The Poison of Passion

Your tongue and lips burn.

You choke and try to sit up from your lying position, trying to cough up the scalding hot substance that’s pouring into your mouth.. A calm hoof can be felt gently pushing into your shoulder, preventing you from spilling the vile liquid.

“Drink up, pony of the sky. Unless it‘s your intention to die.”

Ugh. Whatever, you’re far too weak to object to it.

Stifling a grunt of discomfort, you swallow the near-boiling broth to the last drop. As… invigorating as it was to drink, you wouldn’t ask for seconds. The potion sets to work immediately, restoring your strength. You suddenly feel strong enough to… half-open your eyelids. Just a smidge.

Judging by the face you’re greeted with, you’re beginning to regret opening them.

As you’d suspected, you’re back in the familiar hut, lying in the owner’s bed this time, rather than the usual hammock. You suppose hammocks wouldn’t make the best recovery beds. But as cosy as that is, you doesn’t shake the discomfort in seeing poor Zecora.

She‘s still panting slightly, recovering from hauling you a whole mile at a sprinter’s pace without stopping. Her lips are curled into an unamused scowl. Her eyes are sore and reddened. You know it’s not from a lack of sleep.

“I know the antidote guidelines say ‘wait for it to cool’,” she says, setting the now-empty container aside, “But since you were poisoned, that would mean the death of a fool.”

So that’s why it burned so much.

You want her to know how sorry you are. How bad you feel. Not enough strength for that. Not nearly enough. Instead, you just sink lower into the covers, trying hard not to look at her out of embarrassment.

“You should get some rest, it’ll help you get well.” Zecora continues, “When you awaken, maybe, you’ll have your thoughts to tell. The antidote’s efforts should work overnight, and on the bright side, there are worse creatures to fight.”

Her encouraging words don’t offer you much encouragement. A better pony wouldn’t have been bitten in the first place. A better pony wouldn’t have nearly turned himself into stone by a scaly chicken either. The worst part? On both occasions Zecora had to intervene and save you while you were screaming in fear or throwing up from the poison.

You’d apologise to her, if your vocal chords weren’t so weak. All you’ve been is a burden this whole time. Well, not anymore. Tonight, as soon as you’re capable of standing on your own four hooves, you’re going to slip out of the door, and out of her life. It’s for the best. Save her the grief.

*******

Zecora had spent the rest of today looking after you, cooking up some easily digestible soup or going about her own business out and around her hut. You spent the rest of today silently wallowing in disgrace. She’d asked you several times if everything was okay, as to which you’d reply with a fake grin that you were just recovering from the attack.

Now that night has finally fallen, she’s preparing to rest herself. She even let you stay in her bed while she took your hammock instead.

She’s so kind to you. You certainly don’t deserve her. You don’t deserve her antidote, you don’t deserve her bed, and you definitely don’t deserve her love. Just… go. As soon as you’re able.

You’ve already been asleep for hours today. You’re not sleepy at all. Instead, you just lie there, eyes closed, until you hear Zecora’s gentle breathing as she sways gently to and fro in the hammock.

She’s out like a light. You can imagine sprinting through the forest with a near-dead stallion on her back had taken a lot out of her, let alone whipping up an antidote and caring for him for a whole day.

Slowly, silently pulling yourself out of bed, you try to regain the balance in your legs. At least you can walk now.

Keeping as quiet as your awkward lack of stealth will allow, you pass by Zecora, far away in her dreams. You hope they’re pleasant ones.

You make sure to take one last look at her before making your leave. Look at how peaceful she is, even when she’s in a hammock instead of her own bed.

In your last minute with her, you quietly lean forwards and peck her on the forehead. A goodbye kiss, and the only one you’ll ever be able to give her. She stirs ever-so-slightly, but she doesn’t wake. That’s good enough.

You turn around and slowly hobble for the door, feeling your heart writhe with each step you take away from her. You suppose you’ll be safe enough through the Everfree Forest at this point, especially if you’re just heading straight towards Ponyville.

“Don’t go.”

Those words strike your heart like numbing ice. You wouldn’t have believed it was her, had you not known that her instinctive rhyming was more out of preference than obligation.

You turn around. There she is, wide awake. An awkward moment later and she’s already out of the hammock. You fight the temptation to just bolt right out of the door.

“I… I can’t do this,” your rough voice can barely be heard, “I can’t keep being a burden to you, Zecora. Just let me leave before I become a bigger embarrassment.”

“You’re not an embarrassment,” she retorts, “At least not to me. What would you have done differently?”

“I… I‘d just do things, things in general, differently. I guess.” That didn’t seem to answer her question well enough. You search your still-addled mind and pull out the nearest example, “I wouldn’t have kicked that monster that turns ponies into stone-”

“A brash mistake, sure, but with noble intention.”

“-and I wouldn’t have screamed like a little filly when it attacked-”

“I’d have done the same thing, I should mention.”

“-and I wouldn’t have gotten myself bitten by that four-headed snake-”

“Would you rather the victim was me? At least I had the antidote recipe.”

“-and I wouldn’t have collapsed into a pile of my own sick-”

“But you almost died! Stop worrying about your pride!”

“-and I wouldn’t have screwed up confessing my feelings for you so badly!”

You stop to catch your breath, and give your raw throat a rest. Zecora, taking one step at a time, trots up to you as if you‘d run at the slightest sudden movement. You certainly felt that emotionally fragile.

A striped hoof lands on your shoulder. Two bright, blue eyes stare back at you. Despite her humble, calming expression, you know she’s being serious.

“You’ve done so much for me already,” Zecora’s voice, as gentle and soothing as it is, still gets your heart racing, “and your well-meaning deeds are far from petty. Even when we first met, you offered me aid. Remember that con-pony who tried to rip off a trade? And again with you risking your health against a storm; if you hadn’t helped, I’d have no home at all! Everything you’ve done for me shows how you care, and if there’s one quality I like in a stallion, it’s there. If you fear my love is something you didn’t gain, what is stopping you from trying again?”

She’s right, you know. She’s right about it all, that wise mare she is. You’ve helped her out so much that you hadn’t even realised it as something to take notice of. It was just you being yourself. Your first attempt seemed so perfect - the glowing flower lighting up the forest in its unique way - that you were scared that you’d never find another time to tell her.

You know when would be a good time? Whenever you’re truly ready.

Zecora knows that too. The hoof that she placed on your shoulder wraps around you, bringing you into her comforting embrace. In return, you hold her as tightly as your feeble forelegs can, burying your head in her shoulders. Your quivering wings cradle her as much as they can.

“As soon as I’m better.” you whisper. “As soon as I’m better, I’m taking you out. A date around Ponyville, just the two of us. If you’ll let me.”

“That sounds like a marvellous idea,” your cheek feels moist; a pair of warm lips push up against them, “Tomorrow evening it is, my dear.”

Your eyes are tightly shut from the sting of tears, but you don’t care. They’re tears of joy.

For the rest of the night, Zecora didn’t need to sleep in that hammock. Her bed was more than capable of being shared by two equines in love.