The Impermanence Of Sand

by Estee

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There were ways in which the exceptionally beautiful immigrant from the griffon homelands was still trying to figure ponies out, and this continued despite the fact that she biologically counted as an equine. This was considered to be possession of a particularly effective disguise -- one which didn't really do all that much good, because Fleur couldn't do anything about getting her heart to match. She passed for a native Equestrian during encounters of short to moderate length, but anything over that was just giving the mask an increasing amount of time to potentially slip and if it ever came off --

-- anyway, 'normal' ponies, which just meant the ones who hadn't had the great fortune to be born and raised into the Protoceran culture. They were... 'weird' was somewhat fair, if decidedly understated. But they could also be rather predictable. For example, it had taken Fleur roughly two days after crossing the border to realize that Equestrians really didn't like dealing with big problems. The typical pony solution to any big problem was to very carefully orient one's snout to be facing directly away from the Problem, then twitch the tail to get it out of perfect alignment with whatever they weren't looking at any more. (Unwatched Problems had been known to bite.) And then the pony would carefully trot away, because the single best way to deal with anything major was clearly through waiting for somepony else to come along and take care of everything.

Fleur, if gifted with somepony (or in this case, somepony else) to openly argue with, would have readily suggested this had effectively turned into the species' default approach. Nudge the issue under the nearest rug, then pretend it didn't exist while starting the countdown on a very long-running timer. Because surely if you waited for one, two, ten centuries, somepony would come along and wonder why that apocalypse-shaped lump under the carpet was sending up plumes of stinging acid. And might even consider doing something about it. Other than 'keep on trotting because there's at least twenty years to go and obviously that means there's no hurry at all...'

Ponies avoided confrontation. They'd set up their entire world to become as predictable, staid, and boring as magic would allow -- and then they didn't want to deal with that.

Take, just by way of extremely current example, deep cold. The Weather Bureau had arranged for that. Today's chill wasn't the natural result from semi-random collisions of vast atmospheric masses: it had been scheduled. In fact, today was set to be the coldest time of the year, by far too many lost degrees. And as Fleur understood it, this was meant as a last-ditch defensive measure: take any biting insects which might have survived the first part of the season and make sure the outside ones died. She even recognized the necessity -- but the unicorn, who came from a warmer country, didn't exactly enjoy a Ponyville winter day of the standard-issue sort. The current conditions, which turned any theoretical mass gathering of exhaling equines into the generating units for an anti-pegasus wall of solidified breath, struck her as being something less than pleasant --

-- except that, unlike just about everypony in the settled zone, she was dealing with them.

There was a schedule! Ponies had moons in which to prepare! And most of them... hadn't. The tall mare had just about the whole of Ponyville's streets to herself, because nearly all of the population was huddled inside homes and businesses. Staying in close, near-inseparable proximity to anything and anyone which generated warmth: pets were getting a lot of extra cuddling, and didn't fully understand why. And the Equestrians would have effectively trapped themselves, seeing that as easier than bothering to confront the cold. Huddle, pretend to shiver, and mutter a few dark words about the Bureau. That was it.

...then again, most of them barely knew how to put on clothing. Winter was seen as a time when you took on the forces of normal seasonal chill through two means: head-tossing a scarf around your neck, eventually followed by spending six post-exposure hours next to a fire because for some strange reason, the scarf just hadn't done all the work on its own.

Fleur, during the days when she'd been called upon to attend multiple high-society parties, would typically make do with the sort of warm kickover cape which kept her intact in the reception line just long enough to reach the hot drinks. However, working as a veterinary assistant didn't exactly give her a dress code to match her escort days (which had mostly been about 'how quickly does my client want me out of this?'), and so she'd -- layered.

It was easy to trap heat. You just put on a thin article of clothing, and that kept a little in. Then something thicker went over that, capturing still more warmth. Continue to don items, where the only cautions were to make sure all joints still had some range of motion and of course the snout had to stay exposed because not only was breathing still important, but you never knew when you were going to need an anti-pegasus wall. Especially for Fleur, who didn't really find any true entertainment in blaming the Bureau. It was much more fun to blame Rainbow directly. Generally over lunch. While keeping a close watch on the weather coordinator's face, just in case the pegasus tried for a revenge lunge.

Fleur was more-or-less trotting through frozen streets under a too-grey sky, one which continued to darken as an equally too-early Sun-lowering approached. Just about every detail for one of the realm's most attractive forms had been obscured by color-coordinated cloth. Her head was just about fully exposed: too much ear coverage blocked a degree of hearing, and there was really only so much anypony could do with the combination of 'unicorn' and 'hood'. But she was, with the exception of those fine features, just about... warm.

In fact, if she moved too quickly, she tended to start overheating. Something which left her stopped in the center of an empty road, waiting for the proper amount of chill to make her comfortable again.

And she was heading directly for the library, on one of the coldest days of the year.

Lights streamed through the windows, coated the snow with warm glow. A white-rimmed, full-sized book fort made of hardcovers (and all the same one) took on highlights of protection, which soaked into the repetitive chapters. Bare branches rustled in winter wind, and the telescope on the balcony swayed.

Ponyville's library.

Locate book.
Check out book.
Leave.
Before I die.

It was among the worst places in the world for an already-warm pony to be.

Or pass out.
...try to find Spike before that happens.
It's not his fault...

...well, technically, it sort of was -- but only if you were the sort who enjoyed blaming others for accidents of biology. Spike, who had a pony's heart (soul), simply possessed the -- misfortune? -- to have been born as a dragon. And while that came with a certain amount of inner fire, his simply didn't burn hot enough yet. The coldest day of the year would find Spike curled up in a basket (which should have been replaced by a proper bed ages ago), in direct proximity to flame -- within a tree which was currently serving as the single hottest building in Ponyville, because the older sister wanted her little brother to be safe and healthy and any library patrons who passed out from heat exhaustion were just a side effect. Given how many layers Fleur had donned just to get this far...

The dragon with a pony's heart. The griffon who had found herself trapped in a unicorn's body. They understood each other, and she always tried to speak with him.

If I do start feeling faint, remember to push my body to the side.
Because I'll probably have sweated through all of my clothing and if I don't do that, I'm going to pass out in a puddle.
A salty puddle.
And if any of the books get splashed, Twilight's going to turn sarcastic.

An experience to be avoided -- but Fluttershy wanted something to read. A mystery novel, for preference. The next, just-released volume from an ongoing series. And Fleur didn't really understand why. She was perfectly capable of reading for pleasure (and, with those who believed that beauty and intelligence were inversely proportional, sometimes enjoyed demonstrating that she was perfectly capable of reading), but when it came to the caretaker's dedication to genre and author...

Solve a mystery. Okay: a lot of vet work was about exactly that. Put together the clues in order to prevent a death. So maybe Fluttershy was trying to keep her deductive skills sharp. Except that... in a mystery novel, the author arranged the clues, planted the false leads, was presumably snickering somewhere over all those who followed the scant trail to the wrong conclusion and just to hoof-hammer it home -- even if you solved the 'crime', you couldn't use the results to gain vengeance (or 'justice', which both frequently didn't work and took much longer), because nopony had actually died. Treat it as a puzzle, certainly, but -- why become emotionally invested? Why, as she'd caught Fluttershy doing, weep over the passing of those who had never existed?

What was the point?

Fleur didn't understand. But a failure to comprehend her love's tastes didn't negate how she felt about the pegasus and besides... she was the mare who was actually in town.

...at least try to say hello to Spike...


But she couldn't see him. Not on the main floor, not from the entrance. Not even when just about every sight line was clear.

It was possible that he was in the sleeping area, taking an early nap. Heat had a tendency to rise, so the little dragon was better off on the upper level anyway -- but Fleur couldn't go up to look. Not without finding the librarian and getting permission first. Twilight didn't take well to ponies casually trotting into her bedroom. Those who also 'borrowed' books from her personal shelves were basically starting the countdown on Time To Ban, and there was a persistent rumor which claimed that discovering a pony under her bedsheets had ultimately produced the partial crack which had marred the front door's inner surface since well before Fleur's arrival in Ponyville.

No dragon in direct view. There were also no patrons, because the schedule said it was going to be one of the coldest days of the year and who else was going to bother getting dressed up for a trip to the library? From what Fleur could see, the population of the tree was just her --

-- that's Twilight's corona hue. Over by the eastern perimeter.
...and it went out.
...and it's back.
Something odd about the borders...

Fleur was too far away for a clear look. But, based on the way the field's pinkish light kept winking out, Twilight was doing a lot of short-term -- somethings. Reshelving, maybe. Fleur had heard that rumor a few times.

Still, it told her where the librarian was. It was one of three vital pieces of information which Fleur needed to complete her errand: the other two were the location of the New Releases book display and the exact amount of sweat which had just sprung into her coat at the instant her fur had contacted the library's oppressive warmth: Too Much. The timer was running...

Find the book.
Check out the book.
Verify Spike.
Get back to the cottage.

Or rather, get back to the mare she loved. Having the cottage involved was... more of a side effect --

-- the unicorn forced herself to move down the aisles. She just needed the big table near the librarian's desk --

-- no copies.

There was a precisely-lettered index card on the display table, showing the place where Fluttershy's desired book should have been. Fleur didn't consider the card to have much of a plot, but the grammar was precise.

Fine. But if I know Twilight...

...she didn't. Not very well, especially on a personal level. The alicorn generally accepted Fleur's presence as a necessary part of having Fluttershy be happy and to that extent, Fleur was reluctantly granted a certain amount of value. But Twilight wasn't exactly thrilled about it. And the two mares had nothing in common. No anchor points from which they could begin to build a bridge. Just for starters, Fleur was fully comfortable with the sexual side of her own nature, and Twilight -- responded to any twinges of desire through desperate repression, apparently because she had yet to fully reconcile what had happened after she'd originally acknowledged them.

Fleur didn't have the full details, because Fluttershy protected all of her friends. But it hadn't been hard to work out the basics. Twilight had turned those first tentative tendrils of desire towards the wrong pony, and... the librarian was still afraid to try again. Being around somepony who was so open in their sexuality...

...who understood desire...

Fleur was still trying to work out certain aspects of how Twilight functioned as an individual. Recognizing the ways in which the alicorn approached being a librarian had taken about nineteen seconds.

...she might have decided to do a favor for a friend. Pull one copy early and effectively reserve it without actual request. Pale violet eyes reluctantly regarded the Holds cabinet. And I can't just take it. Not only would she freak about not having a book checked out properly, but I've seen her casting protective effects on that thing. The main difference between getting into that versus the palace armory is that with the palace, it would be a lot harder to get this far.

But since I know where she is...

Fleur looked around. Waited for the next flare of light, and then began to trot in that direction. Carefully, because the heat was building up under the layers. What it seemed to be building was living space, which might have been why it kept inviting company.

There's her corona again. The lumens are -- off. There may be something odd going on with the borders.

Maybe she's experimenting with that spell which is supposed to teleport books back to the library after their checkout period expires.

Again.

...I still want to know where that journal went.

Still on the approach, coming up to what Fleur was certain would be the final turn.

Something angular about that last flare. She may not be in the best mood --

-- the library had a labeled Returns cart, because the mare who ran the tree had mostly given up on ever getting patrons to put things back on their proper place on the shelves and yet still retained vague hopes that a rolling wooden platform would help: if nothing else, everypony could put things down in the same wrong place. Additionally, not every librarian in the tree's history had possessed the ability to effectively glance at a book and tell it where to go, plus having multiple floating hardcovers surrounding a moving pony was a bad idea. So the cart had a use.

It was currently almost holding books.

There were ten volumes in play, all surprisingly thick. The binding seemed to be exceptionally solid -- and that was all Fleur could initially make out for the books themselves, because she was trying to view them through the light of Twilight's field. A corona which was far brighter than it should have been, and --- the borders were -- coruscating.

Any use of magic was an united act of mind, soul, and emotion. That last created resonance. The emotional intent behind a spell, which could change how everything came out. Even basic manipulation was subject to it. And Twilight...

The glowing books came off the shelf. Dipped towards the top of the cart. And then one of them would -- jerk. A volume might float closer to Twilight's lowered eyes, flip itself open for an instant -- followed by slamming shut. The book would then move towards the cart again, but never quite reached it. Some of them drifted back towards the void they had once called home. And if the librarian noticed that, they were pulled towards the cart again, this time with more force...

The borders of the field coruscated. Twitching between the wavering of deep sorrow and the hard spikes of rage.

One half-drifting volume came a little too close to Twilight's snout. The field bubble spontaneously tightened, and Fleur heard the sharp crack as the front cover's lower right corner sharply bent --

-- what...?
Did she just --
--- did Twilight Sparkle just --

-- the librarian's head began to turn. The alicorn's body started to follow.

Right. Prey sense is a thing. It was hard to watch a pony in close proximity for long without having them pick up on it.

Twilight looked around. Then her vision encountered layer-covered legs, and she looked up. Or rather, she started to look up. Completing the process took a while.

Fleur was beautiful. One of the most attractive mares in the world. To have her out in public, among those who'd never seen her before, would leave ponies walking into walls because the eyes had important things to do and the legs had just kept on going. Even some of those among the other sapient species would pause and admit '...I get it'.

She was also tall. There was nothing stretched about her form: everything was proportionate and elegant. She just happened to share an eye level with Princess Cadance. And Twilight... Fleur had asked, and Fluttershy had verified it: following the alicorn transformation, the librarian had been gaining height and mass -- but it was a very slow process, and she'd started as one of nature's Size Os: exceptionally slender (and prone to missing meals), with a narrow rib cage and a stature which most adolescents could look down upon.

To see the two mares in close proximity was to examine the space between them in hopes of finding the rest of the bell curve.

"Fleur," was oddly... toneless. A quality which felt enforced. "I wasn't really expecting anypony in today. Not with the cold. I was sort of hoping to get at least one pony, but..."

The closest field-held book dipped. Rose. Corona boarders quavered and spiked in turn. Anypony could see that aspect of Twilight's emotional state just by looking at the field. And Twilight, with Fleur observing... didn't seem to care.

"If you're looking for Spike," the alicorn continued, "I took him to the Boutique. Direct teleport to the basement. She keeps a space there clear for that, and she turned the heat up for that day. I'll pay for that. I was going to send him there anyway. Most freezeout days are just reshelving. He gets bored. But I... just didn't want him here today. He can't be any part of this --"

Stopped. The narrow rib cage pushed itself through a slow breath. Eyes dipped, raised again.

"...why are you here?" the librarian asked.

Fleur had an easy answer to that. A fast way out. But one of her own questions was blocking the way.

"You -- know that you just damaged that book, right?"

Fleur didn't know Twilight very well. But you didn't have to be around the alicorn for all that long before recognizing that certain things were wrong.

The purple head tilted slightly to the right.

"I did?"

Fleur nodded.

"Which one?"

A careful angling of white horn indicated the wounded. Twilight turned to regard the target.

"Huh," observed a fully-neutral voice. "Will you look at that. I did. By accident."

The damaged hardcover was fully separated from the group, brought closer for examination within its own isolated field bubble. And then the world's thinnest smile appeared on the alicorn's face.

"So if I actually tried..."

The corona began to collapse inward.

All of the corners bent. The spine started to indent, followed by showing the first signs of fracture. And there was a sound which was a little like a lot of paper being crumpled and a lot like stiffened cardboard being compressed, but it was all happening so slowly, the librarian was taking her time about the process as the book was pushed in on itself about a tail strand at a time, unable to resist or fight back or do anything, as helpless as --

-- how do I stop her
how does anypony --

A partial corona was dancing on Twilight's horn. The lowest possible exertion of magical strength.

It was possible to catch the alicorn in a bad mood. Most of the town had seen her angry at some point. But --

-- she doesn't do this.
She doesn't express it through her magic.
...I am one body length away from a mare who, if she ever truly became upset with anyone, could turn them into a sphere of biomatter.
A very small sphere.

Get enough of them together and minotaur kids could have a game of marbles. It would take minotaurs, because the spheres would be rather dense. Heavy. And perhaps they would eventually stop leaking.

There's no Bearer close enough to reach and Spike is at the Boutique.
What can I --

The pages were starting to go, and it multiplied the sounds. It was as if the book was screaming.

"TWILIGHT!"

"Just a moment, Fleur," the alicorn almost peacefully said. "This won't take very --"

The Protoceran moved.

"-- OW!"

Every field bubble winked out. Books fell. Some of them landed on the cart. One came to a stop at the edge of its shelf, then teetered there. The half-compressed volume wound up slamming down between them.

Twilight's eyes slowly looked up. Focused on the elegantly-hoofticured white keratin which was still in contact with the dark horn.

"And I can backlash you again," Fleur quietly said. And that still works when the caster is an alicorn. Good to know. Not that it would save any future marbles who'd had the bad luck to offend at a distance. "Twilight, we don't know each other very well." Still. "But I think just about everypony who's ever been in the library knows that Twilight Sparkle doesn't hurt books." And risked a breath. "What's going on?"

Anger radiated from those purple eyes, accompanied by frustration and... a touch of sorrow. But the horn remained dark.

"Lower your foreleg," Twilight softly ordered.

"Not until you tell me --"

"-- it's easier if I can also show you," the librarian said. "In order to show you, I have to get something. With my corona. And your hoof is on my horn. And you're probably going to kick it again if you see the first hint of glow. So. Lower the foreleg. Please."

The 'please' hadn't been.

"Twilight --"

"-- I will not go after the books," Twilight steadily continued. "Or you, if you're worried about that."

Slightly, Fleur's mind drastically understated.

"Not until after you understand," the alicorn wrapped up.

The unicorn's lips managed to quirk.

"So you're promising to only target me after you finish," Fleur said. "I don't think I can agree to that."

With a sudden surge of fury, "You're misinterpreting on purpose! I obviously meant the books!"

"Your phrasing wasn't clear and I'm closing a loophole," Fleur half-corrected. "Well?"

In the low mutter of insult, "I never would have..." and then "Fine. It's just showing and telling. Like it was always going to be."

"And you swear on...?" Which had a little genuine curiosity behind it. Sun? Moon? The alicorn occasionally swore on Discord. And rather more frequently, at.

Instantly, "Applejack's necklace."

It doesn't matter if I can't really take that seriously. She will.

"Fine."

Fleur lowered her foreleg, and did so while keeping a close eye on the alicorn's eyes. Watching for the first sign of intent. It mostly meant she got to see the first spark of thought.

"And now that I think about it," the librarian considered, "there's something I really should ask you. Right now."

Twilight's horn ignited.

None of the energy projected itself towards the tall mare. Instead, a hard-spiking corona went up to the top of the bookcase, and fetched -- a magazine. Fleur hadn't seen it there, possibly because the library tended to be well-regimented and the place Twilight wanted ponies to be looking for magazines was in Periodicals. It had also been slammed down so hard against the wood as to render the paper a little closer to two-dimensional.

The issue was half-floated, half-flung towards Fleur, with pages developing little rips in mid-flight: she didn't back down. She recognized the publication: one of the very few reputable news sources in the nation, with a well-earned reputation for investigative work. There was a stallion on the cover --

'There Is No Safe Word'.

That was directly under the picture. The title of the issue's featured article.

What has she been reading? I can guess the general topic, but if she's been picking up some really bad ideas --

"I need to know something right now, Fleur," said an alicorn voice which was about two dropped registers away from crossing over the border of Too Late. "Because you used to be at all of the big parties, didn't you? The most popular escort in Canterlot. You've trotted next to a lot of famous people. Met even more. So tell me something. Did you ever meet him?"

Half of the back cover tore itself off.

Fleur, who knew all about postponing reactions until you found a more private place to have them, focused on the picture.

A unicorn stallion. One who'd just crossed into the senior years, with portions of the mane's unruly black curls lightening into touches of silver. The fur was on the pale side of tan and even for a pony, his snout was exceptionally long -- which let it get out from under the horn: the projection of something other than bone had more extension than the average, and the tip seemed to be designed for careful prodding.

There was a bit of sag to his features. A weathered sort of face: one which didn't start the day with a skincare regimen and it was too late to reverse most of the damage, but she would have been able to advise him on avoiding any more of it. The eyes were brown, warm, and... slightly awkward. The default expression was that of a party guest who'd just accidentally made a minor social error and was deeply wishing that somepony would explain what it was before things got any worse.

He wasn't handsome. The body had no true appeal: lanky, minimal musculature. But there was something... approachable about him. It was a face which wanted somepony to explain and therefore, it was a face which you could speak with. He looked like... a born listener, and the slight forward cup of the ears added to that. Somepony who wanted to know your story.

"No," she truthfully said.

"You're sure," hit the floor, and did so with more weight than the librarian personally possessed.

Fleur instantly felt vaguely insulted. And then she did the practical thing, through taking the 'vaguely' out. "I have a good memory for faces, Twilight. It helped in my profession, when the introductions were flying and I had to remember if I'd first met a pony five parties ago --"

"-- and it also helped," a sudden surge of utter viciousness cut in, "when you were trying to sort out exactly which ponies your talent was letting you extort?"

The immigrant didn't jump backwards. Didn't cower. The elegantly-streaked tail simply swayed, exactly once.

(She did sweat. That was the library. Spike had been sent away, but the heat had stuck around. She could swear her chin was starting to drip.)

"You might," Fleur's lack of decibels informed the very immediate area, "want to check the library before saying things like that. To see who else might be able to hear them. I know it's just you and me right now. I'm not sure you knew. And I never thought you were the kind of pony to just casually kick around national secrets."

She had been an escort.
One with a truly unique talent. A limited form of empathy, which focused extra power down the narrow channel.
Fleur knew what ponies liked. Everypony, and everyone. Sexual desires expressed as intangible puzzle pieces. And once she assembled the whole...
Her beauty had gotten her into the escort business.
Being an escort had brought her close to the powerful.
And that proximity, once it detected the kind of embarrassing desires which would have done damage if they'd been made public...

Fleur had been an escort. It had been the fastest route towards becoming a blackmailer.

Then she'd tried to go after the wrong pony. One who'd been afraid of having his asexuality exposed -- but not so much that he couldn't confess what was going on to his truest friend. Who happened to be named Celestia Invictus.

The Protoceran's escort license had been revoked. For starters. And a very odd sort of prison sentence had put her in Ponyville, because there was a pegasus who needed to learn how to date -- it was a long story -- and not only could she teach that, but the mare who understood desire best was clearly the perfect candidate to screen suitors for their motives.

And then there had been the cottage.
Fluttershy.
...everything.
Including -- love.

The other Bearers knew about her talent. Knew about her, or -- thought they did. But Fleur was now a registered resource of Equestria. She had her own missions, and would have given so much to never have another.

The one mare in the world who could just -- know.
What somepony wanted to do.
What they'd already done.
Creating the chance to stop them before it happened again.

She'd blackmailed on Embarrassment and Humiliation.

Celestia, under the ongoing conditions of the pardon, regularly sent Fleur into Nightmare.

"...I'm sorry," Twilight finally voiced.

Are you?

Fleur coolly waited. Or tried to do so. The heat was building up fast under the layers, and she was dreading the moment when saturation was reached.

"I had to know," the alicorn eventually continued. "Because you would have known..."

'There Is No Safe Word'.

I found that one mare...

"Twilight," Fleur carefully said, "what's the article about?"

As the anger began to surge back, "You can read --"

"-- fluently," Fleur agreed. "In more than one language. But there isn't much else on the cover, especially when I'm trying to read words through your corona. All I can make out is something about 'dark secrets' and if it wasn't the Manehattanite, that could mean anything."

Slowly, the librarian nodded.

"You don't know him on sight," she said. "I need to know if you've read his work, or even know his name. Which is Veil Quernstone, since you obviously can't read that through the field border."

Pinkie's recollection for sights and sounds was effectively eidetic. Fleur's wasn't. She searched her memory...

"...books," the former escort finally ventured, "...no. Most of what I get to read these days are veterinary textbooks and articles, Twilight. You know I'm trying to catch up. But the name -- yes." And a little more quickly, "Barely. I heard ponies mentioning it at the Algonquin." The premiere event for Canterlot's literary crowd: wit, wisdom, and wine, with the third somehow never completely managing to destroy first and second. "Something about -- how they hoped he'd show up some year, but he always claimed to have a -- fan event?"

"I suppose," a rising tide of vocal darkness considered, "that would be one way to put it..."

Fleur waited. Nothing else emerged.

"So he's a writer," she tried.

Which got her an almost stoic "Yes."

"Any good?"

With a rather odd vehemence, "'Good' would be too weak a word."

Fleur glanced at what had landed on the Returns cart. The removed texts, forlornly awaiting their fates. "And you're taking down his books."

"From this area. The majority of his early works are in Fantasy and Alternate History. I still have to clean out other sections --"

"-- what," Fleur carefully ventured, "did he do?"

"I'll give you the summary," Twilight stated as the striped tail lashed against the cart. "There is a rapist on my shelves. And I want him gone."

'There Is No Safe Word'.

"Do you need more than that?" felt far too placid.

"I think," Fleur carefully ventured, "I need to read the full article. For context."

"Context," Twilight repeated.

"You're reacting this way because you've read it. I haven't. If you want me to understand --"

"-- if it's context you want?" The corona split, and several books were recovered from the floor. "I'll give you context. And subtext." More slowly, "Oh, yes. I can give you subtext, Fleur. I can give you so much subtext that you might not be able to make out any words through it. Read the article first. Then read some of the stories. I'll bookmark them for you. And when you're done... come find me. I'll wait for that. And then I can -- go back to work."

Purple eyes squinted up at Fleur. Narrowed. And then the librarian sighed.

"After you get undressed," Twilight added. "You're overheating. I can see it. Use the loft."

"Thank you."

"Read on the main level, please."

"Okay."

"Don't touch my personal shelves."

"Twilight --"

"-- and take your time," the alicorn softly said. "Especially when you're going through the stories. I want to make sure you understand."

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