The Impermanence Of Sand

It didn't take long to find Twilight. She was in the same section of the library. Sitting, with her hindquarters on the floor. Perhaps she'd moved around during the reading time, but she was back there now. Simply... waiting.

The Protoceran approached in silence. Her field lowered magazine and books, put them with the others. And then she sat down, a short distance away on Twilight's left. Enough distance to avoid accidental contact. The librarian wasn't always good with that.

Neither mare looked at the other. Both were quiet for a time. And the books, still resting upon the Returns cart, were filled with words... but couldn't speak for themselves.

Or perhaps they already had.

"I met him once."

The alicorn's words had been soft. Steady. The kind of steadiness where every syllable had been measured off against every other. A sentence which had been sealed before release, to make sure no part of the confined scream leaked out.

Fleur's head completely failed to turn slowly towards the left, nor did she tilt her gaze down in that general direction. She simply waited. Because the Protoceran had been both an escort and a blackmailer. Two occupations which really didn't have much in common (beyond the rather obvious 'screwing ponies over' jokes) -- but there was a single link. When somepony wanted to talk... it was generally best to --

"-- Fleur?"

Of course, that usually applies when you aren't dealing with somepony who's still sending years' worth of catch-up basic social lessons to the palace. One scroll at a time.

"What?" was addressed to the air.

"I thought you'd say something about that," Twilight's lowered gaze effectively told the floor.

"I was trying to let you talk," the former escort said.

"...oh."

The background heat level in the tree picked up an extra half-degree.

"Where?" Fleur finally asked.

The sigh was equally soft.

"At a theater. Years ago. It -- wasn't for long..." The slender rib cage reluctantly shifted across the course of a slow, pained breath, and feathers rustled. "I -- had been hoping it would be for longer..."

Fleur pictured the meeting.
Then she revised the image, because she'd only known Twilight as an alicorn. It took a little mental work to remove the wings, followed by placing her in front of the author --
-- oh no.

"I still have trouble explaining what it was like to the others," Twilight slowly continued. "Some of the things which came from being her student. One of them was -- standing at her side. During introductions, and ... so I could be introduced." The snort barely had the strength to ripple two strands of fur. "All things considered, I really should have seen the whole Gala thing coming. I just thought that with a party, it would be... different. Especially since it's mostly a dance..."

I've heard a few stories by now, Fleur's mind almost randomly pushed out. She may have been trying to safeguard the world. By keeping you off the dance floor.

But that was an attempt at self-distraction, and the odd touch of chill which had just started spreading outwards from her own sternum suggested it had failed.

"She always wanted me to meet people. Not just ponies: people. There were always a lot of ponies, because..." Another sigh. "Palace. Canterlot. Equestria..."

"I think," Fleur carefully advanced words into steaming air, "I know something about the local population breakdown." About two percent of Equestrian citizens were something other than ponies, and -- that was it. A number which felt unlikely to change and when compared to Protocera's mixing, it was shameful.

"But there were ambassadors," the librarian went on. "Staff members from Embassy Row. Anyone from the other nations."

"Making sure you were familiar with the power brokers of the world," Fleur decided.

She risked a glance down, and so got to see Twilight's lips briefly quirk.

"Actually," the alicorn's dark bemusement said, "I think she was just trying to get me to be more -- social. And she wanted me to see that people came in all sorts of shapes. Species. But it was usually boring. Something I tried to get out of, or get over with. So I could get back to what I thought the real lessons were. And besides, most of the people she wanted me to meet were just so boring. There weren't any shared interests. I didn't want to speak with them, because... what were they going to tell me? About dumb things, like their jobs and families and lives and..."

Stopped, and purple eyes briefly closed with shame.

"...the sooner it was over... the sooner she might teach me about magic again," the pained memories offered. And the tail twisted against itself.

"We've probably met a lot of the same people," Fleur tried. Moving in the highest of social circles. Both from what was claimed to be the duty of the job, while each had been making -- other plans. "A lot of them are pretty boring --"

"-- you've heard of the Lascaux Center Honors?" Which was almost immediately followed by "You probably haven't, since you aren't from Eques --"

"-- the highest award Equestria can grant anypony in the creative fields," Fleur quietly said. "Every kind of artist. Musicians. Performers."

Writers. The others get their greatest works performed -- or do it themselves, if they're up to it. Writers usually get quick little plays of their best-known scenes. Sometimes the performers being honored will take the lead parts.
Celestia places the medal around every honoree's neck. Personally, on the main stage.
While bending her forelegs to each in turn.

"How did --" and then the librarian winced. "-- you've... been to the Honors."

"Twice."

"As part of the audience," Twilight unnecessarily added. "While escorting clients."

"Still twice." And in an auditorium that crowded, she'd turned her talent off to prevent sensory overwhelm -- but it wouldn't have mattered, as she'd been there years after Twilight's meeting. "If it helps any, I -- don't think I'm getting back in any time soon."

She was still a student.
Maybe she hadn't even graduated from the Gifted School yet.

"And even with the Honors..." Twilight's head slowly shook, and the mane stripe lost a little cohesion along the borders. "I didn't listen to a lot of music, I didn't go to much for plays or cinema... I got kicked out of one place because I -- started talking about how the featured spell just didn't work that way... and..." This snort was even softer. "...I don't know. Maybe Fluttershy's told you about why I wouldn't exactly be able to have long talks with choreographers, and maybe she hasn't. But this was a writer. When she told me that he was one of the honorees... it was just about the only time I ever wanted to be part of the greeting line. Somepony I actually knew of..."

Another stop, and the twisted tail lashed.

"No," the alicorn's rising anger self-corrected. "Somepony I respected."

"How much time did you have together?" Because there were times when you had to say something. Even when words did no good.

"Less than two minutes," the alicorn admitted. "The Princess greeted him first, of course. Thanked him for... everything. Everything he'd... done. She thanked him. For all of it."

There was a single moment where Fleur wondered how Celestia was taking the news.

She's half of the executive branch for a nation. She deals with monsters all the time. And for that matter, Fleur doubted it was possible to maintain solitary control of a realm for a thousand years without occasionally resorting to light touches of monstrosity. Or, as it was more commonly known, realpolitik.

"For writing --" Fleur began.

"I know," had nearly been spat. "That's what she meant, Fleur: I know that. But it's like the stories. No matter what was there originally, even when I know there's no underlying meaning at all -- it all gets reframed. She thanked him. Then she introduced me, as her personal student. And I pressed my right forehoof against his left. I... told him that the true honor on that night was just getting to meet him. And I told him what my favorite story was. The one about the stallion who thought he was a Princess, the real Princess, the true ruler of Equestria when somepony else was just managing Sun and Moon. And then he just -- acted like he thought a Princess should for the rest of his life. Gracious. Kind and honest and... the virtues, all of the virtues, but with none of the throne's power behind them..."

The Protoceran waited.

"And the Princess -- she was still right next to me -- had this sad look. She said... that the stallion had been real. She'd known of him, out by San Dineighgo. That she'd left him alone, because... he did no harm. Because his life had done so much for everypony around him, just from showing people what a life could be if you tried to embody everything good. She was just glad... somepony had remembered him. Honored him. And Quernstone said he'd always been interested in history, I'd seen so much of that in his stories but I hadn't known that stallion was real, and I just wanted to talk to him for the rest of the night. Talking about what had been, when... so few ponies care about the past. Still, Fleur. Maybe always. And he was..."

The alicorn was small. One of the smallest adult mares Fleur had ever seen. And at the instant she stopped, marshaled the strength necessary to finish... Twilight's little body seemed to partially collapse in on itself. Becoming smaller still.

"...looking at me."

Slowly, the librarian's head came up. Tilting along the way, until eye contact was made.

"You understand sex better than anypony I know," said the ghostly voice of a thwarted future. "There's a lot of reasons why it's hard to speak with you, Fleur. That's one of them. You're the expert, and I'm -- me."

You're an alicorn.
'Alicorn fetish' is a known thing. Even when most ponies use it as a shorthoof catchall term for wanting what you can never have, some are looking for horn and wings. There are four possible candidates for that attraction. Two are off the market, one is married, and you are here.
You could have all the sex you ever wanted if you could just get past yourself --

-- but that wasn't the topic.

"You understand sex. Sexual attraction, because that's your talent," Twilight's too-soft voice added. "Knowing what everypony wants, and everyone. I don't. But I've been thinking. About how he was looking at me, with those bright happy eyes which were just thrilled to meet a true reader. And you read the article. What do you think he was looking for?"

And without another word, the little body collapsed onto the floor. Curled up against itself in a tight knot of life, and shivered. Trying to drive away a level of cold which no fire could touch.

Fleur... didn't know what to do.
Say.
Anything.

Because she'd read the article.

Small.
Slender.
Weak.
Almost completely socially isolated...

...which was where it had all fallen apart.

"And you never saw him again," said the griffon in a unicorn's body.

"Oh, I saw him," drifted up a weak, bitter voice. "I was in the Princess Box with her. He had the Tier Circle. You've been in the Center, so you've seen where they both are. Honoree section, and where royalty sits. The honorees get a better view. So I could look at him any time I liked. And I was thinking about trying to go up to him at the afterparty, talk about the stories a little more and find out how many others had been based in history -- but it was so busy back there, I was being introduced to ponies who'd just turned up to watch and -- he left early. I actually saw him slip out. And I thought... well, that's something else we have in common. Neither of us really wants to be stuck in a stupid crowd for very long..."

The curl became tighter.

Fleur looked down at the small form. Took a slow breath, and spoke.

"She saved you."

(Although there was an argument to be made that it had also saved the writer. Fleur was now in reluctant custody of multiple mental images. All of them featured likely responses from Twilight to being sexually assaulted, and most ended with oddly-dense, fluid-leaking marbles. But Fleur didn't know if the mare was capable of seeing that...)

Perhaps the response should have been expected. They didn't know each other very well. They weren't friends, and perhaps would never be. The former escort suspected that the main reason Twilight was speaking to her about this was due to the total lack of Anypony Else.

When it came to the Bearers, Fleur's presence was... accepted. She was accepted because Fluttershy had accepted her. And Rainbow was her friend, Rarity still felt that she owed the Protoceran a favor which could never be truly repaid and the debt came with the name 'Sweetie Belle' attached, Fluttershy loved her...

...Twilight... wasn't comfortable around Fleur. A mare who avoided sexual interaction, and the one who might understand it better than anypony on the continent.

And Twilight knew about Fleur's talent.
Knew what Fleur had done.
National secrets, in the custody of a mare who frequently worked to protect that nation.

They... really didn't have a lot in common. And what knowledge existed was a blockade to true connection.

"'She'," Twilight slowly said, while largely addressing the underside of a half-tucked wing. "You're not a writer, Fleur, and I still feel like reading isn't your first thing for entertainment. So I don't think you know how annoying excessive pronoun use can get. Especially when I read the article before you did, and I'm almost certain I didn't see a timeline. But I did see the pattern. All of it. Fans who admired his work and were hoping to make a more personal connection. A certain body type among those fans. The one which most reflected the one which he'd given to his pony incarnation of passage into the shadowlands."

The Protoceran silently nodded.

"So help me out," the too-dry voice wrapped up into twitching feathers. "With a name. Which mare was he repeatedly raping at that exact time? Because that's what, or rather who, kept him from doing it to me --"

Fleur didn't know Twilight very well. But you didn't have to be around the librarian for very long before recognizing that one of her default responses to fear was to turn darkly sarcastic.

"-- Celestia."

Slowly, oh so slowly, Twilight's head came up. The body remained curled.

"There's this rumor," the librarian said. "About the Princess, and -- heat. Not estrus."

"Ponies don't go through --" Fleur automatically began to teach Ponyville's Most Overconfirmed Virgin, because there was every chance Twilight had missed that.

"-- I know. Thermal heat, Fleur. That she can generate it. Not redirect or relocate, like when pegasi shift temperatures, with a cold spot to balance every hot one. Generate. To whatever intensity she wants, from anywhere she likes. And I usually try to avoid confirming or denying anything about the sisters, but... I'm sure that was the first time they ever met, she's about six times bigger than anypony else he ever hurt, and I can tell you this, Fleur: any stallion who tried to rape Princess Celestia?"

The small mare was getting louder. More insistent, as the tones darkened into the weighted registers of vengeance.

"I know you've seen people from the other species at parties," the alicorn stated. "Have you ever spotted a minotaur with a cigar? Then just picture a red-hot cylinder. Which falls into ash. That's what would happen to anypony who tried to rape her. There wouldn't even be any blood, because that would just vaporize. And as a special bonus --" the sarcasm was now delving for the heart of the graveyard, trying to dig up humor "-- the wound gets cauterized on the spot! Now, with Princess Luna... opposite thermal effect. So that would be more of a shattering --"

"-- he went after the isolated," Fleur quietly cut in. "Mares who didn't have anypony else in their lives." Ponies without... friends... "Nopony they could speak with or tell. Certainly nopony who would take their word over that of a famous author, and you saw the bluffs with the supposed spell. But you... had her."

Silence. The librarian's head went down again, and the little body curled up that much tighter.

"I won't lie to you, Twilight," the former escort softly said. "Not about this. Because we both read the article. He had all of those incarnations, didn't he? Of dreams, of desire, of destruction and despair and -- death. The shadowlands. He made the shadowlands transition into this thin, completely unintimidating little mare -- physically, anyway -- whom anypony would greet with a smile, and -- then he went on the hunt. Looking for anypony who resembled that, so he could -- conquer her. Conquer death. And he got away with it, over and over. Because they wouldn't talk. And maybe some of them tried before the last, but if they did -- it wasn't to the right ponies, or nopony believed them for a long time. They weren't close enough to anypony to be trusted first."

"...and... me?" the whisper asked a wing.

"She introduced you as her personal student," Fleur stated. "That's when he knew you had somewhere to go. I don't doubt he was interested in you, Twilight." Which would do nothing to ward off the nightmares -- but at least for a little while, she'd effectively promised not to lie. "But the one thing a monster will always prioritize over all else is its own safety. He was looking for prey, he saw something more dangerous than he could ever be -- and he backed off."

And maybe he went to whoever he had and raped them that night, because he couldn't have you.
Maybe he hunted for somepony who looked a lot like you.
Or if it had been too long since the last rape, he might have tried to get you away from her anyway. Cut off, isolate, make you reliant on him, and then...

Monsters would prioritize for self-preservation. But they generally didn't have a lot in the way of self-control.

She didn't tell Twilight that, any more than she described the images which had just been shoved into the swamps of her own subconscious. One of the first lessons she'd had picked up from Applejack was that honesty didn't mean you had to say everything. Twilight had been safe on that night... but Fleur had no ability to peer into a future which had never happened.

The little body began to straighten.

"And what am I supposed to do with the books?" Twilight asked. "What are any of us supposed to do? Everypony who loved his writing. I thought... he built a mystical realm on top of our own. A palace made of words. But it's just sand. The truth flows in and washes it away. And when you loved the stories..."

The alicorn's horn ignited. Small sparks began to fly.

"...when you loved the writer for the stories --"

"STOP."

Twilight's entire form went straight. Wings slammed tight against her sides. Forehooves knocked against each other, and the corona winked out.

"Stop," Fleur repeated at somewhat lower volume. "Twilight -- stop."

"I know you've been in the Solar throne room," the alicorn forced out as deflection mode was almost visibly engaged. "I guess she's yelled at you at least once, hasn't she? Because that's a pretty good Canterlot Royal Voice. Maybe it's because you're so tall. Larger torso. More space inside. Most ponies can't get the lungpower --"

"-- stop," the immigrant tried. "Please."

The native blinked.

"You don't usually don't say --"

"Don't confuse the creation with the creator," Fleur said. "You only loved one. You read the stories, and you came up with an image of the kind of stallion whom you believed should be writing them. Somepony who was kind. Understanding. If there was any love, then it bounced off the pages and landed on a mirage. You never knew him. I..."

there is a runaway filly on the couch of the stallion who's been providing her with tutoring in magic and he's touching her in ways she doesn't understand and she's scared and her sister just died and she

in that single moment
more than anything else in the world
she needs to know what he wants

and then she knows

the stallion loses an eye to her horn
the filly runs again
eventually, she runs from her own nation
but it doesn't change mark or talent, the piercing insight of the triple acies symbol
and for the rest of her life, she will always know
always

"Fleur?" (Who didn't understand the sudden note of concern.) "You just went quiet --"

"-- I think the only ones who really knew him were his victims," the former escort finished. "I can't make myself count his spouse yet. Not when I know the courts are going to be trying to figure out how much she was really involved." With a soft sigh, "And then there's the kids. There is nothing in that article about whether somepony's gotten them out of there. They're already victims. Even if they were never touched, they have to unlearn everything. Because if they don't..."

"I..." Twilight swallowed. "I didn't think about that. The only thing they know..."

Fleur silently nodded. Gave Twilight a moment, and then resumed. "We both read the article. Some of them... are very good at keeping the mask on. It mostly slips when it's around what they want. His friends said they never saw any signs of it? Because he didn't have friends whom he wanted to rape." With an open wince which disrupted far too much of her makeup, "...all right, I know that came out wrong." Equestrian wasn't her primary language. "I mean he divided the world into those he could use for different things. Some became people he could use for fame and advancement and prestige. The article said he was really good at getting popular writers to like him. He had one group which he used for that, and -- then he found the ones which he used for everything else. Maybe he thought of some of those in the first group as friends." With a soft snort, "He's a writer. I'm sure that personal lie came with a few internal chapters of backing. But he was mostly 'friends' with stallions. Any mares weren't his target type. He never let himself be in that position. He controlled the topics and the interactions. He -- tried to control everything. It's what they do --"

"-- we both read the article."

"I promise I read it all the way through," Fleur said. Surely Twilight wasn't going to try for an 'escorts can read?' routine --

-- which was when the alicorn's eyes went white.

It happened all at once. There had been purple blinking away vestiges of tears -- and then Twilight's head had come all the way up, her eyes were white and blazing with light and the fury in that voice was something which told Fleur's instincts to pull back, to run for the door before that light moved to Magic's horn, but she was a Protoceran and her instincts could frankly buck all the way off --

"Did you happen to read the part where he raped that one small, skinny, isolated mare through her anus and then forced her to lick her own bucking shit off his penis, Fleur? Does that ring any bells? There are books written by a MONSTER on that cart and I've got this place nice and hot for Spike, I just happen to have a FIRE going and if I had whatever it is that calls itself ' Veil Quernstone' in here, I'm pretty sure I could just start folding parts until he could go in right after them -- !!!"

There was a lot to unpack in that, and not the least of it was the fact that if the need was there, Twilight Sparkle was fully capable of swapping out 'horse apples' for 'shit'.

(Also, a mare who couldn't watch Fleur and Fluttershy nuzzle for more than three seconds before the blush took over had just said 'penis'. Fleur hadn't been sure Twilight knew the word.)

But if the rage reached the horn, then Fleur didn't have the magical strength to counter the alicorn, and there was no way to talk down somepony who was this angry --

-- Fleur's horn ignited, and did so as long legs began to straighten. Getting ready to dive for cover.

Her field projection curved as it moved, largely staying out of blazing vision and going directly over Twilight's back --

"-- OW!"

Fleur was already halfway to the first bookcase. Prepared to go behind it, for as many seconds as that might buy her --

-- the white light vanished. Twilight Sparkle blinked.

"...you yanked my tail," the little mare almost placidly said.

Fleur still finished the dive behind the bookcase. You couldn't just tell joints to cancel all momentum in mid-motion.

After a few seconds, pale violet eyes peeked around the edge.

"I had to get your attention," Fleur said.

"I think," the alicorn muttered, "you got about five hairs. Maybe seven."

The slim right foreleg came up. The hoof touched the sternum, and then -- jerked outwards. A process which repeated several times, as the librarian forced her breathing to slow. Fleur was presuming a stress exercise, and was truly hoping it actually did something --

"-- all right," Twilight slowly resumed. "That's not going to happen again."

Fleur managed a nod.

"I keep picturing myself there," the little mare quietly added. "I try to imagine that poor mare, and -- she turns into me. Over and over. Talk, Fleur. I'll listen. I may have comments, and I'll probably have questions. But if there's any yelling, I'll save it for the end."

Another nod managed. (The breath was harder.) And then Fleur stepped out from behind the bookcase.

She didn't want to look down at Twilight. Putting herself in a physical position where the librarian might want to feel stronger was currently a big mistake. The former escort carefully lowered herself to the floor, and made herself stay there.

"You never loved him," Fleur said. "You loved the stories. Let's restart from there, because I want to make sure you hear it. You came up with a picture of the sort of stallion who would write that way and because you cared about the stories, you made the writer into somepony you could have loved. You cast an illusion, and then you decided it was solid. It's an illusion which a lot of ponies need. The thought of a greater connection, the comfort of the herd --"

-- so many clients told themselves that they were the only ones who truly knew me --

"-- and it's not real. The stories are."

They both breathed. In, out. They could mutually control that much.

"I showed you the main article," Twilight said. "But not his response."

"His --"

"-- there was already an afternoon edition of a newspaper. They talked to him."

"And what did he say?" Already believing she knew.

"That he hadn't raped any of them."

Darkly, "Well, of course he's going to say --"

"-- he said -- it all happened, Fleur. All of it. But that it was -- consensual. And nopony understood what bondage was, or -- 'BDSM', is that it? We were all getting it wrong, and the mares... had just decided not to remember that they'd wanted it. For publicity. And because they were hoping he'd give them money to stop remembering it wrong."

Fleur took a breath.

"It's not much of a defense," the tall mare said.

"No," Twilight agreed. "It isn't." The shivering was starting to come back. "But is that what bondage --"

"-- no. And it's not how domination and submission work, either."

"Rape," Twilight far-too-evenly stated, "is domination."

And I could have explained every possible detail to a client, but this is Twilight and phrasing is going to count for everything... "Yes. And a dock is the base of the tail. It's also where you park a masted sailing ship. It's not just the word: it's the context. BDSM, done properly, is in the context of a relationship. Twilight, when a dom and a sub are truly together... it's a power exchange." And this is where I find out if she can resolve paradox. "But the sub is the one with nearly all of the power."

One second of silence. Two. Five...

"...how?"

"They're the ones who can say 'no'."

And the alicorn couldn't move.

"Safewords," Fleur went on. "You saw that in the article, starting from the title. 'There is no safe word.' When it's real, Twilight... the safe word is how the sub says 'stop'. That it's going too far. And if you ever want to see utter humiliation in a bedroom, then just look at the face of a dom who's been told they crossed the line. Added to guilt and, depending on how the buckles got fastened, possibly some panic. It's like finding a puppy standing over their own mess. The sub can say no, and that must be honored. Because without that agreement, without the give-and-take of the relationship and being willing to stop... it's isn't play any more. It's rape."

"It shouldn't be allowed! It's always --" declared anger in the midst of displacing itself onto the wrong future targets.

Fleur made a decision.

"There is a dom/sub couple in Ponyville," she calmly said. "You've met both of them. You recommended books. You aren't friends with either, not that I'm aware of. But they're ponies you know."

Far too quickly, "Then tell me who they are."

Goldie and Braeö. The sturdy carrot farmer and the slim metallurgist: to find one, look for the other. "No."

"I asked you --"

"-- they are," Fleur said, "two ponies who have never committed rape, and never will. Who wouldn't hurt --" and then had to correct herself. "All right: if anypony attacked one of them, then the other would bring some pain. But their sexual activity is no threat. They just have... a different way of expressing their attraction. I'm telling you they exist so that you know there's ponies who honor 'No'. But I won't tell you who they are. Not while you're angry. Not until you recognize that it can just be two ponies -- playing. Because with a safeword, it's play. And... they love each other."

Because it's also about trust.
And rape tells somepony they can never trust again.
Say something.
I can see you thinking. But you have to talk --

"-- I... guess you would know," Twilight finally ventured.

"I would."

"Because," the alicorn went on, "that's your talent."

I can magically piece together their interests and fetishes. Anypony who sees them walking through Ponyville together knows they're in love.
But you'll trust my talent.
My talent, but not me.

"And the stories?" Twilight eventually said. "Fleur, I've read more of his catalog than you have. A lot more. There's... a lot of rape."

"Too many stories have it," the former escort opinionated. "And I mean for literature as a whole. It can be a really cheap way to add drama."

"He always came across as somepony who supported mares," the librarian wearily stated. "So nopony noticed. Or they figured it was literary drama, like you said -- or that he was trying to call attention to the problem."

"Plus he didn't take the cheap way out," Fleur deduced.

"He was --" the alicorn stopped. "Is..." Again. "It's good writing. It... was good..."

The wings twitched. The unicorn waited.

"...some of it is great writing," Twilight softly told her. "Great. And it's me saying that, Fleur. But now it's looking at flowers blooming in a toxic pasture. They're beautiful. But... what's feeding them? Does he write so well about victims because he creates them? Fleur, when I was about halfway through the article, I -- stopped. I went to the shelves and tried to look at some of the older stories. It was -- a sort of defense. Someone who wrote on that level... it couldn't be him. But I couldn't see the text any more. Just the subtext. Screaming at me from between the letters, constantly. In the voices of all the mares who weren't heard. Why didn't I see it before? It was always there. And it's... all that's left. No characters. No plots. Just the screams..."

"You didn't know," Fleur said, and the words were not unkind. "How were you supposed to know? How was anypony?"

"I could have analyzed the themes --" was launched from a sea of self-blame.

"-- and then you probably would have decided he had a favorite drama device," the tall mare considered. "Twilight, I heard about a time travel spell once." From Discord, but that wasn't currently worth mentioning.

"I've cast it," was oddly neutral.

She wondered about the details. "Thirty seconds or so at your chosen arrival point, right? And you can't change anything?"

A tiny nod.

"You're trying to send your knowledge back in time," Fleur observed. "Make all of the context retroactive. You can't. You can't make yourself recognize something before it ever happened. You're just using the only form of time travel which works for everypony and everyone. You look back. And then you figure out what you could have done differently, if you'd just known. And nothing changes. Not for what happened. You can't change the past. You just make your own present worse."

Silence closed in on the library, and found it had a natural home there.

"I can't ever read his books again," Twilight finally said.

"The creation," Fleur said. "Not the creator. Which one did you love? And we haven't even started to talk about what this does to the artists who worked on the magmo -- books. You're taking the books off the shelves. Publishers might take them out of the catalog. What did the artists do, to have any ongoing residuals from sales cut off --"

"-- you saw the story about the writer who raped the spirit of stage plays and performances to get ideas for books," the alicorn pushed -- which was followed by a somewhat more muttered "...and maybe somepony should search every room in his house, just in case..." before resuming normal volume. "I bookmarked it for you."

"It was a strong revenge from the dream incarnation," Fleur admitted. "Yes, Twilight, I read it. I imagine it would kick a little differently if I didn't know." With a soft snort, "Personally, I think effectively saying 'you're going to be cursed with endless great ideas' and then putting a half-dozen of them on the page was just showing off." He probably didn't even write any of those books. "But it was still a good story."

Instantly, as eyes went wide, "How can you --"

"-- you know what stood out to me?" Fleur asked.

"I can't," the alicorn stated. "I don't know a spell to read minds. Nopony does. There's been a lot of theories, though. And I'd ask for volunteers before I tested anything." As a hint of shadow began to coat her tones, "So it might help me if you just said it."

Fair enough. "The dream incarnation," Fleur said, "couldn't deal with mares outside his own family. Not as equals. There was always a power imbalance. Remember that one zebra kraal leader? She knew that they couldn't be together. That something always went wrong when an incarnation tried to be with a mortal."

"She did tell him no," Twilight recalled. "A few times."

"And he kicked her into Tartarus for having rejected him."

"...he did forgive her..." The alicorn was starting to look nauseous. "...eventually. It was supposed to be -- part of his character development across the arc."

"'Eventually'. Several centuries. In Tartarus. The place where you only imprison those who tried to destroy the world. For saying no."

"I thought he was -- trying to establish that the incarnations -- didn't think like we do..."

Beautiful monsters.

"You don't need to forgive someone for turning you down," Fleur firmly stated. "You accept their answer and move on. And his idea of 'forgiveness' was to give her a new life --"

"-- yes --"

"-- as a reborn foal," the former escort finished. "Completely helpless. Utterly dependent on somepony else to take care of her. Incapable of saying no, because she can't even talk yet --"

"-- I'd rather not talk about reincarnation," emerged with an odd amount of -- snap.

It was Fleur's turn to blink. "Sorry?"

The librarian sighed. "It's... never mind. Okay, I see it. It's still control."

The unicorn nodded. "Do you know what else it was?"

"Let me guess," the sarcasm offered. "You spotted a few clues to the previously-unsuspected murders?"

"A pretty good story," Fleur said. "Because he's a good writer. So maybe more people should read it."

And now the alicorn was staring at her.

"Fleur --"

"-- you're blaming the children for the acts of their parent --"

"-- oh, is that where we're going with this?" Twilight snapped. "Books as offspring. Okay, I'll take that analogy. How did he raise them, Fleur? What lessons did he give them, and what did he send them into the world to teach? Just that one with the spirit of stage writing is bad enough! And I didn't even show you the book about the colt who got brought up by ghosts. When ghosts don't exist. But we'll let them be real for a story, right? And we'll even say they're good parents. Better than living ones, because the article --"

"-- I saw what his father used to do to him, and I wish it had never happened. It's not an excuse." Was the librarian ready for this kind of lesson? It was certainly nothing Celestia was capable of teaching. "So he got hurt. A lot of ponies get hurt. You take that pain, and you forge it into a weapon so you won't get hurt again --"

and you take the talent you were never supposed to have and go out into the world to find any way of making it work

"-- and you don't use it to pass that pain into others. He did."

So many mares.
So many years before they managed to strike back.
The article probably didn't find half of them.

"Twilight," Fleur carefully said to the alicorn, whose ribs were now beginning to heave, "you can tell readers about the parent. Show the article. Put a warning under the shelf. For the younger readers, no checkout without parental permission."

"He wrote some youth books! There was that one where the filly was going to have her eyes replaced by buttons because that was the only way to get her perfect world --"

"Parental permission for those too," Fleur calmly offered.

"-- and then there was that one he wrote in conjunction with Blessed Hoofnote, they divided up the book and each one did half of it, they kept switching off during scenes and nopony's sure who wrote what --"

"-- and what did Hoofnote do to have the book taken off the shelf?"

"NOTHING!" came very close to breaking the postponement of yelling. "But he thought Quernstone was his friend! So maybe I can't trust his judgment either! Or maybe I shouldn't trust anypony who writes on that level! Or authors --"

"He's a good writer?"

"Was," Twilight bitterly said. "He's dead."

"Is there an article about him? Testimony? Rumors?"

"...no. Never. Nothing. But I can pass on stories from all the ponies who said he helped them," Twilight slowly ventured. "Quernstone would have been one of them."

"It was a solid mask," Fleur observed. "It stayed on for a long time. Twilight, not everypony you wish was good will be. But one being a monster doesn't make them all the same way." And as carefully as she could, looking up with open eyes and dark horn, "Don't love anypony you don't know. Respect, maybe. Admiration. But don't mistake it for love. I'm not telling you that you're wrong to feel angry, or -- betrayed." Or frightened, because you're probably still thinking about how close you came. "But the mask is gone. No more hiding. Ponies can judge the monster now. But the child of a monster -- isn't necessarily a monster. Warn. Educate." With a faint smile, "Lecture. Fluttershy says you enjoy that --" and the smile faded "-- although not with this topic. But maybe the kids need a chance to stand on their own. The stories. So if everypony knows what they're about to read, and who wrote it -- then why not let reading happen? Aren't the books still good?"

The silence returned. Lingered. Explored the loft and got comfortable.

"...Twilight?"

"Some ponies got into reading because of him," the librarian said. "History. I know that. Maybe he inspired somepony to the point where it led to their mark. More writers. Maybe even historians. But... can those who've committed evil acts inspire good? Truly do good?"

"If he inspired somepony," Fleur carefully tried, "for interests or even their talent... then it's not about what he did from now on. It's what they do."

Darkness dropped into the tones with three times the force of gravity. "And if he inspired them towards everything else?"

"It was all subtext," the Protoceran noted. "No one saw it. Not the readers, possibly not any critics, probably not even -- are there any literature courses about his work?"

"I don't know," Twilight solidly stated. "And if there were, then there probably aren't any more. But it's all out in the open now, Fleur. So... what if somepony starts reading his work for the subtext? For another kind of inspiration?"

"People like that," Fleur immediately began, "will always find a justification for their actions somewhere --"

"-- and why does there have to be one more place to look?"

"You can't control what ponies think. You don't know what they think --"

"-- and you," the little mare softly observed, "do."

The "No," came attached to the tiniest head shake biology would allow. "I know what they want. Sometimes I can work out hints of context. Why they might have come to want that. But it's not thoughts. Just -- desires."

"And you never met him."

"I swear --"

"-- you saw the incarnation of desire in the stories?"

Fleur nodded.

"Very beautiful," Twilight quietly decided. "I can say that about a fictional character, I think. Especially with the way all the artists drew those features. Extremely amoral. Pretty much only cares about their own safety. Everything's just a game until they might get hurt..."

She briefly looked down at Fleur. Then she looked away.

Nopony said anything for a while.

"It's my library," Twilight finally said. "I decide what goes on the shelves."

"You could put a glass flip-down shelf over it, with a lock," Fleur pointed out. "Like you did with some of the adult material when you thought the fillies and colts were looking at it. No checkout without librarian consultation. It's the work of a few minutes --"

"-- I was hoping somepony would come in today, even with the cold," Twilight told her. "Somepony I could... talk it all out with."

Fleur, after a frantic moment of internal scrounging, managed to come up with an "I --"

"I didn't want it to be you."

And there was nothing the Protoceran could say.

The alicorn sighed.

"Please get off the floor," she said. "I have to clean later. Fleur -- why are you even here? You're the only patr -- pony who's turned up since the deep freeze kicked in. There's a reason, right?"

Fleur carefully stood. And once her legs were at full extension, she towered over Twilight. But in the presence of that kind of power, it was effectively impossible to loom.

"Fluttershy asked me to pick up a book off the New Release table."

"The newest Maycroft Mysteries?"

"Yes."

"I pulled one from the shipment and put it in Holds for her," the librarian said. "I figured she'd be in sometime this week. I'll get it for you."

The librarian started moving towards the front desk. Fleur let her get ahead, then followed.

"What are you going to do with the Quernstone books?"

"I don't know yet," also had more than a hint of snap. "Maybe I'll think it over some more. If I want to. But it's my library."

"It's Ponyville's library."

"And the librarian," said the Princess of a very small dominion, "decides what goes on the shelves."

"In that case," Fleur decided, "I'd like a copy of that book about the colt being raised by ghosts."

Twilight froze. Fleur managed to stop just before impact.

"You what?"

"The concept sounded interesting. You can kick in that one about the button eyes, too. If you've still got them on the shelf."

"You want to see --"

"-- most writers don't get a Lascaux," Fleur noted. "And they might not be here after you finish. Well?"

"...they're in the Youth section," Twilight muttered. "And no matter what happens, that won't be where they are from now on."

There was a brief detour. Books were collected and, reluctantly, officially registered by the librarian as having been checked out.

Fleur went up to the loft, got dressed again. (There was no appreciative audience for that either, and she could already feel the sweat beginning to rise.) Came down the ramp, and her corona collected the books from the front desk, depositing them into loaned saddlebags.

"I didn't make you late, did I?" Twilight asked from her position on the central bench. "This took a while."

Fleur managed a smile. "Fluttershy knows I can get stuck in town. If she was worried, she would have sent a carrier bird to the tree. With a note asking Spike to send me a letter." Which was easier than hoping the avian could pick Fleur out of an outdoor crowd. "We're fine."

The alicorn nodded. "Go home. I'll tell Spike you dropped by. I know you always try to see him."

The Protoceran began to trot away, as long legs easily picked up speed --

-- the little mare didn't get up. Didn't follow. Only the words reached Fleur, and they didn't want company.

"I don't understand you," Twilight quietly stated. "I try. For Fluttershy, I keep trying. But I don't. And I'm not sure I ever will."

Fleur started to turn --

"-- go home, Fleur," was almost a whisper. "I... don't want to do this any more today. Just... go home."

The beautiful mare closed the cracked front door behind her. Observed the empty streets, then moved forward under a Moon which had been raised some time. Passed the book fort --

-- I would have known him for what he was.

Slowed.

I always know.
There was that one mare I found. She... wasn't this bad.

(Was she telling herself the truth?)

It was false contracts. Promise to only go that far, then not honor it. But that wasn't rape. It was -- pushing the limits. More pain than the other party expected, because that's what she wanted. If she'd just found the right masochist...

Slower still.

...I turned her in. At the end. When Celestia asked if I knew anypony playing around on the edges of the law... I nosed her name over. It all got resolved.
And before that, I was blackmailing her.
I figured out what she truly desired. I found some physical evidence.

If she closed her eyes, she could see the photographs. Or she could do that without closing them.

And then I sent a private message telling her somepony knew what she was. And that unless so much money arrived at the drop every so often... everypony would know.
She wasn't on Quernstone's level.

(How fine was the difference?)

If I'd ever met him, I would have known what he was.
If I'd met him at a party...

Bestselling author. That meant money.
Famous. Add a need to protect reputation.
What would he have paid to...

...I would have found some way of turning him in. Anonymous tip.
It's rape.
I wouldn't have turned away from that.
I gave up everything at the instant I realized that pedophile was targeting Sweetie. Everything.
I... wouldn't have...
...I was a blackmailer --
-- I wouldn't --

"Can those who've committed evil acts inspire good? Truly do good?"

The pony with a griffon's heart stood perfectly still, under watching Moon and stars within a frozen moment. And Fleur, at the center of all her elaborately-layered shielding, was cold.