Nerath

Rarity turned under her satin sheets and thick down comforter, adjusting her pillow so it would prop her head without dislodging the curlers in her mane. She thought of the shipment of fabrics arriving from Detrot, and how she was going to organize them by weight and color. She thought of her long list of clients she already had appointments with starting bright and early tomorrow. Or was it today already?

She sighed dramatically and lifted a corner of her sleeping mask. The light of Luna’s moon was almost completely blocked out by her heavy curtains, but she thought she could make out the time on her mother’s antique clock in the corner of her bedroom. Yes, it was far too early to get up for the morning. But perhaps a glass of water would be nice.

She gently levitated the covers off her form, holding them aloft as she rolled to her hooves, and settling them neatly once she was free. She was mindful of the sound she made, since Sweetie Belle and her little friends were spending the night in the living room below.

Silhouettes of ponies in mid-gallop formed a tableau along the curved wall, shrouded by half-finished cowls and skirts and hats. Rarity tippy-hoofed past them, opening her door with a gentle creak. She crept through the gloom, down the stairs, deftly avoiding the third from the bottom that would creak like a banshee if you so much as lay a hoof on it.

The gloom was less pronounced in the foyer which doubled as the customer-facing part of her shop. The smell of popcorn still hung about the place. Most of the moonlight was spilling through the door to the living room, which was wide open. Through bleary, sleep-crusted eyes, she could make out the elaborate cushion fort backlit by silver light though half-closed curtains. Somewhere in that complex of foam and fabric three foals slept soundly. One was even emitting a gentle, high-pitched snore.

Assured that everything was in order, Rarity wended her way towards the kitchen. Her ears twitched, a foreign rustling sound tickling them, like leaves on a distant tree. But it faded as soon as she noticed it. Her horn began to shed a gentle blue light as she enveloped her refrigerator door, withdrawing a pitcher of water. As she turned towards the glass she kept by the sink for just such bouts of insomnia, she let out a dainty eep! The pitcher wavered in her magical field, tipping a splash of water onto the floor.

There was a sizable ant on her countertop, the red of dried blood in the glow of her horn, wiggling its little feelers in the air. Rarity shuddered delicately, feeling her skin crawl a little beneath her fur. She steadied herself with a breath. She was not prone to fits of panic, and she was certainly not afraid of a little bug. Sliding the pitcher safely onto the table beside her, she used her magic to deftly flip her water glass upside down over the intruder, trapping it beneath.

She shook herself lightly to try and settle her fur, which felt like it was standing on end. “I don’t know what you think you are doing here,” she whispered, “But you gave me quite the shock, you know.” Rarity approached the glass to study her captive. It was crawling about the sides of the glass now, seemingly frantic to get out. Its little pincers waggled, biting at the air.

Rarity unconsciously adjusted her mane, filled with curlers as it was. “Forgive me, little one, but I must find a bit of paper to escort you outside. I couldn’t imagine Fluttershy’s reaction if I simply washed you down the drain.” As she turned to leave the kitchen, however, some hint of movement by the sink caught her eye. She tilted her head, allowing her horn to shed its light in that direction.

There were ants in the sink. At least six of them crawling about, from what she could see. A cold sensation washed over her, a prickle that started at the nape of her neck and spread outward. The feeling was quickly followed by annoyance. Obviously, one of Sweetie Belle’s friends had left food out; perhaps they had gotten into her stash of imported chocolates. If they had, Rarity intended to become quite cross.

She wasn’t afraid of insects, per se. But she drew the line at having to wrangle them in the dark. She likewise refused to do nothing at all. This was her home, after all. She would simply have to wake up early to deal with the invasion. She backed out of the kitchen and swung the door shut, blocking the crawling dots from her view.

The gentle sound of distant rustling leaves soothed her frazzled nerves. The kitchen was a lost cause for tonight, obviously, but she could at least take steps to contain the intruders. A towel, that’s what she needed. She would lay a towel along the bottom of the kitchen door and head back to bed. She trotted lightly towards the downstairs bathroom, nudging the door open with a hoof.

The towel hung there, just beyond the mirror. She brushed into the dark room, reaching out a hoof, and froze. Her stomach sank. Even in the darkness, she could see a couple of small dots moving about the wall. Not many, but enough to know she was far too late to contain her newfound kitchen friends. Instead of the towel, she moved her hoof towards the light switch.

Rarity hesitated. “It’s okay,” she breathed. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” She was not going to panic. She was a level-headed, reasonable pony. Most of the time, anyway. This was simply a problem that needed to be fixed. Maybe it was a five-alarm, reschedule her appointments, call Fluttershy in the middle of the night kind of problem, sure. But she wasn’t going to lose her head and start screaming hysterically. Not while she might panic the foals in the next room.

So why did she hesitate? What was she so afraid of seeing? She swallowed thickly, and turned on the light.

As she feared, there were ants on the wall, scurrying about. Her skin itched beneath her fur just watching them, and her shoulders tensed all the way up. They didn’t seem to move with a destination in mind, instead changing directions in strange patterns, frantically waving their feelers whenever they stopped.

Rarity barely had time to process the possibility that none of the children were to blame for a home invasion of this magnitude, when her shower curtain gently billowed towards her, as though the shower was running. The curtain was infested with crawling ants, some of them lifting their abdomens, reaching for her with their front legs. The plastic sheet gently brought them within a hair’s breadth of her flank.

A strangled scream squeaked out of Rarity’s throat as she twitched away, prancing towards the wall that also had bugs all over it. She fled, her hooves barely touching the floor. Her lips were clamped shut over her cries, as though bugs were trying to crawl inside her. She knew she was panicking, but that somehow made it worse. She thought she could feel them wending through her fur, and she was suddenly frantic to make the sensation stop.

The rustling leaves were back, and Rarity was instantly certain that the sound was not actually leaves. She needed to get out. She would make a fool out of herself in front of half of Ponyville if she must, but she was getting out of here. The house, and her dignity, were lost. But she couldn’t leave yet. The foals. And Opalescence. She could levitate them out if she needed to. Probably. If she could focus long enough. She had to try.

Rarity slid into the living room, dominated by the silhouette of the massive blanket fort, complete with a flag flying from the top of the highest point. Moonlight fell through a gap in the curtains, and she could see the tree outside the window. Its leaves were perfectly still. “S-Sweetie Belle?” She didn’t want to panic the foals, but despite her best efforts, her voice was high and tremulous. She’d barely made a sound. “Wake up, Sweetie, we need to go.”

Her horn shed blue light over the fort as she enveloped the sheet over the entrance with her magic. It was speckled with moving dots. Of course it was. She shook it with her magic, instinctively dislodging many of the ants which plopped softly onto the carpet. Rarity’s face stretched into a grimace as she pulled the sheet back, afraid now of what she might see.

Sweetie Belle was there, awake, blinking sleep out of her eyes. Two other shapes lay in the shadows, the one with wings beginning to stir. Sweetie Belle’s green eyes furrowed quizzically in the light of Rarity’s horn. “Mmmmfff… Rarity, what’s wrong?”

Rarity felt as though she was balanced on a razor’s edge. But she was moving, and she had a plan. She could feel anger bubbling up inside her. Anger she could direct at this infestation once she was safely out and away from here. “We need to leave now.”

“What’s happening?” Sweetie Belle’s voice was louder now, scared. Both of her companions were stirring, rising to their little hooves. She peeked her little head out of the opening, training her frightened eyes on Rarity. Then she glanced straight up and screamed.

Rarity couldn’t look up. She couldn’t. She would lose her focus and her composure and then she would lose control of the situation. Yet she had to look. This was her home. This was her sister. She needed to look. She needed to know how bad it really was.

She looked up.

Her ceiling was a carpet of rustling spots and wiggling limbs. There were little ants and larger ants with square heads and longer ants with small white orbs clinging all along their backs. There were even bigger ants with black wings folded down their backs. There were bugs she hardly recognized as ants, but they all seemed to be flowing across her ceiling in the same general direction.

Rarity crouched, her eyes glued to the scene above her. She took an involuntary step back, and something crunched loudly beneath her forehoof. She tore her eyes off the ceiling to look. There, where her hoof had just been, was the mangled body of a very large ant, mushed into the carpet. The sudden silence was deafening.

Every insect had stopped in perfect unison. They all waved their feelers blindly in her direction, arching their little bodies towards her. “Rarity.” Her little sister’s voice was small but stern, commanding. “Don’t close your eyes.”

“W-what?” Rarity barely breathed the word. But the first wiggling shape fell from the ceiling with a soft sound, like a raindrop from a clouded sky. Then seven. Then a hundred, a gentle pattering filled the room. They were in her mane. In her fur. Landing up and down her back. Falling into her tail, her face, drenching her in a deluge of countless scurrying, biting insects.

Rarity squeezed her eyes shut.