Disturbed

Crimson awoke to the oddest feeling. It was not like anything the house had offered so far; not equal to the licking the first night, the biting in the hall, or the tendrils on the apple tree. The tendrils. With a start, Crimson’s eyes flew open and she jumped, pushing off whatever was restraining her and rolling to the side.

“Dear, please, be calm!” A rather posh, feminine voice came to Crimson, she turned.
In front of her, a white mare with a gallant fur coat and diamond-ensnared mane stood, warm sponge still suspended, dripping, in a field of magic.

“What do you want?” Crimson shot, shivering bitterly.

“Well, aren’t your wits at end. I suppose I can’t blame you though, the Town Hall is a dreary place.”

“Who are you?” Crimson questioned, allowing her heart to calm.

“Rarity, dear; and you?”

“Crimson.”

“Now that’s a strange name, I don’t see how it relates to you.” An auspicious smile. “Now, how about you sit back down; I was just cleaning that wonderful coat of yours, the tree didn’t treat you very nicely, did it?”

Then it came to Crimson.

“So, you were that mare who I saw. How did you find me?” Crimson asked, cautiously cantering back over to the waiting unicorn and sitting down.

“I was just on a… walk. Yes, that’s what I was doing.”

“Ok—” The scrubbing resumed, this time a little lower down her neck. “Thank you for saving me.” Crimson replied wholeheartedly.

“It wasn’t a problem. I’d never let a gorgeous coat like yours be victim to that monster.” Rarity chided.

“Pardon?”

“Oh, drat.” Rarity replied, scrubbing harder on a spot.

“What is it?”

“Just some blood, dear. That wound on your head must have spilt a little more while I was stitching it back up.”

“You stitched me? Wow, thank you.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem, pretty one. No use having you dead.” The scrubbing there intensified, making Crimson cringe.

“You know, Rarity, you don’t have to clean me completely. At the rate I’m go—”

“Of course I have to clean you completely! Do you think I’m sloppy in my work?” Rarity scolded.

“No, but, well, you’re hurting me and—”

“Just. A. Little. More!” As Crimson, smarting in pain, was about to pull away Rarity stopped and sighed in relief.

“Done.” Crimson could feel the mare behind her shivering. “Onto your back now… Luna damned!”

“What?” Crimson panicked, attempting to look at what Rarity had cursed at.

“The bites! They’ve tattered your fabulous coat in some places; I didn’t notice those when I brought you here.”

“Yes, I got them from the butterflies. Have you run into any yet?” Crimson asked.

“Occasionally,” Rarity admitted. “But I carry around a body net for protection.” She stopped for a moment. “However, I don’t usually search in those areas. Half the time anypony I find there has been sullied by those disgusting creatures.” Continuing now, Rarity started brushing Crimsons tail. “I feel optimistic today, though. At least I have a good amount of fur unscathed. You’ve taken care of yourself, dear.”

Crimson only heard half of what Rarity had mentioned. Something about the room had suddenly caught her interest. From the looks of it, it seemed to be a large clothing wardrobe. Surrounding the two of them in the well-lit area were racks upon racks of clothing. In some places, a mirror or two would be covered with a dusty brown sheet. To the left, a makeshift bed where Rarity must sleep was neatly covered. To her right, a large industrial sink gurgled softly as whatever was in it drained into the network of tubes beneath.

“You’re set.” The proper voice broke Crimson from her reveries, and she turned to look at Rarity. “You should head off to bed now.”

“Really?” Crimson asked, yawning as she did so. She was EXHAUSTED. “Oh, that would be wonderful. Can I pile up some cloths, or would you prefer me—”

“That will be unnecessary, dear. You can sleep in my bed, pretty one.”

“You know my name’s Crimson, right?” Crimson joked, smiling genuinely for the first time in ages. When Rarity didn’t respond, she shrugged and made her way over to the mattress; this was too good to be true.

As she arrived, she fell down hard, curling up in a ball at the head of the soft covers and almost instantly falling asleep.

The reason Crimson awoke in the middle of her slumber evaded her, but the scene that met her bleary eyes quickly made her stop questioning. At a first glance, it seemed as though Rarity was simply staring down at her while she slept, eyes wide and cold. As Crimson continued to gaze, however, trying to remain still and not panic, the glimmering of both Rarities horn and something just out of her peripheral put the pieces together. The scene that unfolded was chilling; Crimson felt like a fool to have ever trusted the white coated unicorn in the first place.

“Awake?” Rarity whispered. “Dear, not to be rude, but why are you awake!?”

“Um…” Crimson, too shocked to feel fear yet, could only mumble.

“Why must you make things so much more complicated, pretty one? I feared you weren’t worth all the effort I put into cleaning you up.”

“But why…”

“Your coat, dear!” An exasperated sigh. “I want your coat. Now stop blathering like a commoner and stay still.” The blade rose higher, poised to strike.

“You’re going to kill me?” Crimson whimpered, finally finding her voice.

“No, not at all, I just want your coat! I’m not some lowly murderer I’ll have you know.”

“You’re going to skin me alive!?” Crimson shrilled, flinging up and bucking the demented unicorn. “You bucking—”

“Ah, ah, ah; those words are rather harsh,” Rarity scolded. “I just want to make clothing.” Rarity got back up and began to advance, playing with the blade as she went.

Eyes wide with fear, Crimson retreated until she hit a door; against her back, it felt rough and cool. Afraid of what she was going to face on the other side, but finding no other alternative, Crimson turned and prepared to swing it open.

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you—” Rarity’s calm voice was cut short.

“Shut up!” Crimson shouted, swinging open the door and lunging in.

Her assailant’s amused smile was blocked out as the door shut, plunging Crimson into darkness. Hyperventilating now, Crimson cast her light. The scene that met her made her jump and bolt again for the doorway. Surrounding her on pig-hooks, the bodies of Rarity’s latest victims hung. At a first glance they appeared to be dead; looking for a second time though, as she weighed her path of action, she noticed that some remained alive. The one closest to her reached out a skinned limb towards Crimson, and she recoiled.

“I told you, dear!” the muffled voice came to Crimsons ears through the door. It had acquired a strung quality, one that made her cringe in horror. There was no way she was going to go back out there. Gulping, Crimson back up deeper in the room, pushing the carcasses aside as she went. As she reached the back wall, she fell against it, dousing her light and curling up in a ball. Through the rows of carcasses, Crimson heard the door swing open.

“Evening, dears!” Rarity’s wild voice went out to address her mutilated victims.

Fearful moaning mingled in the deathly silence. A pony or two who could still talk begged for mercy. If there was a hell, Crimson had a feeling she was in it. Closer the hoofsteps approached, and Crimson cast her gaze from left to right. Solid wall on both sides; her time was running out. Just as Rarity was a mere carcass or two away-she could see her polished hooves beneath the hanging victims-an idea came to mind. Enveloping one of the living meat hunks, she unhooked it and dropped it to the floor. Groaning in pain, the meat hunk began to lumber towards the approaching pony, growling intimidatingly as it went.

Crimson repeated this two more times, unhooking another two and setting them on their brutal master. As Rarity saw the approaching ponies, she squealed and began slicing at them, uttering lines like ‘oh, not my coat’ or ‘get your filthy hooves off of me!’; she seemed unafraid that she was being mobbed by a bunch of gruesome corpses. As her blade sung back and forth, the moaning increased; Crimson knew that she had to move. As one of the meat-hunks pinned Rarity, Crimson bolted, jumping over the downed pony and making it to the door. Swinging it open, she closed it promptly behind her; locking the corpses and their slaughterer inside.

With the time she had, Crimson cast tentative glances around the room, trying to spot an escape of some sort. All that met her were the covered mirrors. Feeling the same way she felt in the tree, Crimson began to circulate the room, looking up, down, left and right for an exit. There was a larger vent in the ceiling, but with nothing beneath, Crimson wouldn’t be able to get to it. Casting a glance around, she searched for something she could use as leverage; as her eyes locked onto a chest she sighed and galloped over.

Just as she had started moving it, a loud banging, followed by the splintering of wood, boomed in the room. Turning fearfully, Crimson saw a set of red hooves smashing through the door. Rarity was almost out, and by Celestia, she was seething.

“I’ll skin you SLOWLY, whore!” Rarity screamed. “I’ll make you BEG!

With that impending doom hanging over her, Crimson doubled her efforts, putting her weakened magic into the task. She made quick progress, and by the time Rarity bucked the splintering door again, she’d already dragged the chest underneath the vent.

SMASH!

Crimson knew the door would collapse at any given time. Using her fading magic to unscrew the vent, Crimson pulled off its cover… only to find that the entrance was barred. With a strangled yelp, Crimson fell, collapsing in a heap and cursing the sky. The door, after yet another hit was dealt to it, groaned and then snapped, blowing off its hinges and smashing into the wall. In the doorway, covered in gore, Rarity stood.

“Did you really think you could escape, dear?” the cold calmness that laced Rarity’s voice carried as much potency as when she’d been screaming; Crimson convulsed. “Now stay where you are and I’ll get it over with. Be a good pony, please; you’ve already caused enough problems.”

Crimson shook her head defiantly, and as Rarity advanced, she backed away, scooting on her behind. Eventually, finding she could retreat no more, Crimson stood up defiantly. If she was to die here, she’d go down bucking.

Fear was pushed down-she’d seen it all-she would survive.

“Why do you stand so defiantly? If I don’t get you now, the Stalker will in good time, and out of the two of us, I think the wiser choice would be me. Back. Down.”

“No.” Crimson said, her voice as steady as stone.

With a laugh, Rarity shook her head and approached. In the time the two had talked, Crimson had been cornered. Against her back, the surface of the brown mirror cover felt prickly. As Rarity lunged, Crimson ducked and the blade zinged by her. As the knife was pulled back to its wielder, it snagged on the cover, pulling it off and revealing the mirror beneath. The effect it had on Rarity was unexpected and startling. At first, and rightfully so, Crimson was lost. It was then that she noticed that Rarity had caught sight of her face in the mirror. In a swift move, the demented unicorn ceased her magic and dropped the blade before turning away from her reflection with a moan.

“Your reflection…” Crimson said to Rarity’s turned back.

“I’m ugly! Grotesque!” Pulling on her mane, she ripped a chunk out and threw it on the ground.

“Your reflection.” Unlike the former, Crimson simply spoke to herself, looking around the room.

Taking the time that Rarity was disarmed, Crimson began to circulate the room, pulling cover upon cover down. At each new mirror that revealed itself, Rarity would turn away, and continued to do so until there was only one blank spot left; the final mirror.

“Don’t!” Rarity begged, clawing at her face with her hooves. Already, fresh cuts were bleeding profusely across her fur. “I can’t bear to look at myself.”

For a second, Crimson questioned her intentions; by doing this, was she not simply stooping down to her assailant’s level? No. Crimson concluded that it would be impossible to stoop so low, and that she was probably doing a favor for the other sane ponies eking out a living in this hell-house.

“I’m sorry.” Crimson said, fixing Rarity in a piercing gaze. Never again would she be apprehended; even if that meant becoming a villain. Closing her eyes, Crimson levitated the moldy brown cover off the mirror.

As her disheveled mane and lacerated face met its reflection, Rarity screamed, turning away to only meet another glaring reflection. Again and again Rarity turned until she collapsed, tearing at her fur and mane and anything else she could reach with her wild hooves or blazing magic. Essentially, the psychotic mare was tearing herself apart.

And then she stilled, and Crimson became alert. A rattling noise from the chest underneath the vent, followed by a squeaking of hinges as its lid swung open. Expecting the worse, Crimson moved, ducking behind the industrial sink.

What rose from the chest was unexpected; jewels, crushed into splinters. It took Crimson a second to notice that it was the same shards that coated Rarity’s mane and tail. Observing from her shelter, Crimson’s curiosity turned to horror as the shards were flung towards the caster, Rarity, impaling themselves into her body in countless areas. She screamed, but as she continued her self-harming, those strangled noises fell to ecstasy. Getting up, she admired her new reflection in the mirror.

“Need’s more jewels!” Rarity replied, her voice strung and choppy. She was sweating and covered in her own blood.

Casting another bout of magic, she pulled a larger pile out. Crimson was tempted to stop her, but with little to no magic left, and a dwindling desire to move, she stayed put; eyes wide as if anticipating a jump-scene in a horror movie. And then it happened, and Rarity was no more.
With a grunt, she had launched the shards like projectiles at her face. The diamonds bit deep, impaling her across the muzzle and cheeks before striking her eyes and promptly macerating them. As if suddenly aware of what she had done, Rarity jumped and began squealing again; putting her hooves out in front of her and fumbling around. On her destructive path she knocked over one of the mirrors, revealing a small doorway behind it. Crimson noticed the new exit immediately as she had been keeping a close eye on the pain-driven unicorn.

Willing her frozen limbs to move, Crimson began to make her way towards the exit, trying to keep a distance between her and Rarity, who had fallen on the floor, shaking uncontrollably and attempting to rip the shards out with her magic. Finally where she wanted to be, Crimson turned and tried the door; it was unlocked, and it swung smoothly, revealing the hallway beyond. With a final look over her shoulder, Crimson left.

She refused to feel empathy.