voice trembling slightly as she took a step toward him.
But Anon was already lost to the storm brewing within him. He flipped the table with a surge of adrenaline, sending papers, dishes, and the few trinkets he owned scattering across the room. The loud crash echoed in the small apartment, a sharp contrast to the eerie silence that followed.
“Anon, stop! Please, it’s not—” Pinkie’s normally bubbly tone was laced with fear as she reached out to him, but he wasn’t listening.
His hands found the cabinet doors, tearing them off their hinges with a reckless energy. He didn’t care that the cheap wood splintered under his grip or that the hinges screeched in protest. He only knew that he needed to destroy something, anything, to release the fury that was tearing him apart inside.
The ponies rushed to him, trying to grab his arms, to hold him back, but he was inconsolable. He let out a primal scream, the sound raw and filled with all the anguish he’d bottled up for far too long. He grabbed a plate from the counter and hurled it across the room, watching as it shattered against the wall. Then another, and another, each crash resonating with the same intensity as the ache in his chest.
Rarity tried to speak to him again, her words choked with desperation, but Anon didn’t hear her. He moved on to the doorknobs, ripping them off with ferocious energy, his hands shaking with every motion. The door itself splintered under the force, and he slammed it against the floor repeatedly until it was nothing more than a pile of broken wood.
It wasn’t enough. The pain in his stomach was growing, twisting into something unbearable. He smashed the wooden chairs one by one, reducing them to mere fragments. The room was a chaotic mess, but he couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, even as his muscles began to burn with exhaustion.
Finally, his body gave out, collapsing onto the cold floor. He curled into a tight ball, his breath coming in ragged gasps as sobs wracked his body. He could feel the hot tears streaming down his face, each one scalding his skin as it fell. His stomach churned violently, a sharp, burning pain spreading through him as if he was being torn apart from the inside.
He wanted to scream, to cry out for someone to make it stop, but all that escaped his lips were choked sobs. His entire body ached with a pain that wasn’t just physical, and the weight of his loneliness pressed down on him, crushing him even further.
“Please…” he whispered, the word barely audible as he buried his face in his hands. “Please…for fuck’s sake, PLEASE….”
But there was no answer, only the sound of his own labored breathing and the distant ringing in his ears. He lay there, helpless, lost in a sea of anguish without any clear path to a state of solace.
The two ponies stood frozen in the kitchen, the chaotic aftermath of Anon’s outburst surrounding them. Rarity's pristine white coat seemed paler than usual, her eyes filled with uncertainty as she glanced over at Pinkie, who was uncharacteristically silent, her usual exuberance replaced by a look of deep concern.
“Pinkie… do you think we should help him?” Rarity asked hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze flicked nervously toward the hallway where Anon had collapsed moments before.
Pinkie bit her lip, her brow furrowed in thought. “I… I don’t know, Rarity. He looked so angry, so upset. What if it’s dangerous? What if he doesn’t want us to help?”
Rarity nodded slowly, weighing the situation. “But… we can’t just leave him like this. It wouldn’t be right. He’s hurting, and if we can do something—anything—to help, we should at least try.”
Pinkie nodded, her determination returning. “You’re right. We should do the right thing.” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, her eyes narrowing in resolve. “I’ll go check on him.”
Rarity gave her a supportive nod, though she couldn’t hide the anxiety in her eyes. “Be careful, darling.”
With cautious steps, Pinkie approached the hallway. The once lively atmosphere of the apartment was now heavy with tension, and each step she took seemed to echo ominously in the stillness. As she drew nearer, she could hear the faint sounds of Anon’s muffled sobs, a sound that tugged painfully at her heartstrings.
She found him lying on the floor, curled up in a fetal position, his body racked with quiet sobs. His face was buried in his hands, his entire form trembling as if the weight of the world had finally broken him. For a moment, Pinkie hesitated, unsure of what to do, but then she remembered Rarity’s words. They couldn’t just leave him like this.
“Anon…” Pinkie’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as she slowly approached him. She was careful to keep her movements gentle, not wanting to startle him or provoke another outburst. “Anon, it’s okay. I’m here.”
Anon didn’t respond, his cries continuing as if he hadn’t even heard her. Pinkie’s heart ached for him, seeing him in so much pain. She crept closer, her hooves moving with the utmost care, until she was standing right beside him.
When she placed a hoof on his back, she felt him flinch, but he didn’t pull away. Encouraged, she stroked his back lightly, hoping to offer some comfort. “It’s okay,” she repeated softly. “You’re not alone.”
Suddenly, Anon turned over, his tear-streaked face meeting hers. Before Pinkie could react, he reached out and gathered her up in his arms, pulling her close. The hug was tight, almost desperate, and for a moment, Pinkie was unsure of his intentions. She couldn’t tell if it was a friendly embrace or something else, something darker.
Her heart raced as she tried to gauge his mood, but his grip was strong, and his breathing was heavy and uneven against her fur. She wanted to help him, but now that she was this close, she wasn’t sure if she could.
Then, slowly, Anon got to his feet, still holding Pinkie tightly. He staggered a bit as he stood, his movements unsteady, but he didn’t let go. With deliberate steps, he moved toward the front door, Pinkie still cradled in his arms.
Rarity, watching from the kitchen, felt a chill run down her spine as Anon reached the door and locked it with a loud, definitive click. The sound echoed ominously through the apartment, the finality of it sending a shiver through her.
Anon then turned to face Rarity, his eyes wide and unblinking, his expression unreadable. His gaze bore into her, and she felt a wave of fear wash over her, the intensity of his stare making her blood run cold.
Pinkie was still in his arms, and Rarity couldn’t tell if she was safe or not. She wanted to do something, to say something, but the words caught in her throat, trapped by the overwhelming sense of dread that filled the room.
And in that moment, the three of them were locked in a tense, uncertain silence, each one unsure of what would happen next.
With the fluid motion of a trained judoist, Anon flipped Pinkie over and pinned her torso on the floor under his knee. The pony, clearly stunned from the sudden slam, lay motionless in his grasp, its coat bristled with fear as it emanated a faint, almost nostalgic scent that reminded him of cotton candy he had bought from the state fair when he was a kid.
Regardless of how cute Pinkie was on a screen, this real-world creature's appearance was unsettling. It had large, expressive human-like eyes that blinked slowly at him, as if pleading for understanding. Small, fleshy forelegs and hindlegs dangled from its sides, twitching occasionally in a manner that sent a shiver down his spine as the pony could see that Anon had no intention of being gentle with her. The pink mare’s hooves were, in comparison to his arms and hands, tiny and delicate.
Taking a deep breath, the man steeled himself for the task ahead. He laid the creature on a flat, moderately clean part of his apartment’s linoleum floor.
The first step was to dispatch the pony quickly. He gripped the creature's small head, feeling its soft, warm skin pulse faintly beneath his fingers. With a swift, practiced motion, he snapped its neck—though the sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt. The bones were soft, almost like cartilage, and the snap was more of a muted crunch, a sickeningly yielding sound that echoed in the quiet air. The creature’s body went limp, its eyes losing focus and becoming glassy, though they still seemed to follow his every move.
Next, he began to take apart and skin the deceased interdimensional animal. The man knew that to understand what this unusual creature was, he needed to break down its unusual anatomy. He started with the pink mare’s limbs. Grasping one of the small, delicate hooves, he twisted it at the elbow. The joint gave way with a soft pop, and the lower part of the leg came off easily, revealing a strange, fibrous tissue beneath the skin—almost like tightly wound threads of muscle. He repeated this with the other hoof, the small longitudinal muscles now limp and lifeless in his palm.
The hindlegs were next. He took one of the tiny back hooves and twisted at what he could only presume was an ankle, again feeling the joint give way with minimal resistance. The legs came off with a wet, sticky sound, the fibrous tissue once more revealing itself beneath the smooth, almost translucent skin covered with its oddly fragrant pink fur. He placed the severed limbs aside, noticing the faint, sweet smell that intensified as he worked—like warm sugar dissolving in the air.
Anon then turned his attention to the creature's torso. He ran his fingers along its belly, feeling the faint ridges of what passed for ribs beneath the skin. There was no need for a knife; the skin was so delicate that it tore easily under the pressure of his fingers. He peeled it back, revealing a strange, gelatinous layer beneath—almost like the texture of overripe fruit. The smell of cotton candy grew stronger, almost overwhelming, mingling with a faint, coppery tang that made his stomach churn.
Inside the creature, he found no organs as he knew them. Instead, there were clusters of what looked like iridescent pearls suspended in a thick, syrupy liquid. They clung together like grapes on a vine, connected by those same fibrous tissues he had seen earlier. The pearls were warm to the touch, and as he pried them free, they made a faint, squelching noise, like wet sand slipping through fingers.
The man moved carefully, mindful of the foreign anatomy. He tore out these clusters, setting them aside on the floor, their pearly surfaces gleaming under the overhead fixtures’ warm light. They smelled sweet, with a hint of something floral, like lavender or honeysuckle.
Finally, he reached the creature’s head. The eyes—those disturbingly human, oversized blue eyes—stared up at him blankly. He hesitated for a moment, then reached down and closed them, feeling the soft, almost rubbery texture of the eyelids beneath his thumb. He tore into the head, finding more of the gelatinous substance inside, but no brain or skull as he had expected. Just more of those pearly clusters, smaller and more delicate than those in the torso.
With the creature fully disassembled, the man sat back, breathing heavily. His hands were sticky with the creature’s juices, and the air was thick with that sweet, sugary smell. He looked at the pieces of the creature laid out before him—the severed hooves, the peeled skin, the clusters of pearly orbs—and felt a strange mixture of revulsion and fascination. He had no idea what this thing was but he felt sure saying it was nothing like the equines on Earth.
By the time he was finished with Pinkie and had a moment to look up, Rarity was gone. He looked all over, finding no trace of the real-life Rarity or his old pillow cover. He had no idea where the white mare could have gone; however, something in the back of his subconscious mind told him that maybe—just maybe—he should find a new apartment.
