2986 Steps

by Verlax

Rating: teen
Tags: Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Original Character, Twilight Sparkle
Length: 48417

When a plague hits the city of Flankfurt, Twilight Sparkle decides to help stop the disaster. However, the longer she fights the disease, the more she thinks something else is wrong.

Twilight is marching... It's only two thousand nine hundred eighty-six steps...

Flankfurt. A small city in the far north of the Equestria. Beautiful landscapes, marvelous coastline, almost four hundred years the of history; the town is a true gem of the Northern Reaches, attracting tourists from all across the Kingdom. A city with a long and glorious history, a city with a...

Leprosy epidemic.

Leprosy is a disease, one which modern Equestrian Medicine can do nothing about. Dozens of the Flankfurt’s citizens have fallen to the painful and terrible illness. When Twilight Sparkle hears of this disease and the havoc it is wreaking on the town, she immediately sets off on a journey to prevent the spread of Leprosy before it can destroy Equestria. However, as Twilight fights against the plague, she uncovers something much more sinister lurking in the snow-filled streets of Flankfurt.

Based on Polish Book : "2586 Steps" by Andrzej Pilipiuk. No knowledge of source material is necessary.
Co-written with Spike the Scribe

Published 2013-02-21 00:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2014-09-03 22:17:08 UTC

Chapter One - The Arrival

"Sweet... Celestia... so... cold..." Twilight moaned, trying to keep what little warmth she still had under her winter jacket.

She was mumbling to herself for the entire ride. Thankfully, no passengers of the stagecoach spotted that. She was wondering how it was possible they didn't have a problem with the cold of Northern Equestria. She had absolutely no idea how these six earth ponies outside of the stagecoach could pull them in these conditions. Twilight looked outside, only to be greeted by impenetrable darkness. The lavender unicorn had no idea if it was night already, or was it still daytime. She drew a flask from one of her pockets.

It seemed stupid at first. She didn’t like alcohol that much, but Applejack insisted she take some of her cider with her. At first she was thinking about giving it to the Flankfurt doctors as a present, but when the stagecoach passed the border between Central and Northern Equestria, it all changed dramatically.

She took a small sip of the hard cider. Twilight shivered. The alcohol warmed her only for a while.

"I’ll freeze over." she thought. "I’ll freeze over and I won’t reach Flankfurt..."

The wind hit in the tiny walls of the vehicle, cackling grim. Twilight looked at her pocket watch. In the weak light of the wavering tallow candle she wasn't able to see the time. Numbers on the porcelain dial were doubling and tripling before her eyes. Finally, after the moment of intense staring she was able to determine the time. They had been on the road for about three hours. A young earth pony sitting opposite her nudged her with his hoof.

"We’ll reach Flankfurt soon." he said with the usual northern accent. "We’ve already reached the suburbs."

"How do you know?" she wondered.

"The stagecoach arrived at the valley. Listen to the wind."

He was right, the gale was howling outside the glass window, not meeting any kind of resistance. The area around the vehicle had to be flat and open.

"How can you live in a place like this?" she asked.

"We’re used to it. Besides, it's not that cold. Only negative fifteen degrees."

Twilight heard a strange sound. After moment she realised it was the chattering of her own teeth.

"This is the North." the stallion smiled. "Bad place to visit in winter."

She had to agree with him. She was warned about this entire situation. Twilight could stay in Hoofington. She knew that the blizzards were the natural obstacles that hindered any attempts at travel, but she wasn't expecting anything like this. She could have waited for the thaw to come, she should have waited for it. However, when Princess Celestia asked her to help the ponies of Flankfurt she was too stubborn to think things through, and tried to get here as soon as possible. The lavender unicorn couldn't stand the thought that the citizens of such a wonderful city could suffer from such a terrifying plague.

Still, Twilight was absolutely exhausted from the journey. She closed her eyes for only a brief moment and fatigue won over her immediately. She was dreaming about the wind rustling the leaves of Sweet Apple Acres apple trees, the lovely smell of her library and the clear, blue sky with the marvelously warm sun...

She awoke immediately when the stagecoach slowed down to a halt. The passengers crowded by the exit. Through the open doors the first waves of the frosty northern wind gusted in. Twilight threw on her warm skins and put on her warm coat, tailored by Rarity, with effort. She asked her only to create something really warm, but the fashionista just had to add some marvelous gold decorations along with it. Finally, Twilight covered her head with a warm cap.

She slowly and cautiously exited the vehicle. The skin on her cheeks started smarting once the cool wind began washing her face. She breathed several times and managed to recover. She looked around, her eyes watering from the cold. Twilight was standing on a snow-covered ramp; a few meters away from her six exhausted earth ponies were trying to catch their breaths, and to her right there was a young unicorn wearing a uniform, unloading the roof of the stagecoach of its passengers’ luggage. In front of the wooden station, a sign was swaying in the bone-chilling wind. Flankfurt. Twilight looked at her luggage. She had no idea how far it was to the hospital. "I’ll have to rent a sled" she thought. Unexpectedly, somepony shook her hoof.

"Armauer Hansen." she heard. "I thought that I could come for you. Welcome to Flankfurt."

"It's pleasure to meet you. I’m Twilight Sparkle." She barely avoided biting off her tongue, her jaw was clattering like a mousetrap.

With some effort, the lavender unicorn managed to raise her head. Doctor Hansen was a light-blue unicorn with a dark red mane. He didn't look like his thirty five years, his azure eyes were shining with a strange radiance.

"I see that the difficulties of the journey took quite a toll on you." he said with concern. "The hospital is two streets away. We will get there soon."

He packed her trunks and her suitcase with reinforced corners on a light sled which he brought with him.

"I'm sorry for being late..."

"Don’t mention it. I suppose that the snow stopped you. Sometimes the trail is impenetrable for weeks. But I promise that in ten years the railway line will reach us. How do the winters look like in Central Equestria?" he asked.

"It's much warmer." Twilight stammered through chattering teeth. "And we don’t have such terrible blizzards. And this polar night..."

Her host smiled a little.

"Well, do not exaggerate. Here, in Flankfurt we do not have a polar night. Dusk comes at about two PM though..."

They walked between the houses. Twilight, in spite of the dark and her watery eyes, saw that all the buildings on the street were built of wood. Painted white or light green, they looked quite depressing. They were nailed shut with thin, overlapping boards. It reminded her of the ruins of Bagtown she read in one of her history books.

There were lights on in many of the windows. Inside, the ponies were sitting besides warm fireplaces, drinking coffee, talking or playing with their foals. She clenched her teeth, and in an attempt to escape from the harsh reality she began counting her own steps. She ended on two thousand nine hundred eighty-six ... one mile.

Soon they stopped near a small gate. Looming in the darkness next to the building she saw a wooden tower.

"Hospital chapel." explained the host. "Ponies are more religious in these lands. Paradoxically, the further from the warm light of Celestia the more we want to embrace it."

A guard covered with a cloak let them inside without as much as a word. Dr. Hansen pulled the two trunks as if they weighed nothing, just levitating them in the air with magic. The newcomer took care of her suitcase and followed him. The hospital buildings were surrounded by a big courtyard. A wooden chapel closed the square from the street side. They went into the yard. There was at least a meter deep layer of snow here. Only one, narrow path led from the gate to the door through the snowdrift field, abundantly covered with ash.

Hansen was trotting confidently on the slippery ice, as if the two heavy trunks he was levitating didn’t affect him in the slightest. Twilight pulled her suitcase through the snow; she didn't have the strength to levitate it. In one of the corners of the yard lay several bundles wrapped in gray cloth, covered with frost. The lavender unicorn gasped when she realized what they were. Her sixth sense smelled death.

"We can not bury or cremate in this weather." the Flankfurt doctor said. "For now they lie frozen in the snow. When spring will come, we will take them to the cemetery away from the city and burn them."

Despite the fact she had been bracing herself for this sight for a long time, she trembled when she realised how many ponies had died already. To make matters worse, the leprosy wasn't a painless disease. The agony could last for entire weeks, during which the patient suffered incredible pain. She shivered, for the first time not because of the cold of the far North. The lavender unicorn followed Hansen into the building.

The door opened with a slight creak. They found themselves in a large hall. It smelled of cooked vegetables and burning wood, but alongside the nice smell, she felt the odors of carbolic acid, ether and decomposing bodies. The leprosy.

They turned to the left and using the narrow, creaking stairs, they climbed to the second floor. The air here was wonderfully warm. Twilight felt like her warmth was coming back to her; her heart was beating strongly and evenly. She could even feel her hooves again! Hansen pushed another door open and they found themselves in a small, tastefully decorated living room. The doctor effortlessly put the trunks on the floor. He turned the gas valve on a lamp and lit it up. A pleasant light flooded into the room.

The guest stripped out of her frost-covered coat and layers of thick sweaters with relief. She removed her heavy, fur-lined boots from her hooves. She leaned back in her chair and was absorbing the heat and light with every cell of her body. After a while, the doctor came back. He brought a pot of coffee, a plate with a few sandwiches and pancakes with jam. Twilight looked down at her meal with fear.

"Mr. Dostoyevsky is unfortunately asleep." Hansen said. "He had a tough day."

"Dostoyevsky?" she asked, having a problem with the pronunciation of this odd name.

"My best mate and the founder of this hospital. Strange guy, but really helpful."

They sat down at the table. The first bite was surprisingly difficult to swallow. Twilight felt like the sandwich with tomato and cucumber was growing in her mouth. Eat here? In such a place? The panic took control over her. Wild, primitive, animal fear. She knew that the likelihood of infection was minimal. She knew that the disease probably wasn't transmitted by food. Still, she could not overcome it. Hansen saw what was happening and touched her calmingly.

"Do not worry. They bring meals to us from the city."

Suddenly, she felt relieved. The food regained its taste. She sighed.

"Here we cook just for the sick ponies." her host continued calmingly. "Anyway, tomorrow we will have enough time at our hooves that I'll be able to show you around."

Twilight nodded. The heat made her weary. Difficulties of the journey made themselves felt. Hours, days and weeks spent on an uncomfortable bench of a coach, the frost, these small sips of apple cider, filtering through her body almost constantly for the last few hours ... Her eyelids felt like led and she yawned.

"I'm sorry." she said. "I guess I have to go to sleep."

Hansen smiled with understanding. He finished his coffee and left her. Twilight slowly got up and looked out the window at the narrow alley orbiting the hospital. The glass was very thick, overgrown with flowers of frost, but she noticed that on the other side of the street there was somepony. The figure was gone one moment, disappearing in the blizzard in a flash, then again stood out clearly moments later. His face was hidden by a dense shadow but the lavender unicorn thought it seemed that the stranger stared right into her window. Instinctively, she stepped back into the room, and when she looked again, the sidewalk was empty. Only the wind was clearing the puffs of snow from the pavement. Two minutes later, Twilight was sleeping like a log, cuddling her soft cushion. Somewhere between the tied roof beams, rats were chasing each other...

Chapter Two - The Reason

A few days earlier...

No matter how much time passes, some things never seemed to change. For Twilight Sparkle, one such thing was reading. As a filly she loved burying herself beneath piles of books, constructing book forts and going through the contents of her strongholds of knowledge. She could spend hours just lying on the floor, reading books about magic, history, physics or medicine, a content smile constantly playing on her lips. Even now, as a grown up mare, she liked to come back to the fond memories of her youth, and take a day or two off, just lying inside a book fort and reading to her heart’s content. And today was just such day.

She was lying on the floor, covered with a pile of books and was going through one of her favorite volumes of ‘The History of Equestria’. Even though she tried to recreate everything from her childhood, some concessions towards modernity seemed to find their way into her recollections. For instance, Spike brought her a radio and put it on the table in the middle of the room. At first she was skeptical about this –she liked to enjoy a good book in absolute silence. Her number one assistant however foresaw this, and knowing she wasn’t a fan of the modern-day popular music he tuned in to a station broadcasting the greatest orchestral pieces instead. She had to admit, it did heighten her experience: nothing could top reading about the Hurricane Crusade while listening to Ludwig van Beethooven’s masterpieces.

Twilight would probably be reading the chronicle for a few hours, but suddenly the music stopped for no good reason.

"Huh?" she get rid of it, raised her head above the book confused.

"We interrupt this program with an emergency broadcast! Please stand by!" a voice of stallion came from the speaker.

It was really strange, this station didn’t broadcast news from the world, only music. After a few seconds another voice began to speak.

"According to an announcement given by the government of the city of Flankfurt of North Equestria, the city has been hit by an epidemic. The data gathered by the local doctors are unanimous: it's leprosy. According to the official statement of Princess Celestia of Equestria, the city is effectively under quarantine until further notice."

"Leprosy?" she thought to herself. "I think I recall something about this..."

She levitated "The Diseases of Our World" by Louis Pasteur and opened it. The transmission was still on, but she wasn't paying it any attention now. She flipped through some pages and found what she was looking for.

"Leprosy is a chronic disease caused by a yet undiscovered kind of bacteria." she read "Leprosy is primarily a granulomatous disease of the peripheral nerves and mucosa of the upper respiratory tract; skin lesions are the primary external sign. Left untreated, leprosy can be progressive, causing permanent damage to the skin, nerves, limbs and eyes. Contrary to folklore, leprosy does not cause body parts to fall off... wait, WHAT!?" she shouted out in shock.

Fortunely, this was only a text. She turned a page and cringed at the site. She forgot there were pictures in this book.

It was a picture of a unicorn pony, though at first glance she could tell something was horribly wrong with it. After staring at it for a few moments she realized, that what she at first assumed was the pony’s coat color was in fact discolored fur, great patches of black covering its normally teal body. Even more disturbing was the pony’s face. Its nose seemed collapsed inside its snout, and its horn was covered with something akin to rot, making Twilight rub her own self-consciously. Next to that picture there were a few images of the pony’s hooves. They were covered with blisters and wounds, and both blood and some kind of sticky, black liquid was pouring from them. Even more disturbing was the next picture, this one of the pony’s face up close. With its collapsed nose and rotting horn the suffering pony looked like if he was trying to smile weakly, but the lavender mare realized with shock, that it was a paralyzed grimace, yet another symptom of the disease. Below the images there was a short description:

“Unicorn Pony from Coltkutta suffering from the weaker variant of Leprosy.”

Twilight felt sick, she averted her gaze from this picture and began breathing heavily several times. She thought she would vomit, but thankfully she managed to calmed herself. Those photos were so suggestive, it terrified her.

“Twilight?” she heard Spike come back to the library. He closed the door behind him. “Is everything alright?”

“Spike, take a letter.” she ordered weakly. Her hooves were trembling, but she couldn’t help it.

“Ehm, no offence, but you’re not looking too good.” Spike said confused.

“Yea, I know. But take a letter nonetheless. It’s really important.”

Spike bolted and grabbed a piece of paper, the quill and an ink bottle. He dipped the quill’s end in the ink and looked at her.

“Dear Princess Celestia...” she started.

And Twilight realised that she had no idea how to write this one. It was the first time in her life that she didn’t even have the slightest idea how to start a letter. She was just standing in the middle of library, trying to come up with a good way to start.

“Twilight?”

“I’m thinking Spike!” she almost snapped back.

“Yea, I see that. It’s just that it’s not something you usually have problems with.” he said calmly.

He was right and it made Twilight even more annoyed. She was trotting in the circle, still thinking about what to write. The images of this suffering pony were flashing before her eyes, they were so suggestive...

Dear Princess Celestia

I heard about the leprosy epidemic in the city of Flankfurt. I can only imagine the pain you must feel after learning these news, but for what it’s worth, I am deeply saddened to hear ponies suffering from such a morbid disease. However, I cannot sit idly by in my library and let innocent ponies suffer. I’m no doctor, but I posses a great deal of knowledge in the field of medicine and I think that my magic can help fight this plague. In light of those facts, I’m asking you for permission for travel to Flankfurt to lend the local doctors a helping hoof. I know that the risk is high, but I just can’t sit and do nothing.

Your faithful student.

Twilight Sparkle

Spike’s claws were a blur as he diligently wrote down Twilight’s words. After he finished he rolled the piece of paper and blew a jet of green fire on it, changing the letter into a mist of sparkly smoke speeding in the direction of Canterlot.

“Leprosy epidemic?” asked Spike once he was finished with that.

“Yes.”

“And what’s that?” the dragon asked curiously

Twilight looked on the pile of books where she left her copy of Diseases of Our World. She breathed a sigh of relief noticing the book closed once she stood up. Spike could definitely go without the more gruesome images stuck in his head.

“Erm, let’s just say that Applejack’s cupcake fiasco was nothing in comparison.” she answered awkwardly, avoiding going into greater detail.

“Well, in that case it has to be something really nasty.” Spike said.

Twilight didn’t answered to that. Spike was about to ask more questions, when the letter from the Princess arrived, forcing him to burp it out.

“Huh, that was fast.”

“What did you expect; she had a few thousand years to learn how to write quickly.” Twilight explained, opening the letter.

Dear Twilight

First let me tell you how proud I am to know that you care so much for your fellow ponies. I have to admit, I was going to ask if you could help in this dire situation, but I see you are already aware of the problem.

Leprosy is not something entirely new to Equestria. I can still remember the plague that ravaged the land four thousand years ago, as I was one of the few who could help those unfortunate enough that got infected by it. Unfortunately, even though we had a few thousand years at our disposal, we were never able to truly understand the nature of this calamity, to understand how it worked, and as a result we couldn’t come up with a cure for it. Even the discoveries of one as well versed in this matter as Louis Pasteur didn’t lead to any significant progress in developing a remedy.

Now however it seems that there is a small glimmer of hope. Gerhard Armauer Hansen, a doctor from the city of Flankfurt has recently made a discovery that might as well be the turning point in our fight with leprosy. He was able to determine which bacteria are responsible for the illness. Sadly, it still seems that it’s not enough to overcome this plague, as it proves resistant to Hansen’s treatment. That is why I am happy you volunteered to help; I want you to meet with doctor Hansen in Flankfurt and aid him in his fight with the plague.

I need to warn you however –the road to Flankfurt is a difficult one, especially at this time of year. There are no railroad connections leading to the town, and the winter storms slow down any attempts at travel. I will help you as much as I can, but even I cannot stop the blizzards of the far North.

I strongly discourage you from taking any of your friends with you on this journey. It may seem to be an odd request, as I tasked you with the study of the magic of friendship, but in light of the events unfolding in Flankfurt it is best they stay in Ponyville, less they run the risk of contracting leprosy. The risk is minimal, but its best we don’t tempt fate and limit the risks.

I will arrange for a stagecoach going to Flankfurt to be waiting for you in Canterlot. I will also contact doctor Hansen and inform him of your arrival. And again, My Faithful Student, it fills me with great pride knowing that you are willing to risk your own health for the fate of innocent ponies. I wish you the best of luck.

Your mentor and friend

Princess Celestia

“Well... It seems that I’m really going to visit Flankfurt.” Twilight said, once she read entire letter. “Thought I expected to go there to see the historical sites and monuments, not to fight a deadly plague.”

“It isn’t it dangerous Twi? I mean, you are going alone, without friends, and then there’s this lepra-thingy going on there... I don’t want to make a list of all the dangers you can encounter there. I’m... I’m worried about you.” her number one assistant said, his voice trembling with sadness and fear for his lifelong companion’s wellbeing.

“You’re right Spike, but all the things we did from the moment we came to Ponyville were in one way or another ‘dangerous’ too.” Twilight said soothingly. “I’m sure that I’m going to be fine. Besides, I’ll take all necessary books with me!” she added with what she thought was a reasuring smile, making her way towards the Medical portion of the library. Deep inside however she was as terrified as Spike was, maybe even more.

After a few moments most of of the contents of the bookshelf was placed in one big pile on the floor, a sheepish Twilight standing right beside it.

“Ups, guess I’m a bit overeager.” she said, rubbing the back of her head with her hoof. In reality however, it was her fear that provoked a leaps in her concentration. Twlight looked at Spike and forced a smile on her lips. “Could you help me pack all this?”

“Yeah, sure.” said the small dragon, eyeing the pile of books. “I’ll go get the trunks.” And with that he went to search for the said piece of luggage.

He didn’t notice Twilight eyeing a copy of Diseases of Our World and rubbing her horn with her hoof.

Chapter Three - The Phantom

Twilight woke up in the morning, greeted by a slightly calmer but significantly colder weather outside her window. For a moment she lay there in a haze, wondering where she was, when suddenly she picked up a bloodcurdling groan coming from downstairs. The sound, which probably just pulled her from her slumber pierced the walls and floor, floating from the depths of the building. She felt chills run down her spine as she realized what it was. A moaning pony was dying.

Twilight dragged herself out of bed and lit a candle. For a moment she wondered if she should go downstairs and help, or rather stay in the room. Finally, the sense of duty overcame her fear. After descending the creaking stairs she reached the ground floor. In the hallway she turned left and stopped at the end of a long corridor. One of the doors was slightly ajar and a streak of light shone through the crack. She knocked tentatively.

"Come in!" somepony answered from inside.

The smell of death lingered in the air, a terrible odor of decomposing flesh. For a moment she stood in the doorway, until she worked up the courage to cross it. Hansen sat in front of a patient on a small stool. In the back of the room near the table an elderly pony was filling a syringe with a white, cloudy liquid. To her surprise, the elderly pony was not a unicorn, but a dark-blue pegasus stallion with a short, golden mane with the a few streaks of hoar here and there. Both ponies were dressed in doctor’s coats, however they didn't cover their cutie marks. On Hansen’s flank there was a microscope, and to the Twilight’s consternation, the pegasus had a crossed saber and flintlock pistol. It was quite a big surprise for her, considering the fact that it was a relatively new invention; even the Royal Guard didn’t have them in stock.

Resting in bed the sick pony was gritting his teeth. The pegasus pony came and uncovered the patient a bit from his quilts and grabbing his front leg and deftly injecting him with the contents of the syringe. Twilight saw that the hoof of the what she only just realized was that of a dying pony was covered with sores and tumors, and that it was morbidly discolored. Dissolved tissue made it hard if not impossible for the wounds to heal.

Once injected, the leper closed his eyes, and after a few minutes his face adopted a relieved, almost blissful expression. Twilight only just now noticed, that the two physicians had thin, rubber gloves on their hooves.

"I'm Dostoyevsky." The slightly graying stallion introduced himself once he noticed Twilight, putting the syringe on the table. "Please forgive me, Miss, for not kissing your hoof, but in our line of work, it is a gesture that we cannot afford.”

If she thought that Hansen had strange accent, than Dostoyevsky’s was from another planet. She would say it was quite broad with a nice lilt to it, as well as being fairly thick, but for the love of her she couldn’t say where it was from.

"I'm Twilight Sparkle, it's a pleasure to meet you." She smiled. However, maintaining a false smile was extremely hard. She didn't know if she should admire these stallions for being so calm in face of death or be terrified by their apparent callousness.

"Morphine." Hansen explained, spotting her as she was eying the empty syringe curiously. "A new substance with a powerful analgesic effect."

"I’ve heard about it. We use it for a long time." She answered. "Still, the doctors usually use opium."

"Opium?" Dostoyewsky asked astonished

"Laudanum." Hansen supplied for his comrade.

"By the way, because I haven’t checked it before... did you receive a letter of recommendation from the Canterlot Medicine University?" Twilight asked, trying to avoid looking at the leper.

"Indeed. I am very happy being able to see you here. The exchange of experience will be useful to you both." He gestured towards Hansen.

"Actually, I'm not a doctor..." She started

“Neither am I.” The pegasus cut in with smile.

Twilight raised an eyebrow in astonishment. “Ehm...”

“It’s a really long fabella, one which I don’t think I have the time to tell you right now.” Dostoyevsky grinned proudly. “Medicina is just one of the artes I learned during my long life; if you are interested, Miss, I can tell you about it later.”

“Don’t allow him to do that, he’ll talk your ears off.” Hansen warned the mare.

“Oh, but what a splendidus way to lose one’s ears it would be!” The pegasus smiled even wider. “It reminded me of an adventure of mine when I was wandering through the Eastern Borderlands. Me, my best friend Zagłoba and...”

“Dostoyevsky, please!” Hansen tried to stop him. “I’ve heard this story at least a dozen of times already! And besides, we have a lady with us, show at least some self-restraint!”

“Oh, my apologies.”

Twilight felt that they should change the subject. It felt incredibly unnatural that these two could speak so calmly while there was a pony dying right beside them.

"They faded and partially closed?" She pointed the patient’s wounds. "According to books I’ve brought with me it means that the end is very near..."

"We will have to perform an autopsy." Hansen added, nodding at Twilight’s words. "It’s not very often that the leprosy hits the internal organs. In this particular case I think the kidneys and the liver was damaged. Please note the spots on his face and hooves."

Twilight nodded, taking note of the diagnosis. Surprisingly, the patient's eyes widened and he looked directly at her. There was a demented gling to his eyes.

"Find him and kill him." he said quite clearly, and then his eyes faded, losing the spark of life in them.

His face seemed to sink in, the muscles in it sagging, and the strange grimace that held one corner of his mouth slightly opened gave way, dropping slowly. The lower jaw slowly dropped. Doctor Hansen closed the dead pony’s eyes. Twilight tried to control her trembling hooves. She failed at it.

"Did he... did he... suffer?" Twilight asked, desperately trying to stop the tremor in her voice. She almost succeeded. Almost.

"Unfortunately yes. However, he lost feeling in the affected organs." Hansen replied calmly. "Lepra always strikes first at the nervous system. By the way, it seems to me that you should sleep for a bit more; it seems that you’re still suffering from the fatigue of the journey. We can easily make the autopsy without you, I can tell you about the result later." The doctor said, looking at Twilight with pity.

She wanted to argue that, but instead of an answer a yawn escaped her mouth. As much as she still wanted to help the doctors, she couldn't stay focused anymore. Twilight felt the days of being in crowded stagecoach taking their toll on her.

"I guess you're right." she slowly admitted. "Good luck then."

Twilight returned to her room. She carefully washed her hooves and mane, but she still couldn’t get rid of the intrusive impression that the disease clung to her skin for good. She knew that the risk of infection was minimal, but couldn’t control the fear. While heading for bed, she saw that dark figure from yesterday again, standing on the sidewalk across the street. She closed her eyes for a few moments, and once she opened them, the only thing she could see outside the window was the wind forcing loose snow into a wild dance across the pavement.

"Damn phantoms." she murmured.

Chapter Four - The Bacteria

Twilight didn't know how long she slept, but once she awoke, it was dark again. She stood in the doors and breathed deeply, for the first time actually enjoying the crisp northern air. She looked across the street, where the ground was gently rising, reaching a snow-covered forest in the distance.She could also see a granite massif towering over the city, looming like a dark sentinel.

Nothing seemed out of place in the courtyard, everything was placed in an orderly way. The only thing out of place was the oblong shape resting in the corner of the yard. It was covered with grey canvas and dotted with dark spots were blood soaked thorough. The surface material was already covered with frost.

Twilight moved along the ashen path, and went inside the opposite building. Once inside, she was greeted by a small hallway, lined with stone slabs. There were several doors there, but which one should she pick? On which of them should she knock? Suddenly, she heard the sound of hoofsteps. She turned around and saw Armauer, coming down the stairs.

"Welcome, I see that you’ve gotten up?"

"I'm sorry, I think I overslept..."

"That's okay. After such a journey you should rest... We proceeded with the autopsy with Dostoyevsky in the morning."

"And the results?"

“Indeed, it was unusual infiltration in the liver. We put the sample in alcohol, we can watch it later. In the meantime, I wanted to invite you inside.” Hansen pushed the solid, oak doors equipped with several iron locks.

They entered a large, two-storey-high room. To the right there were several doors leading to a series of what must have been smaller rooms. Patients were wandering, some of them were sitting at a table, reading, or listening to an older mare, who was apparently reading ‘Solaris’. She even saw a single filly. The hall was encircled by a small gallery with even more doors leading to other rooms.

"At this moment there are eighty patients here." Said the host. "Some of them are no longer able to move, those are placed at the bottom, in the basements. Besides us, we have another five ponies caring of them."

"Is it enough?”

"The biggest problems we have are with the frequent dressing changes. We’re trying to provide entertainment for the patients, at least the bare minimum needed to counter apathy, but most of them are illiterate."

“Illiterate?” she repeated with a perplexed expression.

“Well, this region isn’t as well ‘educated’ as Central Equestria.” Hansen answered.

Patients, hearing voices at the door turned slowly in their direction, looking at the two with melancholy in their eyes. Twilight involuntarily shuddered, seeing growths, swelling and sores on their faces. Hansen led her out into the hallway.

"It is hard to get used to." He sighed. "Though the worst part for me is the knowledge that they... that they all are basically dead. They’re still walking, still thinking, but in fact they don’t exist anymore. Since the very beginning of this leprosarium research was being conducted in hopes of creating some kind of cure... "

"And still you had no such luck?"

Hansen did not answer for a moment.

"Dostoyevsky didn’t lose hope. You see this foal, there at this table? " Hansen pointed in the mentioned direction with his hoof.

Twilight saw her. It was a cute, earth pony filly, still without a cutie mark. She was one of the few truly smiling infected here, and the fact that her face wasn’t paralyzed only made it sweeter. And all the more tragic.

"Primrose." said Hansen after a while. "According to research the young should be much less affected by leprosy ... ‘Should’ being the key word. But the worst part of all this is what she could achieve if it was not for leprosy. She doesn’t even have a cutie mark, and now she may have to die before she even gets it. She could live for so many years, to find lots of friends, she could even achieve something truly wonderful in her life. And now? Now, all of her existence comes down to the fact that she will be waiting for leprosy to spread into the next parts of her body and ultimately for her death. It will be a painful death, assuming that the lepra will strike the organs first, and not nerves. I don’t even pretend to have hope, I know that even if we did find a cure for leprosy, they’ll all be dead for months already. They, and dozens of ponies with same fate... "

"How can you be so sure?” Twilight asked, trembling a bit from Hansen’s words. “I thought that the discovery of leprosy bacteria gave us an opportunity to finally struck down this disease. Maybe we’re missing something? Maybe we’ll find the cure in a few days? Why the lack of hope?”

“We had hope for four thousand years now, and after all this time the only thing we know is how our enemy exactly looks like.” Hansen facial expression turned into a grim one. “You know what? Canterlot University wants to name this plague after me. ‘Hansen’s disease’. Just great. They are already afraid of me, and now ponies will cry after hearing my name.”

Twilight didn’t have an answer to that.

They went to a small laboratory. Dostoyevsky was sitting near the microscope and he was thoughtfully examining something through the eyepiece.

“How’s the histopathology?” Hansen asked.

The old doctor nodded slowly. He changed the crystal with the preparate to another. For a while he was recording his observations in a notebook.

“They are everywhere. In the kidney, the liver. Guts almost clean. You were right, it hit the centratus part of the body.”

“Excuse me, but could you explain that to me?” Twilight asked.

“Of course, Miss.” Dostoyevsky smiled. “The aegrotate who died suffered from some forma of...

“There are no variations.” Hansen protested. “This is all caused by the same bacteria.”

The old man nodded, grudgingly admitting he was right.

“He suffered from a relatively rare forma of leprosy. Usually we're dealing with leprosy’s full-blown form. On the body of the patient patches of skin insensitive to pain appear, forming lumps, cestibitus, then non-healing wounds. Sometimes the morbus strikes inside.”

The elder pony took the jar with a kidney immersed in a slightly yallowy isopropyl alcohol.

“Please look at this. Leprae striked this organ resorting to trace nerve fibers. The tissue was partially decomposed. Leprae usually sleeps in a pony for several months to unexpectedly break out within a few weeks, giving a full-blown form of the disease. As the first offendebare are nerves, the patients don’t feel any pain. Most of the time.”

“But yesterday...”

“As I said before, with this poor pony the situation was slightly different. The leprosy damaged his internal organs. The pain was a result of the calcium oxalate and urea intoxication. Please, use the microscope.” Dostoyevsky encouraged her.

Twilight approached and looked through the eyepiece. She saw a readied piece of tissue, probably from the spinal nerve. Before she arrived in Flankfurt, she read dozens of books about medicine, and thankfully that allowed her to actually know what was looking at. In many places she saw small, dark, bar-like creations. They were moving lazily. She saw them for the first time in her life. “So that’s what I’m fighting with...” Twilight thought silently.

“This is our enemy.” Hansen explained.

“They are still alive?”

“Isolated, they can live even up to two days after the death of the host. They can be killed by karbol, alcohol or high temperature. We have tried several different substances and we have tested their vitality...” the unicorn doctor answered.

“From what I heard, the scientists of Canterlot University, when they heard about your discovery, tried to repeat your observations, but they weren’t successful at this.” Twilight said

Dostoyevsky smiled acidly.

“Did they admit which part of our methodo they ignored? From your face, Miss, I see that you don’t know anything about it. We just bathe our specimin in the solution, with a small part of ink. This is our dear Amauer’s discovery...”

Hansen smiled embarrassed, but in his eyes Twilight spotted pride.

“I made this discovery accidentally.” he admitted.

“The coloration of the specimins was declared as the non-scientific method. They just banned the method at Canterlot University” Twilight noted.

“Indeed, we heard about it. But if it works... For us, we pendo benefits of this method rather than the possibility of being called frauds.” Dostoyevsky smiled.

Twilight looked through the eyepiece of the microscope once more. The bacteria moved a bit slower.

“How long is their lifespan outside a living body?” she asked. “I mean the tissue samples.”

“From seven to eight days. I suppose however, that in favorable conditions they can survive longer.” Hansen answered.

“Did you spot their multiplication?”

“Unfortunately, no. Maybe they can’t do that when the patient is dead or...”

“...They are doing it so tarde that we can’t spot that.” Dostoyevsky ended. “Considering the fact how long their incubation period is, it’s certainly possible.”

Outside, the wind cackled grimmly.

“Tomorrow, we’re coming to Mareggen, the old district of this town.” Hansen informed.” You’ll have the opportunity to see this from the practical point of view.

Twilight only nodded.

Chapter Five - The Legend

The day was slowly coming to an end. Twilight was sitting in the corner of the room, tired from re-reading her medicine books several times. From time to time, Dostoyevsky and Hansen were bringing in a patient to examine. Now, she was waiting for the next patient to come, fighting with her own thoughts.

This was a different world, she was sure of it. It was still called Equestria, but something was definitely... odd about this place. It wasn't the weather anomalies, nor was it the lepra epidemic itself. It was something with the mindset of the ponies themselves. It was... It was like if they were so distant, so aloof when it came to their own lives. They had the power to ignore things; things, that ponies in Equestria usually couldn’t stand.

Worst of all, she was sure that with every passing minute she was here, she too was becoming distant. The first leper was a shock, the second -a terrifying pony. The third was an incredible case, and the fourth one was just a slight anomaly.

"Though the worst part for me is the knowledge that they... that they all are basically dead. They’re still walking, still thinking, but in fact they don’t exist anymore."

Hansen’s words were still echoing in her mind. As much as she wanted to deny that, these words were true. She felt horribly weak, she couldn’t find the strength to get up on her hooves again.

“Miss? Are you alright?” Dostoyevsky asked when he spotted Twilight's grim expression.

“Not so right, I guess.” she answered.

“Do not fear to say if there is something wrong. Forgive my rudeness, but is it somehow involved with leprosy?” the old pegasus asked.

“Not exactly... can I ask you a question?”

“You already did that, Miss.”

“Can I ask you three questions?” Twilight asked, thankfully knowing about this joke.

“Confirmativum.”

“How can you be so emotionless in face of such terrible things?”

Dostoyevsky didn’t answer for a while. She was about to repeat her question, but the pegasus was faster.

“You chose quite a magnus word, Miss. Emotionless. But I think you are misunderstanding the meaning of the term. Are emotions what can be shown by gestures, grimaces, trembling or blushing? Or maybe they are hidden in our minds?”

“I think I can understand your point of prospectus. It’s a terrible situation, but please do not consider us as soulless. It’s about having...a mask. The truth about our lives is that we are wearing masks. A sergeant is giving an encouraging oratio to his legiones, wearing a face of a heros, while behind the mask he is scared to death. Sometimes it goes conversely, I knew a lot of ponies that were shy or weak, but in a situation of grave danger they shown a spiritus of courage.”

“In conclusion, I want to invite you to a play. We have roles to play, masks to wear, scripts to follow, so let the show begin. Life is a theatre, the only difference is that not always are the viewers in sight. However, you need to remember, Miss, that the actors have their own faces behind their masks. In truth, I’m maybe even more terrified about the lepra than you, the only differentia is that your role is more naturalis, because you don’t play the role, you live it. It’s something I can vere admire, the fact you don’t need to play.”

Twilight was slowly ruminating his words, slightly lowering her head.

“So, it’s only about the mask thing?”

“Indeed. I’m not a very good actor, but wearing the mask of a calm noble is easy to me. Would you wear a mask for me, Miss?” Dostoyevsky asked, smiling encouragingly.

Twilight chuckled in response and nodded.

“Confirmativum.”

The patient was sitting in a chair in front of the three "doctors". Half of her face was contorted in a terrible grimace.

“There's an insolitum symptom." said Dostoyevsky. “Due to the infection of the nerve tissue, the right facial nerve has been damaged, leaving that side paralyticus”.

Twilight put on the gloves, then she soaked her hooves in a bowl filled with a carbolic acid solution, and then carefully touched the patient's head.

"Indeed." she said. "I’ve read that similar incidents have occurred in Saddle Arabia.”

"And what did the local doctors recommend in terms of treatment?" Hansen asked curiously.

“Well, doctors there are few in numbers, and they don't have a very good reputation. From what I’ve read, about fifty years ago, the ponies came to the conclusion that it was the doctors who were spreading the plague. A famous physician was barely alive when he was reportedly pulled out of a well. However, witch doctors retained their popularity, and they generally used two methods. Medieval, by burying them in sacred ground, in the hope that it will draw out the disease.”

"What terrible crudelitatique." Dostoyevsky muttered.

"Let's not forget who claimed that leprosy is a hereditary disease." Hansen grinned teasingly.

The old pony looked abashed at that.

“The second method, more modern, was to put the ill pony in a barrel filled with boiling water for a few hours. Witch doctors then were marking the barrel with occultic symbols...”

"And it was helping?” Hansen asked with a flare in his eye.

“Actually it did, though the effects were short-termed.”

“It’s easy to explain. According to our researches, the leprae bacteria die in a temperature slightly higher than that of pony tissue. If the temperature was well chosen, a lot of bacteria could die, while the pony’s organism could still survive. Of course, not all bacteria would die, so after some time the disease would come back. Maybe, if we could warm the pony body as a whole to the appropriate temperature...” Hansen hoped.

“What should we do in this situation?” Twilight asked, pointing at the patient, who was sitting on her chair for the whole time, not moving an inch.

“In theoria, we could make an incisione here...” Dostoyevsky pointed with a pencil to a spot on the ill pony’s face. “After cutting both of the affected nerves, the face appearance would revert back to an almost original look. But this would be worthless, because this action would cause bilateral paralisis”.

Twilight nodded absently, her eyes lingering on the collection of bottles with carbolic acid. “It’s the first time I see one of the newest inventions in the field of medcine used on such a scale.”

Hansen nodded.

“The theories of doctor Lister were truthful indeed. Spraying the carbolic acid around the operating field drastically cuts the likelihood of complications.”

He dismissed the patient. After a moment, the next pony came in. The unicorn mare’s nose was partially collapsed, which gave her an incredibly terrifying appearance. The lepra stuck also the edge of her hooves. To Twilight’s relief, her horn was untouched. Hansen said something in a language Twilight didn’t know, and the ill pony extended her hooves. The unicorn doctor took a needle framed in wood, then he began carefully puncturing the edge of her limbs.

“Dammit.” he cursed. “The restorative treatment doesn’t give any results.”

“What did you use?” Twilight asked, pulling a notebook from her saddlebag.

“A quinine-arsenic mixing. Probably, the leprosy bacteria was affected for a time and was forced into regression, but now it seems it adapted to the new conditions. The wounds are beginning to open again.”

Twilight spotted a patch of unusually looking tissue. Some parts of the leper’s hoof was decomposed, showing something that looked like bone. However, it had a liquid-like consistence rather than a solid one, resembling a blob of pus streight out of a wound.

“Osteolysis?” the lavender mare asked.

“Indeed, osteolysis. The phalanges are crumbling to pieces. The normalis tissue is replaced with some genus of cartilage... it looks like this.” Dostoyevsky took a glass box from the drawer. Inside, there were several specimins with hoof bones.

“Maybe we could counteract the lack of calcium?” Twilight proposed. “The mixtures can be given orally.”

“Could you prepare them?” Hansen’s voice was filled with curiosity.

“Of course.” Twilight confirmed. ‘Being a bookworm has it advantages.’ she added in her thoughts.

“In that case, we will give you free reign in our laboratory.” Hansen stated with a nod.

“You should find him and kill him.” the leper said suddenly. “I’m already dead, but you must get him...”

And with that she left the room.

“Actually, I have question. Why not use magic to heal ponies? I mean... seriously, there are no spells for that?” Twilight asked.

“There are. Problem is... well, it’s complicated.” Hansen spoke. “In a theory, we could use magic to destroy the leprosy bacteria. Problem is, that to do that we need to “see” them. Magic is not a precise thing, and instead of healing, we could turn some organ into liquid. In the history of medicine, there were several situations when magic could actually help, but most of the time healing with magic is even more dangerous than leaving the ill pony alone. It’s just impossible to predict what would happen.

“When I was fighting under the ducatus of hetman Zamoysky as a hussar, we got a soldier with a damaged liver. He was close to death, so we brought the unicorn medicus to heal him. Well, he actually managed to treat his liver, but at the same time his heart was turned into only Celestia knows what, and in effect he died.” Dostoyevsky added. “More ponies died from diseases, than from the ungulis of the enemy.” he murmured.

“So in conclusion, no magic?” Twilight said

“Confirmativum.” the pegasus nodded.

“Who do they want to kill?” Twilight asked, with curiosity written on her face. It was something she was meaning to ask for some time now. “Somebody is infecting them on purpose? I thought it’s impossible.”

Armauer smiled slightly.

“It’s only a legend, and a idiotic one at that. There is nothing to talk about.”

However, Twilight spotted that Dostoyevsky actually wanted to say something about this, but an eloquent glare from Hansen effectively prevented him from doing that.

“We can’t be one hundred percent sure how the leprosy is spreading” Dostoyevsky said. “We suppose that bacteria are in the secretions of lepers, so the “purposely infecting” approach would be really difficilis, but actually possible. We can’t also deny the possibilitas, that the leprae bacteria can travel in drops of steam from the exhaled air of ill ponies. Still, we can’t find proof for that.”

Twilight felt an icy drop of sweat ran down her spine.

“I guess it’s time for some sleep.” Hansen yawned. “We examined most of the ponies already, tomorrow we’ll inspect in the city.”

Twilight nodded and after a farewell, each of them headed to their accommodations. Before going to sleep however, she washed her hooves properly. Gloves or no gloves, she wanted to be absolutely sure she did everything she could to avoid infection. While heading to her bed, she looked outside her window. This time she didn’t spot anypony outside. She was about to lie in her bed, but then she suddenly spotted something out of place. Despite the raging blizzard, there was a line of small, pony steps circling the building...

Chapter Six - The Nonsense

Armauer took the guest from Ponyville out for breakfast. He took her to a local diner, just two streets from hospital. The local was situated in an old, wooden house. Some of the walls were removed, replaced by several crude-looking poles. When Twilight and Hansen entered, the entire hall was filled with ponies, almost to the point of bursting.

“I don’t think there are any free tables.” Twilight noted dejectedly.

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

Indeed, after a moment ponies began leaving the diner, and after a few minutes half of the room was deserted. They sat at one of free tables. The waitress approached and gave them each a menu. Armauer ordered a northern salad, while Twilight chose cauliflower soup. The waitress bolted out of the room as soon as she got their orders.

“Why did they leave so suddenly?” Twilight asked, taken aback by the ponies behaviour.

Hansen smiled widely.

“Shoot.”

Twilight thought for a moment and then she shook her head while shrugging.

“Obviously, because they think that we are “unclean”, they ran from us like from the lepers themselves.” Hansen explained jauntily. “Besides, there is nothing to be surprised about.”

“The owner of the restaurant won’t call the neighbours for help and try to kick us out of here?”

“No, because I’m the owner. This is the only place in Flanfkurt I can freely eat. In other restaurants and taverns indeed, they would force us to leave. The ‘advantages’ of a horrid reputation.” he sighed.

“You didn’t achieve major success in terms of treatment...” Twilight came back to the questions she wanted to ask, reffering to their yesterday conversation.

“The results of the quinine-arsenic mixing weren’t that encouraging, but that doesn’t mean the next won’t work. I came up with a new recipe. Based on mercury. Chemical composition similar to the medicines used against siphilis...”

“A mercury-based mixture can be really dangerous...”

The waitress brought two glasses with aniseed. They raised them in a quick toast and took a sip.

“Doctor Mouritz from the lepers colony in Moloukai tried to rub ill zebras with an aloe-codeine mixing. He achieved several successes in regards of wound treatment.” Hansen continued the conversation.

“Maybe it’s worth trying?” Twilight suggested.

“I guess it is, but I have problems with aloe. It’s impossible to converse, and it can’t survive in this climate, even in pots. My friend from Manehattan is trying to obtain the extract responsible for accelerating the healing process from the stalks of this plant. Maybe that will be possible to store?”

“And the ergotamine salve?”

“I don’t know.” he livened up. “What is needed? Glycerine...”

“You need to mix hot glycerine with wax and an ergot fungi extract. The results from Canterlot University were quite encouraging, but still it’s no milestone.”

The waitress brought their orders and bolted out of the room.

“Yea, they are treating us like the ill ones.” Twilight muttered sadly.

“Yup. A normal reaction, nothing to be astonished at. Lepra was recognized as the punishment for sins or a curse of sorts, just recently ponies understood that this is a disease. Now, even my chief knows that...”

“By the way, Dostoyevsky looked really ashamed when you mention his earlier beliefs... what was all that about?” she asked.

“Well. When he was young he came up with a theory... that this is a family pestilence. He tried twenty times to inculcate leprosy in himself. Because he didn’t succeed, he came to the conclusion, that it was “congenital”. He changed his mind when the government introduced the ‘prevention’ program.” Hansen explained.

“Where did Dostoyevsky come from anyway?” she asked suddenly. “Strange accent, thrown in latin words, ‘hetmans’... where is he from?”

“From what I’ve heard, it’s called “Commonwealth of Three Nations”. In shortcut. I didn’t try to remember the entire name, it was about twenty words long. Quite big country a long way east of Equestria, and by ‘long’ I mean a really long way.” Hansen answered.

“Could you tell me more about that?” she asked, a bit furious that there was an entire country she didn’t even know existed. She decided, that once back home she would have to read up about it.

“I’m not the pony you should be asking about this. I guess you need to ask Dostoyevsky himself, he definitely knows more about it than me I need to warn you however: believe only half of what he says. He likes to exaggerate in his stories. I guess” he added silently.

“Well, maybe let’s go back to the leprosy thingy.” Twilight changed the topic. “I couldn’t find that in books: how long is the incubation period for leprosy?”

“It depends. In our climate, it’s usually five years, however we have several patients who had their first symptoms only two years after infection. The doctors from Moloukai think, that lepra can incubate up to for seven years. I still don’t know how that’s possible...”

“Maybe zebras are more resilient?” she suggested.

“It’s a hard question to answer. I don’t think so, because the plague brought by Changelings is killing them in hundreds. The lepra just incubate longer in their bodies.”

The waitress took their empty plates and quickly left. After a moment, somewhere outside the hall they heard the sound of silica being smashed to pieces.

“They are breaking the plates that I used.” Hansen said. “Thanks to this, clients feel a bit safer. Where was I? Oh, yes. Did I mention the ‘prevention’ program? After the last plague comeback, we started to isolate the ill ponies, and we started to examine every pony from their families. We made special laws for each region of Northern Equestria. At first, isolation was a huge success. At first we noted two thousand new infected, but after introducing the government program, the numbers significantly lowered. Twenty years later, it was only one thousand three hundred, in the next twenty years it was only three hundred. But now, five years later, we noted one thousand seven hundred.”

Twilight shivered hearing Hansen throwing all those numbers like if they were nothing.

“How’s that possible?”

“We improved our detection methods. My apprentice, Nilsen, came up with a new test... I guess earlier we just overlooked a lot. At least, I hope we did...” he muttered.

“Where did the lepers appear?”

“Mainly here, in Flankfurt.” Hansen sighed. “Celestia dammit...” he cursed.

“Maybe near the research center the detection is higher?”

“Definitely no. We trained one hundred doctors. We have the list of families in which members suffered from lepra in the span of the last seventy years. All of them are examined every year. We also started to examine random ponies from the streets. Of course, our actions aren’t liked by the citizens. Ponies are afraid...”

Finally, they stood up and exited the building. An earth pony sailor, who was standing outside, near the entrance, turned his head to face them.

“You should find him and kill him.” the sailor said.

This was too much for Hansen.

“This is bullshit!” he shouted.

Next, he started shouting so rapidly and furiously, that she couldn’t understand any of his words. However, Twilight was sure that most of them were vulgar. When he finally calmed down, he turned into another street. Twilight followed him.

“I’m sorry.” Hansen said, sighing hard. “I just can’t stand this.”

“Who do we need to kill? What do they want?” Twilight asked, still shocked from Hansen’s earlier outburst.

“Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense, nonsense...” Armauer started whispering to himself, probably being in even bigger shock than her.

“What...” she tried to ask, but was cut by the the unicorn doctor’s answer.

“They ‘believe’ that, when Dostoyevsky founded and set up the research center against the leprosy, the demon of this plague came to observe our actions. He is supposedly wandering in the city and infecting ponies. Indeed, one year earlier we noted twenty new plaguebearers. This year, thirty six.”

“Did you try to mark them on the city map? Maybe it’s something different?” Twilight suggested. “Like for example food poisoning? Or water? Did you check the wells?”

“Most of them we noted in the Mareggen district. Almost all of them in fact.” Hansen corrected himself.

“What is that place?”

She almost became accustomed to the cold of the North by now, but when a gale of frosty wind blew through the street, she started shaking immediately. Even Rarity’s warmest coat didn’t help much. Hansen was fearing better, but not by much.

“We are going there right now.” he smiled grimly. “You will see for yourself."

Chapter Seven - The Figment

When Twilight first came to Flankfurt, she thought it was a really old city. She was right, of course. From what she read, the city was first founded about six hundred years ago as a small provincial village. It had its golden age about three and half centuries ago, during the reign of the Horseatic League. The League itself was the precursor of the modern economy and trading system used today across Equestria. Their ships were travelling to the far east, as far as Coltcutta, to the far west, like to Los Pegasus, and to the far north, to Flankfurt. Flankfurt, or rather “Mareggen” as it was called during that time, was practically the capital city of the Hanseatic League. The famous leader of the League, Captain Westcoast set up the first warehouse and the League’s guild in this area. Mareggen become incredibly wealthy and prospered to the point of becomming a town in its own, thanks to the growing trade business.

Still, she was surprised. If Flankfurt looked like a ruin now, than the Mareggen district was a ruin inside a ruin. Twilight started wondering if she unintentionally used a time-machine, she was completely sure that the description of this city from the old “Tourist’s Guide of Northern Equestria: History, Culture and Architecture” was still accurate.

The district was filled with old, wooden houses. All of them were linked together, they were placed so close to each other that it seemed like if they were almost hugging one another. Most of them had several floors, though the lights were shining only in the windows in the upper floors. ‘The ground floors are probably shops’ Twilight reasoned.

Despite the quite late hour, there was no sign of ponies on the streets. From time to time she saw somepony behind one of the the windows. They were wearing old-fashioned clothes, and they seemed to come from a completely different timeline. The entirety of Mareggen looked like if a picture from the olden times come to life; it looked exactly the same as a few hundreds years ago.

Despite the confusing labyrinth of small streets and alleys, Hansen knew full well where he was going.

“My hooves are bound.” he suddenly said. “I’m sure that a lot of ponies here are ill. If we could just... come and examine all of them. Thankfully, as time passes, more ponies became aware of the leprosy.”

They stopped near one of the more plain-looking wooden houses. Hansen rapped at the door, and it was opened for them a few seconds later. Armauer and Twilight entered.

The interior was dark, but there were several candles burning, shedding some dim light. After a moment, Twilight spotted a brown earth pony stallion with a black mane and beard, standing at the side of the door and looking at them..

“Waterkeeper.” the host introduced himself, shaking the guests’ hooves. ”Fishing and trading department.”

He didn’t need to state his job. The smell of dried cods emanated even from the walls of the house itself was enough of a giveaway.

“Twilight Sparkle.” she shook his hoof.

“Hmm... Manehattan?” he shot.

“Ponyville.” Twilight corrected him with a small smile of pride. Actually, it should be Canterlot, but she didn’t care.

“She’s a doctor like I am.” Hansen added untruthfully. “She came from Central Equestria to help fight the leprosy.”

“Please, follow me.” Waterkeeper said.

They went to the higher floor using a tight, wooden staircase. The interior of the house was packed with small, tight rooms with several staircases leading upwards and downwards. All the rooms had tiny, wooden hatches in their walls.

“What are those for?” Twilight asked curiously, pointing at one of the hatches.

“They’re here in case of a fire emergency.” Waterkeeper explained seriously. “About a hundred years ago, a fire consumed half the town. That’s why there are two exits from every room. Also, each house is linked to another, so there is always an escape route.”

Twilight nodded, and didn’t ask any more question. They entered a small chamber with a view of the harbor outside outside the window. The host lighted a few candles. She spotted a bed that was partially imbedded in a wall, placed beside a large wooden hatch. She guessed, that if a fire would catch a pony in the bed, he or she could use the hatch to safety escape.

The room they entered was occupied by a single, beautiful earth pony mare with a long braided red mane and tail. Upon arrival she quickly lighted two more candles. Armauer took a few syringes from his bag, followed by a box of needles, a pair of thin gloves and a ceramic bowl. Twilight in the meantime took out a portable spirit stove from the bag she was carrying and lighted it with a spell. After the fire reached a certain temperature, Hansen began heating the needles over it, effectively disinfecting them.

“We would like to start with the first patient now.” he said to Waterkeeper.

“In that case, I’ll go first.” Waterkeeper smiled in return. Then, the earth pony removed his jacket from his body.

Hansen studied him for a while. The skin of the trader was covered with freckles, but besides that there was nothing suspicious.

The unicorn doctor nodded. “You are not ill.”

Waterkeeper took his jacket and left. After a moment, his wife came in. She stood before the doctors, shivering a bit from the cold... or maybe from fear? She had a strange, pink stain on her right shoulder. Hansen focused on this small part of her body, and after his short observation, he took a needle with his magic.

“This is a scar after a burn.” the mare protested.

“Twilight, could you puncture her ‘scar’ with this needle several times? Try not to go deeper than three millimeters, ok?” Hansen asked, levitating the needle to her.

When Twilight was preparing herself, Hansen stood up and locked eyes with Waterkeeper’s wife. Twilight jabbed the needle in her skin without a warning. The patient shrieked. Twilight repeated, this time in another spot. This time, the mare cried out more softly.

“Dilatation of the pupils.” Hansen stated calmly. “It hurt.”

“Of course it hurt you bastard!” she groaned “Torturers!”

“Please, do not take it personally.” Hansen tried to smile. “We had to check.”

Next was a fifteen years old young mare, a daughter of the host. She was extremely embarrassed, but Hansen dismissed her immediately. There were no suspicious marks on her skin. Next in line was another filly, probably thirteen. She had a few small, white dots on her chest. Hansen stabbed her with a needle several times, aiming at those small dots. The filly didn’t even flinch. Both Twilight and Armauer bit their lips.

“We will make another test.” he said to Twilight.

Then, he took a small paintbrush from his bag and brushed the patient’s skin with a dark liquid.

“It’s iodine tincture.” he explained. “Now, I only need to powder it with potato starch...”

When Hansen finished, he took a syringe which he then filled with a substance Twilight didn’t know.

“Okay, so here is the plan.” he said. “I will inject her with one-tenth of a cubic centimeter of pilocarpine solution. Pilocarpine will cause massive sweating. Thanks to the sweating, iodine will precipitate. As a result, small, characteristic dots should appear on her body.”

With this explanation, Hansen inject the patient with pilocarpine. After a moment, the chest of the filly was covered in a small, black dots. Hansen smiled to her.

“It’s over.” he said. “You are healthy.”

“Thank Celestia.” she whispered quietly.

“I don’t understand. How does this test work?” Twilight asked the doctor.

“Skin suffering from leprosy doesn’t sweat.” he explained.

The filly took her clothes and exited. Next was a unicorn colt, who was working in the warehouse. When he took off his shirt, Hansen’s face turned grim. Large stains were marking the entire back of the unicorn. The body in the affected parts was swollen and discolored.

Armauer used the needle again. The colt hissed each time the needle punctured his skin.

“This is some kind of lichen.” Hansen muttered. “We will give you some zinc ointment, but...”

He proceeded with the iodine tincture test. Finally, he made a small incision and took a sample of his skin for further study.

“You should find him.” the colt muttered, exiting.

The last patient was an elderly pony, who was working as a cook. She was quite massive, and Twilight wondered, as rude as it sounded, how much of her actual cooking ended up in her own stomach. Her skin was covered densely with nevi, but there was nothing suspicious.

“Ponies on the market say, that the Leper Messiah is stalking the city again.” she said, when they finished examining her. “You should find him.”

“Leper Messiah.” Hansen sighed.

“Ponies saw him a few days ago, when he walked through the fish market at midnight. He was heading for Mareggen.”

“This is only a figment. Maybe there is an ill drifter who is wandering in the city and should be catched, but he isn’t involved in spreading the plague.”

“I know.” The elderly mare sighed. It seemed like she wasn’t listening to Hansen at all. “Here, in this city founded by Westcoast, a plague from the Coltkutta struck for the first time. That’s why he came here... Between the wooden houses he feels at home. Everything looks like during the time when he first arrived in this city. He wears a broad, leather hat, like the trader from the times of the Horseatic League. I heard that only his eyes were left untouched. Maybe a priest would help.” she said. “A Faustian priest, of course.”

“Yea, yea, right.” Hansen muttured. “If that’s so... how should we kill him? Ghosts cannot be touched, they cannot be killed.”

“You saw the leprosy bacteria as the first pony in the world, doctor. Maybe you will soon make a cure for this.” the elderly mare said to Hansen. Suddenly, her face turned to Twilight, who was totally confused by her words. “He is afraid of you. He hates you. He will track you. Maybe someday, the plague will touch you...” she muttered towards Twilight, wearing a strange smile on her face.

Twilight shivered.

“Let’s go.” Hansen said to her. “This house is clean, thankfully.”

It was dark already thanks to the polar night. Hansen took a lamp from his bag and lighted the candle inside. They went through the alleys of Mareggen.

“If ghosts were to live in this city, this would be a place where they would be.” Twilight whispered, looking around her and shivering slightly.

“During daytime, this place looks... almost delightfully. But now...” Hansen trailed off.

When they reached a junction, a pair of guards appeared from the shadows. They were wearing cuirasses, almost invisible underneath their thick coats. They were equipped with spears. One of the guards was holding a lantern, while the second one, probably the commander, approached them.

“Good evening doctor Hansen.” the guardspony greeted stiffly. “Are you in need of an escort?” he glared at Twilight.

“No, thank you. Today, we didn’t find anypony infected.”

The guardspony smiled insincerely.

“Two thousand nine hundred eighty-six steps.” he said. “We are taking note of everything. Maybe someday, we’ll get him.”

“Superstitions” Hansen growled.

The patrol soon left, but Twilight and Hansen knew full well, that they were shadowing them, if only because of the sound of their hoofsteps echoing from nearby alleys.

“What’s all this with these steps?” Twilight asked curiously.

“Ponies think, that a pony led by an escort always walks two thousand and something steps between his house and the hospital.”

“Escort. You mean the hospitalization is forced?”

“Yes. I would prefer not to do this that way, but what can I do? I need to limit the potential sources of the plague.” he sighed.

“And the patients, they don’t try to run?” Twilight asked. Subconsciously, derision appeared in her voice.

“Sometimes. Actually... no. ‘Rarely’ fits better. Their families can meet them in hospitals, but they can talk only with glass between them. As for escaping... yes, they could do that, but where would they hide? Nopony will greet them in their houses. Sometimes,” he repeated. “they are trying to hide in the countryside, but we find it out pretty quick. Make no mistake, I’m not forcing them back to the hospital. I’m a pony, and they are ponies too...

Suddenly a short, hunched over figure began looming in the shadows. Under a broad, leather hat, strange, glowing eyes could be seen looking directly at them. Twilight and Hansen stopped immediately, taken aback. Somewhere from the roof of one of the houses, a blanket of snow slid down. Snowdrops were dancing between the walls of the wooden buildings, and when they reached the ground, the stranger vanished.

“Did you see that?” Twilight asked.

“Yes. That was a drifter for sure. Yea, I know what you want say. Indeed, he looked like a ghost. I agree, he is wearing a hat, nopony here wore those for years.

Twilight looked at him. Doctor Hansen’s eyes became fishy, and he tried not to look where that figure was moments before.

“We are leaving.” she pulled one of Armauer’ hooves. “Which way?”

“Forward, and left. We will go by the coast.”

They marched, holding each other. The surface was slippery thanks to the ice, and they had problems with keeping their balance. Hansen spotted, that Twilight was moving her lips silently. He smiled and the unicorn doctor started counting too. They halted in the gate of the hospital.

“Two thousand nine hundred eighty-six steps.” Twilight said seriously.

“I was counting too. I started later, and still we got same number.” Hansen muttered. “I tried several times...” he added quietly, when they entered the building.

Chapter Eight - The Wilting Roses

“Some things just aren’t meant to go together. Like trying to be happy while being a leper” Primrose thought as she trotted inside. The room was filled with dozens of ponies, all of them lepers. Some of them didn’t look ill, only their grim expressions showing the horrible truth. Others however were covered in terrible wounds, rotting flesh on their limbs emitting a smell so putrid, that even a sniffle would be enough to render one unaccustomed to it unconscious for hours to come.

Primrose tried to stay optimistic, ‘tried’ being the key word. When she arrived here she tried to maintain a smile, but the sight of so many ponies suffering so much... it was just too much to handle. She examined herself every day, and every day she was thankful that she didn’t spot any unwanted changes, looking almost exactly the same as on her first day here. There were times when she was even thinking, that she wasn’t ill at all. Primrose wasn’t like the other patients here not only thanks to her appearance, but also her positive outlook on life. That couldn’t however last long in a place like this.

There was an old pony here, who took a liking to her. He couldn’t see, because his eyes became liquid thanks to the leprosy, but he still kept on saying she was a beautiful young filly. His name was Pruse, and the elder said that he was a fisherpony. It was really boring in the leprosarium, so he took it upon himself to tell her his entire life story, and what a life it was! The first three days of her stay here consisted basically of listening to Pruse’s tales from dawn to dusk. Sadly, it was only the first three days, because at Friday he just didn’t want to wake up. Hansen, the same doctor who brought her here said that he got “serious paralysis”, whatever that meant, and that they had to take him away. He didn’t say if Pruse was going to be fine or not, but Primrose was a smart filly. She knew. She missed his tales, even if most of them were quite boring, but Pruse was such a nice pony. Primorose cried once she realised that even such a kind pony could be killed by such a nasty illness.

From that moment further she stopped smiling and adopted the grim expression the others had all the time. When Pruse died, there was nopony to distract her from the sad reality with their tales, and the stay in the leprosarium became a torture, filled with boredom and hopelessness. As time passed her depression grew, and the memory of her father kicking her out of home was only adding insult to injury. Abandoned by the ones she loved, Primrose felt at times like there was nothing left for her to live for. She tried mentioning it to one of the doctors, but he just shrugged her off, more concerned about the lepra itself than the pony afflicted with it.

In this whole mess, there was one pony that looked like he wasn’t all that worried about the entire situation. An elder pegasus doctor with a dark-blue coat and gold mane was walking around the entire room, examining everypony, giving out medicine and from time to time replacing bandages on the more severely injured patients. The entire group of ill pones waited in a line for his inspection.

Soon, the time had come for her. The doctor approached her and give her a kind smile.

“You didn’t change much from our first meeting, Primrose.” Dostoyevsky greeted her.

“Hello.” she answered softly.

“You already know the procedure, Miss. Ehm, please come a bit closer, I need to have good view of you, so I can form a good diagnose and apply the correct treatment. ‘Bene dignoscitur, bene curatur.’” he said, adding something in a foreign language.

Primrose trotted closer and allowed Dostoyevsky to examine her. She was merely looking at him blankly, letting her mind wander. However, she came up with a question, and try as she might, she couldn’t help but ask it out loud.

“Dostoyevsky?” she started, struggling to pronounce his name correctly.

“Yes, Miss?” he raised his head.

“I-I’m scared. I don’t want to be... a leper. But one pony said there is no cure for this. Is that true?” she asked.

To her surprise, Dostoyevsky didn’t answer her question. While she was wondering why exactly the pegasus hadn’t spoke a word, Dostoyevsky’s mind was a fuzzy mess of opposing thoughts. His honour and the oath he made a long time ago forced him to speak the truth... but he couldn’t do that, he couldn’t say something so cruel to such a young and innocent creature. However, the longer he was thinking about it, the more he was struggling with his own beliefs. Finally, he came up with a solution, that would suit both sides, though he still hated doing this.

“Contra vim lepra non est medicamen in hortis. For now.” he answered.

“And that means...”

“Don’t worry about that.” Dostoyevsky cut her off suspiciously quickly.

“Advantages of knowing Latin... Thank Faust for that.” he thought as he continued examining Primorse, limb by limb. To his surprise, the disease was spreading much slower than he expected. Only a few more centimeters of the filly’s body rotted, and Primrose squeaked when he jabbed her with needle in the face, smiling apologetically as he did it.

“My apologies, Miss. I just had to confirm something. I have to say you are dealing with this illness surprisingly we... we... well...

“What in Tartatus is that!?”

“Sweet Faust! Medic!”

“I’m here!” the doctor bursted into the room, carrying a large leather bag with him. His assistant was just behind him.

The room was a huge mess. There was a filly lying in the bed, coughing furiously. Next to her there was an old stallion named Tramelsy, who was currently hugging her hoof and whispering comforting words to her.. Two almost identical ponies, twin brothers most likely were looking at the whole situation in shock. Both of them were dark-blue pegasi with leather caps on their heads. They were looking incredibly similar, the only difference was their cutie marks. The older one had a moneybag for his mark, and the younger had a saber and flintlock pistol for his. Next to them there was a mare, crying silently in the corner of the room, and a grim looking servant.

The filly in the bed was barely breathing. The doctor immediately dashed to her and started examining her.

“This can’t be happening...” one of the brothers, the one with the moneybag whispered silently. “This... this...”

Redrose was his daughter. Almost six years ago his younger brother came to visit them and congratulete them on the birth of their beautufil baby filly.They seemed so happy together and the entire familly was crying tears of pride and happiness.

But now...

Despite the fact he didn’t know much about medicine, he knew what was killing her. Tuberculosis. At first the family was convinced, that this was just some sort of weak disease that they could cure using traditional methods. It looked as though the curation worked for a time, after a few days it seemed like if the disease was defeated. But today...

The doctor took a strange bottle from inside of his bag and poured its contents into the filly’s open mouth. Meanwhile his assistant approached the twins, his face frozen in an expression of seriousness.

“Which one of you is Dostoyevsky?” the assistant asked.

“It’s me” they said in unison. “Ehm... I think you meant this one” the younger added and pointed to his older brother with his hoof.

“My name is Skyscraper and I’m Dr. Stable’s assistant. As you can see, my mentor is... currently busy. So I’ll be the one to explain what’s going on.”

The younger of the Dostoyevsky twins would normally have by now thrown in some kind of stupid joke like : “And I guess your director is mr. House?”, but the situation was just too grim for that. The face of his older brother paled significantly, looking like a porcelain mask.

“Your daughter, Redrose, she’s suffering from tuberculosis. As you may know, MTB is an infectious disease of the respiratory system. The usual symptoms consist of chronic cough with blood-tinged sputum, high fever and weight loss. If not treated properly, the infection can spread to other organs at which point… well… treatment becomes very difficult.”

Redrose coughed violently and Tramelski, who was still hugging the filly’s hoof shivered a bit. The servant moved the wife of the older Dostoyevsky from the room once he noticed that she was about to faint.

“Her lungs are almost completely destroyed.” Dr. Skyscraper continued. “From her earlier examinations we knew, that her lungs were really weak for a filly her age, but at this point she can barely breath. Also, we noted that her intestines aren’t working properly and we got some symptoms that would suggest that her kidneys ceased to work as well.”

With Dr. Skyscraper's every word, the older of the two siblings was shaking more and more.

“Will... Will she... Will she survive?” the younger brother managed to ask.

Dr. Skyscraper opened his mouth but after some thought he shut it again. Meanwhile, Dr. Stable was pouring another vial of medicine into Redrose’s mouth. She lost consciousness some time ago.

“Ah... Skyscraper?” Dr. Stable turned his face towards them. “Could you please move Mr. Tramelsky and his sons out of here? There are definitely too many ponies here, especially when we’re dealing with such a dangerous and easily-spreading disease.”

“Right, of course...”

“I’m not moving from there!” the older Dostoyevsky snapped. “This is my daughter Faust dammit!”

“Equus sacra res Equus.” the younger added. “I’m not leaving my brother’s daughter. Not in a time like this.”

“My sons...” Tramelsky slowly stood on his hooves. “As much as I’m proud of your conviction, the good doctors are right.”

“But...” the twins spoke in unison.

“The only thing we can do now is to pray to the Allmother.” their father cut them off. “We are leaving.” he added, nodding at the doctors.

Cottage simply nodded in response and after a moment Tramielsky and both his sons left the room. They took the wooden chairs just a few meters away from the entrance and sat in them silently.

And so they waited. Neither of the Dostoyevsky brothers said anything. Tramielsky was silent too, praying softly under his breath.

“Waiting is the worst part of life”. the younger Dostoyevsky thought. “Waiting wouldn’t be so hard, if not the upcoming news. Will Redrose survive or... Don’t even think like that, of course she’ll be fine! Yes, she must be. But it would be so much better if we would know it ‘now’.” He couldn’t stop his hooves from shaking. Dostoyevsky haven’t spent that much time with his brother’s daughter, he visited her only twice, but he knew perfectly well that she was the pride of her parents. The first time he visited was during her birth in Boatville, when she couldn’t talk and walk at all, and the second time was a few months later when she was a cute little filly, enjoying a small stroll through the house. Now, after a few years it was his third visit...

His brother was taking this a lot worse, but that was to be expected. He was her father after all. Redrose was the fruit of the blooming love between him and Light Drop. She was their first child and they were talking about her every time the younger Dostoyevsky saw one of them.

The door creaked open. Three stallions immediately raised their heads to look expectantly at the two doctors. Dr. Stable approached them first, followed by Dr. Skyscraper. They simply stood a few meters in front of them, their expressions completely devoid of emotion.

“Redrose...” Skyscraper started.

“She didn’t make it.” Dr. Stable finished apologetically.

Silence filled the hallway, stretching out seemingly into an eternity. The meaning of those words was slowly taking root in their heads, crushing their hearts like a vice.

Redrose... sweet little Redrose... was dead.

And then Dostoyevsky let out a pained, animalistic cry...

“Dostoyevsky! Dostoyesky!” the filly was shaking him with her hooves.

“Huh... wha... what happened?” the pegasus doctor came back to his senses, looking around disoriented.

“You just like lost... cons... consien... cons...” Primrose tried to say.

“Consciousness.” Dostoyevsky corrected her, still feeling a bit dizzy.

“Yes, that! But why?” Primorose asked with worry.

“Well, you... reminded me... of somepony.” Dostoyevsky answered as he got his bearings and resumed his examination, albeit slowly. His mind however was working a mile a minute, and he was silently boiling inside from anger at the whole situation.

“I’ll won’t let that happen ever again. Never! I swear to Faust, I will do whatever I can to save her life, I will not allow her to meet the same fate as my niece, even if it will cost me my life.” he made a silent vow.

After a few moments the pegasus finished examining her. Dostoyevsky took out his notebook and checked the patients list.

“Hmm... the is only one pony left today. Wooden Draft...” he read to himself. He brought his leather bag and scanned the room. A lot of faces, most of them covered with awful wounds, but no sight of Wooden Draft.

“Hmm... I don’t see him... Where is he?” he thought aloud.

“Maybe he’s in his room?” Primrose suggested.

“Quite probabiliter” Dostoyevsky agreed.

He trotted towards the patients bedrooms. It took him only a few seconds to find Wooden Draft’s chamber. To the doctor’s slight annoyance, Primrose followed him. Dostoyevsky knocked several times on the door, but he was answered only by silence.

“Wooden Draft? Are you okay?” he asked, worry beginning to set root in him.

Again, no response. Dostoyevsky knocked one more time, but still, no answer. Now seriously worried, Dostoyevsky opened the door, hoping that he was wrong with his assumptions.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening at the sight that greeted him. Whatever he was expecting, this was definitely not it. A shocked gasp to his left reminded him about Primrose’s presence, and in a vain attempt to shield her from the sight he reached out with his hoof and tried to cover her eyes. The filly however already seen everything, and in silent terror she backed away into the corridor, her eyes never leaving the gruesome sight.

Dostoyevsky gulped audibly and lowered his head, ears flattening to his skull. “Dear Faust” He muttered. “The Messiah is getting impatient with us.”

Chapter Nine - The Desperation

Twilight and Hansen entered the hospital. They were greeted by the sight of Dostoyevsky, who was apparently waiting for their return in front of the laboratory door. As Twilight approached him, she noticed that his expression was grim, as well as a little bit scared.The dark-blue pegasus raised his head and looked at them.

“Wooden Draft... he...” Dostoyevsky whispered.

“Wooden Draft?” Twilight asked, confused.

“One of the patients.” Hansen explained. “What’s a matter with him?”

Dostoyevsky gulped nervously.

“He couldn’t take this any longer. Wooden Draft hanged himself.” he finally said, hanging his head in defeat.

Silence filled the room as nopony knew what to say. Finally, Hansen spoke up, his voice devoid of emotion.

“I didn’t tell you this earlier Twilight, but some patients escape... this way.”

Twilight was shocked, just standing there motionless and staring at a point on the wall only she could see. Once the meaning of these words finally settled in, she almost completely lost contact with the outside world, her mind a jumble of incoherent thoughts and terrifying conclusions, overwhelming her and forcing her to realize a sad truth: somepony, a patient, died, and she didn’t even know about his existence until he took it from himself.

Dostoyevsky and Hansen stood silently, looking at the mare worriedly, yet none of them dared to interrupt her. Finally, as the blue-coated pegasus grew concerned with her behavior and decoded to try and snap her out of it, Twilight came back to reality, stomping her hoof angrily on the wooden floor.

“I’m sick of it!” she snapped.

Neither of them was expecting this kind of reaction.

“I’m sick of it and I swear to Celestia that you should too! We did nothing! Absolutely nothing!” Twilight was shouting, looking furiously at the two stallions. It might have been just their imagination, but they thought that it suddenly became a few degrees warmer in here.

“Ehm...” Hansen tried to interrupt her, clearly embarrased, but Twilight wouldn’t have any of that.

“Don’t even try!” she snapped at him. “You’re not even trying to cure this frickin’ disease!”

“Miss, we tried several medi...” Dostoyevsky tried this time, but he too was interrupted by the furious mare.

“Exactly! You tried several ways to cure this disease within months. You’re almost as effective as Manehattan bureaucracy! Not only you don’t have any drive to do it, you treat patients here like numbers, faceless incubators for this disease and what’s even worse, I almost adapted your way! How is it even possible that I don’t remember most of the patients’ faces!? How is it possible that all I did while meeting death here was slightly shiver and nothing else, when I should be with those ponies, trying to help ease their pain!? How is it possible that I regained my senses only once a patient I’ve never even met committed suicide!? And finally, how is it possible that during my entire stay here we’ve made exactly no progression in regards of creating a cure for lepra whatsoever!?”

The two stallions could only watch in silent awe as Twilight was getting more and more into her rant, fires of determination burning in her eyes.

“When you started treating patients like test subjects and not like living ponies, your zeal in fighting this disease became rotten. Just as the leprosy makes limbs rot, this pestilence made you insensitive.” Twilight continued, starting to pace around the two doctors.

Again, neither of the two had anything to say in their defense.

“Inside, both of you!” Twilight snapped at them, turning towards the laboratory and moving inside, angrily slamming the door shut behind her. As she vanished behind the door, the two stallions exchanged utterly confused glances, and after a moment of hesitation they followed her inside.

The laboratory was kept in a strict order. Every book, every flask and every device was in kept in clearly defined places. Hansen was spending more time here than in his own bedroom after all, so he needed the order. Besides a few chairs, microscopes and flasks and a laboratory table there was a blackboard hanging on the far wall. Twilight was standing next to it, holding a piece of chalk with her magic. She wrote ‘LEPROSY TREATMENT’ on it in capital letters.

“Take a seat.” Twilight ordered, annoyance still in her voice as she turned around to face the two stallions.

Not wanting to further aggravate the mare, Dostoyevsky and Hansen quickly sat down, looking at her with both apprehension and curiosity in their eyes. Twilight nodded to herself seeing the two doctors doing as she said, and after she took a deep, calming breath she began:

“Okay now; before we start brainstorming, let me make one thing clear” Twilight spoke in a much calmer voice. “I’m not a doctor, and my knowledge on the subject medicine is limited. Still, we have to find a cure. It’s not like there weren’t any ponies that didn’t try it earlier. I suspect however that they worked just like you - detached from their patients, treating them like objects and not ponies. And they were working too slow. What we need is ideas, a lot of ideas, and what’s more important, we need to introduce them as fast as possible. Yes, we don’t have a time limit, but I don’t care about it if the lives of ponies are on stake.”

Twilight raised the piece of chalk with her magic.

“Let me start.” she said as the piece of chalk began scribing words on the blackboard: “High Temperature”.

“I guess it’s worth a shot, mostly because high temperature can easily kill some bacteria.” Hansen nodded slowly. “If we would choose the temperature correctly, we could wipe out most of them while not damaging the patient’s body too severely...”

“But we have a problem.” Dostoyevsky raised his hoof, indicating he wanted to say something. “Even if it will kill most of the bacteria, they will begin reproducing themselves again and we would have a relapse of the leprosy at our hooves.”

“And it’s worth mentioning that even if it will be successful, in this weather and with our limited resources we can’t use this method on all the lepers.” Hansen added.

“Hmm... but what if we wouldn’t apply this to the body as a whole?” Twilight suggested, tapping her chin in thought.

“What do you mean?” Hansen asked confused.

“We can have a patient put one of their hooves in really hot water, while the second one would be left dry. We could observe the process more clearly that way and check what’s changing, and if the results would be good, we could expand on this idea.”

Hansen smiled at the prospect, nodding his approval.

“And we have one thing to test already. Perfect.” Twilight thought as she checked off ‘High Temperature’ on the blackboard.

“Well would you look at that Dostoyevsky. Not five minutes and she already did more than you in a month.” Hansen teased his pegasus friend, to which the stallion in question scowled.

“Damnant quod non intellegunt.” the old pegasus snapped back. “At this point we are both guilty. And besides, I am more a director and founder than a doctor.”

“I don’t want to interrupt you guys, but we have something more important to do.” Twilight reminded them where they were, tapping their hoof. “How about one of you comes up with an idea for a change?”

“Okay. Aloe-codeine mixture.” Dostoyevsky said and Twilight wrote his proposition on the blackboard.

“I can’t deny this medicine really is helping, but it’s impossible to converse. Aloe just can’t survive in our climate. We talked about this already Twilight, I don’t think we can use this treatment here in the north.” Hansen stated, shaking his head dejectedly.

“We could always go the other way.” Dostoyevsky suggested. “We can ask for some auxilium from other cities. Mainly researchers from the Canterlot Medicine University. We could write to Doctor Mouritz from Moloukai. It was him who discovered this mixture in the first place. Maybe he will be able to come up with a method to preserve it to work in our climate?”

“Actually, that’s a really good idea.” Twilight gave her support to the idea and wrote “Call Help” on the blackboard. She wasn’t sure when they would receive this upgraded mix, if at all, so for now she drew a large question mark near this proposition.

“Okay, any other ideas?”

“A one-percect arsenic mixture.” Hansen suggested, which brought an immediate reaction from Dostoyevsky.

“Objection! It’s even more toxic than mercury!.” the pegasus protested. “Yes, it will kill off most of the bacteria, but it will damage the patient’s body heavily at the same time. We cannot use this method, it’s unethical!.”

“At this point we got pretty desperate.” Hansen countered calmly. “All other ideas weren’t nearly as successful.”

Twilight wrote “Arsenic Mixture” and “Mercury Mixture” on the blackboard.

“I don’t know how either of these mixtures works.” Twilight said. “We have to remember however, that saving ponies’ lives is our main goal. I can agree with Hansen, we did became pretty desperate. However, we became desperate to save lives, not to search for a medicine at all costs. We have to find it, yes, but ponies can’t suffer from our research.”

After her small speech Twilight crossed out “Arsenic Mixture” and drew a question mark near “Mercury Mixture”.

“Antibiotics have almost no effect on leprosy bacteria, but maybe if we could upgrade the composition?” Hansen suggested.

Twilight added “Antibiotics Improvement” to their list.

“I guess it’s probably the best idea we wrote up until now. But I’m not sure if our laboratory has enough equipment to try this.” Dostoyevsky said worriedly. “You know, our budget is big, but not “that” big.”

“That’s... kind of strange then.” Twilight scratched her head in confusion. “Princess Celestia wrote to me about the leprosy and from my understanding she ordered the officials here in Flankfurt to give you all the funds they can spare for you to conduct your research.”

“Of course they gave us what they could. Problem is -Flankfurt is a really poor city, despite it’s size.” Hansen proceeded to explain. Living in this city for long enough, he knew the local situation better than his companions. “At the same time the government has to ensure that the city can survive this blizzard. Without traders from other cities, Flankfurt’s economy will simply collapse. And if the economy dies, the ponies here will also die, just not from leprosy, but from hunger.”

Once Hansen stopped speaking, silence filled the room. Twilight silently mulled over his words, and after a moment she nodded to herself, coming to a conclusion.

“Well in that case, this idea isn’t as good as it first seemed.” Twilight said as she drew a question mark near “Antibiotics Improvement”. “Any other ideas? Maybe...”

“Leper Messiah.”

The chalk broke.

Twilight slowly turned her head towards Dostoyevsky. The old pegasus looked like if he was surprised himself that he spoke those words out loud.

“What?” Twilight and Hansen asked in unison, both with shocked expressions on their faces.

“It’s just Faust dammit impossible!” Dostoyevsky exploded with frustration, his sudden ire taking both unicorns by surprise. “Ponykind has fought this disease for thousands of years and we didn’t make any progress at all! You are right Twilight! We did nothing! Because maybe it’s not medicine that is the key to the cure.”

“Dostoyevsky, we are desperate, but not that desperate.” Hansen said, shaking his head, though there was something forced in his voice, just as if he wasn’t so sure of his own words.. “Seriously, what do you want to do? Fight the ’ghost of the plague’? We have to stand firmly on the ground, not with our heads in the clouds. We have to attack the disease in every way possible. Expand leprosariums, train more doctors, call help from every freakin’ medicine university in this country...”

“I have to agree with Hansen here.” Twilight added. “We may be desperate, but fighting superstitions won’t help us. You saw the leprosy bacteria yourself, I saw the leprosy bacteria, we know exactly what we are fighting. It’s a germ, not a metaphysical manifestation of a disease. We know that certain types of medicine can hurt it. We just have to press it more... well, maybe that arsenic mixture wasn’t such a bad idea after all...”

Dostoyevsky fell silent, glaring at the floor without a word.

If they only knew what he did, if they saw what he saw...

“I guess that’s all for now.” Twilight said, stepping from the blackboard and looking at its content one more time. “We have plenty of ideas to test. I suggest you prepare the mercury mixture for tomorrow while I’ll prepare the high temperature method.” At that moment Twilight yawned tiredly, the events of the day catching up to her. “Gah, it’s really late. I guess I’ll go to sleep. Good night.” she bid the two stallions farewell, perfectly knowing that with the events of the day her slumber wouldn’t be a peaceful one. She just didn’t want to think about how many ponies would pass away during her sleep, just because they worked so slow up until now.

It didn’t take long for Hansen to follow in her hoofsteps, bidding his old friend a good night and retiring his room. Dostoyevsky however didn’t even acknowledged his exit, still looking at the ground.

He sat there, not knowing for how long himself. Was it a coupe of seconds? A few minutes? Hours maybe? Time wasn’t all that important right now, what mattered was only him and his thoughts.

The sound of the raging blizzard on the other side of the window went unnoticed by him. He was deep in thought, remembering all the times when he had encountered things, that all logical ponies would dub as impossible, as superstitions and myths. But he knew better, he encountered them, he talked to them, fought them on occasions. He wasn’t going to cross something out just because it was beyond the reasoning of other ponies.

Finally, Dostoyevsky rose from his chair and slowly approached the blackboard. He picked up the broken off piece of chalk and wrote two words on it.

“Leper Messiah”

...

...

Twilight was marching.

It was a dark, frosty night. The blizzard holding the city of Flankfurt in its tight, snowy grasp was raging still, covering the streets with a thick layer of snow. There wasn’t a soul in sight, every living creature opting to stay in the relative warmth their shelters managed to provide. All except for Twilight.

She shivered as the cold wind lashed against her face, yet despite the inconvenience she wasn’t showing any signs of stopping. Like if under a spell, she trotted slowly along the snow-covered streets, passing by numerous houses that time seemed to forget. The grey buildings were casting ominous shadows upon her, the wind lashing against them creating a symphony of the northern land, its melody filling the night air.

Twilight stopped for a moment to listen to the song of the city. She couldn’t quite place it, but there was something to it, something... unnatural, like if the wind was nothing more than a means of communication for something much grander than a simple pony. After a moment of listening to the the wind she thought she heard something that shouldn’t be there.

She heard a soft voice.

“Spineless from the start, sucked into the part...”

“Blind devotion came, rotting your brain...”

The singing was quiet, barely able to hear at all.

The voice, nothing more than a whisper just barely above the billowing wind seeme to sing a soft tune to her.

“Please, please...”

“Spreading his disease, living by his story...”

She didn’t know what to make of this. It seemed like if whoever was trying to communicate with her was trying to intimidate her. The whisper, the song, it was so full of hate and loathing that she almost felt physically ill just listening to it. And the more she listened to it, the colder it seemed to get, like if the weather itself was corresponded to the tone of the voice.

“Knees, knees...”

“Falling to your knees, suffer for his glory...”

“You will...”

“You will...”

“You will...”

“You will...”

The voice slowly trailed off, fading to nothingness as the whisper blended in with the raging blizzard. The snowstorm, the fury of the North itself however had nothing on the silent song, and Twilight felt a kind of primal dread creeping up her spine, almost paralyzing her in place. It took all her willpower to move even one of her hooves.

*crunch*

Twilight stopped in her tracks. Her ears were assaulted with the sound of a hoof stepping into deep snow, crunching loudly. It wouldn’t be that surprising, she was trotting along a snow-covered street after all, but there was something definitely odd with it.

The sound didn’t come from her hooves, but from behind her.

*crunch* *crunch*

Twilight slowly turned her head, her heart pounding like mad against her ribcage.

The raging blizzard prevented her from seeing too far away, her vision blocked by the snowflakes furiously lashing at her face. Still, she managed to spot him right away.

A black figure was slowly approaching her, slightly limping on one hoof. It’s face was covered in shadows cast by its wide leather hat. It’s gait was slow and methodical, the pace almost leisurely. It seemed like if he wasn’t slowed down by the furious icy wind at all. After a few more steps he lifted his head and looked directly at Twilight, his eyes shining in the shadows with untold loathing.

Fear overtook Twilight’s mind. Those cold, heartless eyes had nothing but hate and malice in them, and they looked straight into her soul, shaking her to the core. She couldn’t take it, it was too much for her. Her body acting upon instinct and fuelled by adrenalin made the decision for her.

She ran as fast as her legs could carry her.

*crunch* *crunch* *crunch*

Her head was spinning, fear of the kind she had never experienced before clouding her eyesight and warping reality, turning it into a grotesque caricature of the real world. Where once stood historic buildings, kept in perfect condition by the frost of the North, now there were only ruins, some of them nothing more than charred skeletons of erstwhile marvels of Horseatic architecture, others twisted and warped beyond recognition. The moon that shone overhead seemed to abandon its silvery sheen, adopting a dark-red hue. Even the northern lights that painted the night sky blue and green now seemed to change into a blood-red color; it looked almost as if the heavens themselves were bleeding.

The few lanterns that illuminated the streets began flickering and one after another died, only to rekindle with a weak, red flame, barely lighting their immediate surroundings. Shadows cast by buildings began growing and twisting, swallowing the road and changing it into a corridor of weak, red light amongst impenetrable darkness. Even the snow itself seemed corrupted and wrong, gaining an ashen hue instead of the pristine white it should have had.

Twilight ran as fast as she could, panting and wheezing. Each breath she took sent an icy dagger through her lungs, each gust of wind freezing the sweat on her sides. In her panicked state she couldn’t think straight, all she could do was run in hopes of escaping the unknown creature of hate. She didn’t know how or why, but she instinctively knew that if she got caught by that... thing... that it would be the last she would be heard of ever again.

Still running, Twilight turned her head to check if she managed to escape him. To her horror however it appeared that the assailant wasn’t letting her go. Despite his slow and deliberate movements, he was still fast on her heels, now even closer than before. It seemed like if distance didn’t apply to her stalker, being of no consequence to him.

*crunch* *crunch* *crunch*

It was as if the wind itself was against her, blowing furiously in her face and impeding both her sight and movement. Her hooves sank deeply into the now ashen snow, slowly immobilizing her with each passing step. The years she had spent over books left her body easy to exhaust; she was barely able to move forward, her lungs screaming for her to stop with each step she took. It was only thanks to her will that she was still going, her fear propelling her forward.

She couldn’t feel her hooves anymore. Was it even possible for them to have been frostbitten so quickly? The wind whipping at her face forced her to squint her eyes almost to the point of closing them, the pain it was dealing almost unbearable. Twilight would do anything for it to end.

She kept on running, instinct proving stronger than physical weakness. Twilight didn’t know how long she was trying to flee her stalker, all she knew was exhaustion and pain. Her breath was ragged and uncontrollable, her legs shaking like if they were made out of jelly. The cold seemed to pierce her very soul, thousand of icy needles being repeatedly jabbed into every inch of her body. She wanted nothing more than to collapse then and there, but she couldn’t, not with that thing right behind her.

She didn’t even notice when she arrived at the Mareggen district. The houses here seemed even more twisted and destroyed than the ones earlier, some of them nothing more than piles of smoldering wooden remains. As if to contrast the destruction made by fire, the snowstorm picked up even more, wind lashing against her face and howling like a wounded beast. Even though she could barely make anything out in the cacophony the blizzard created, the horrifying sound of nearing hoofsteps was still clear to her.

*crunch* *crunch* *crunch*

Then, in the distance, she spotted a small light coming from a window of a house. The building itself didn’t look abandoned, and unlike others it wasn’t charred by fire, nor was it a product of a twisted mind. Making a split-second decision Twilight bolted in its direction.

She managed to plow her way through the snow and got to the doors. She tried turning the doorknob, but it wouldn’t budge. Desperate, Twilight began rapping at the door with her hooves.

“Is anypony home?! Please! Let me in!” she cried, banging on the wooden door furiously.

There was no answer.

*crunch* *crunch* *crunch*

“Sweet Celestia! Please! I’m begging you!” she shouted desperately.

She wasn’t sure if her begging made any difference, but she heard a soft click and the doors creaked open. She bolted right inside, not daring to look behind, fearing the shadowy figure wouldn’t be stopped by something as weak as a mere wooden door. However, it was better protection than nothing at all, so the first thing she did once she ran inside was shriek “Close the door, quickly!” before collapsing in a heap.

For a moment Twilight just lie there, eyes closed, gulping down mouthfuls of air. She noticed one thing right away -it was significantly warmer in here than it was outside. Her tired mind only after a moment noticed something out of the ordinary.

It reeked inside here. The smell was unbearable, making the mare gag and almost vomit on the spot. She couldn’t describe the single smells themselves, but she could tell with relative ease that there was blood in here, mixed with urine and other bodily fluids. Coming to that conclusion she dreaded opening her eyes, but in the end decided that she couldn’t stay with closed eyes forever. Ever so slowly she lifted her eyelids and scanned the house’s interior.

She quickly regretted her decision.

The room was coated with a layer of blood and pus. Every wall and every inch of the floor was stained red and yellow, the horrible stench emanating from everywhere. The chamber was in total disarray: furniture lie scattered on the ground, smashed to pieces; books with pages missing swimming in puddles of filth; bookcases upturned and cracked. It was with no small shock when she realized at what she was actually looking.

It was her home in Ponyville.

Her confused mind couldn’t comprehend why she ended up in the Golden Oaks Library, all she could understand was that something terrible happened here. Something horrifyingly terrible. Her home, her place of seclusion and peace was in a state of total disarray, downright corrupted even, and she didn’t know how or why.

She looked around again, searching for something, anything that could help her understand what was going on. What she found however... She wished she never went through the door in the first place.

Under one of the walls stood five beds, each and every one covered with linen sheets stained with blood and pus. In each of them lie a pony, and it took less then a second for Twilight to realize who was in them.

“N-no”

Rarity was lying in one of those beds, crying softly to herself. Her pearly tears rolled down her cheeks and fell onto the blood-stained blanket. Her body however... Her body was covered with blisters and rot, her pristine white fur almost nonexistent at this point. Her mane was now only a few locks of hair, barely enough to be called even that. The most gruesome part of her appearance was her face. Her snout and lips seemed to be cracked like old canvas, her cheeks covered with gashes of decomposed flesh, in places to such an extent, that Twilight could see inside her mouth. All that gave the fashionista the appearance of a corpse.

In the next bed lie Pinkie Pie. At first glance she seemed ok, though her customary grin was replaced with a sad frown and her mane was straight. Only after a moment did Twilight realize, that her pink friend's face was stuck in that expression, paralyzed, and that the most cheerful mare she knew was silently pleading with her eyes for her to do something about it. The sadness and sorrow in those blue orbs broke Twilight’s heart, and the fact she knew she couldn’t help her made it all the worse.

Not far from Pinkie lie Applejack, her frame covered with a blanket. Even so Twilight could see she wasn’t faring too well. She managed to catch a glimpse of her muscular hind legs, now bloodied and covered with blisters, wasting before her very eyes. The ends of her hooves seemed to be protruding from her legs unnaturally, as if something was pushing them out from underneath, and they looked like they were about to fall off if Applejack so much as moved.

Rainbow was next in line, gasping desperately for air and wheezing like if she just ran a marathon. It was clear that she couldn’t breathe at all, something preventing her from taking a deep enough breath. While she seemed fine for the most part, at least outwardly, Twilight noticed something that made her gasp in horror. Her wings... They were naked, featherless, only a shadow of their former self. They were corrupted, rotting and smelling of death, fragments of bone peeking through gaps in her flesh.

The last bed was occupied by Fluttershy. Twilight, who already saw too much turned towards her with reluctance, fearing what she would see. Swallowing hard, she looked at the meek pegasus, and let out a woeful whimper, beginning to tear up. This was so unfair. Why did she of all ponies had to suffer like this? Why?

Fluttershy all the while stared at her unblinking, her eyes rotten and long gone. She was blind.

Twilight’s mind was long gone, the horror of seeing her fiends like that taking her over the edge. The world didn’t make sense to her anymore, it could break apart for all she cared. All she wanted to do was curl up in a corner and cry herself unconscious, wishing that this wasn’t really happening.

Through misty eyes Twilight noticed a bundle of sheets lying beside one of the beds. It was covered with a gray cloth and bloodied like everything else in here. The bundle was slightly loose and a red hoof covered with blisters was sticking out of it.

“Hansen...” she whispered weakly.

The door closed.

Slowly, Twilight turned in the direction of the door, ready to face whatever was there.

It was Dostoyevsky. The blue pegasus looked at her with one eye, the other decomposed and leaking out of his eye socket. His body was covered in blisters and rot, patches of naked, infected skin clearly visible through the gaps of his bloodied clothing. He was bleeding from multiple wounds, forming small puddles on the floor.

The old pegasus was holding Primrose with one of his bloodied hooves. Her eyes were shut tightly, her limbs affected by the rot and sagging underneath her own weight. She too had multiple wounds spread across her body, and her own blood was leaking onto the floor, mixing with Dostoyevsky’s.

The pegasus tried to smile at Twilight, but he wasn’t able to. His face was partially paralyzed, making it impossible for the stallion to change his expression.

“Usually the leprae affects nerves. However, rarely does it strikes inside.” Dostoyevsky said, slowly pointing his free hoof at her.

Twilight looked where the stallion was pointing and shocked she realized he was pointing at her. Shakily she raised one of her hooves and looked at it, having to suppress a cry of fear moments later. Her hoof was rotting away before her very eyes, bleeding profusely. She didn’t even feel that.

A thought struck her, one that was even more terrifying than the fact her limbs were rotting. She tried to feel her magic, use it to lift something, anything. She couldn’t however, and that could mean only one thing.

Her horn was infected too.

Adrenalin, shock and primal terror all gripped her at once, making her stumble and fall to the floor. Her heart was pounding and every sound around her became blurred, just as her tear-filled vision. She involuntarily let out a quiet sob, knowing full well what awaited her.

Dostoyevsky was struggling to keep Pirmrose’s body from falling out of his hooves. The filly’s body became suddenly limp, and she all but flowed out of his grasp, falling to the ground as the old stallion couldn’t find his grip.

He tried raising his head again and managed to cross eyes with Twilight. Once their eyes met, Dostoyevsky let gravity do its thing and slowly closed them, the spark of life slowly leaking out of him.

“Vanitas... vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas.” Dostoyevsky whispered as he collapsed to the ground, dead.

Twilight stared at the corpse of the pegasus, tears of fear and resignation falling freely from her eyes. Dostoyevsky’s last words still echoed in her mind, filling her with a feeling of futility. She didn’t even notice when her lips formed the words for her.

“Vanity of vanities; all is in vain.” She whispered softly to herself.

She was too far gone to notice much of anything, her surroundings blending into a void of dark and depressing colors. Her tear-filled eyes could not perceive what was happening right before her as the mare cried her heart out, the realization of her fate hitting her like a speeding train.

She barely noticed a pair of hate-filled eyes glaring right at hers.

Resigned to her sad fate, Twilight didn’t try to run. She faced her limping stalker, tears slowly running down her cheeks. He looked at her, his face still hidden in shadows, and she heard his voice, raspy and full of hate.

“Bow to the Leper Messiah.”

And bow she did.

Chapter Twelve - The Library

The ancient doors slowly screeched open before her. Twilight cautiously stepped inside, silently admiring the gothic architecture of the building. Despite it’s location in the modern district of the city, this building looked like it was older than the entire Mareggen district itself.

The entrance greeted her with the sight of long corridor, lighted only by a few small oil lamps. The entire building was built out of a darker kind of oak, and the roof was held in place by a series of marble columns, the only non-wooden elements of the structure. Decorations were engraved on the wood itself, lines carved in wooden beams in a fashion so ancient, that they could be even as old as Canterlot itself.

She marched down the corridor, observed only by the silent, unblinking faces of ponies captured on canvas. The entire hall was filled with portraits, every one of them showing a different, regal-looking individual, most of them having an air of wisdom and aloofness to them. Twilight didn’t want to know who they were, they seemed so distant and so blank that even looking in their faces made a shiver run down her spine.

The corridor finally led to a larger room, filled with several desks and chairs. Beside one of them, a young colt was reading an old tome and writing something down in his notebook. He was probably a bit younger than Twilight, yet he seemed to be sluggish and completely out of energy.

Twilight approached him, yet the colt still didn’t acknowledge her presence.

“Good morning!” she greeted him enthusiastically.

The colt finally raised his head from his notes.

“Why would it be good?” he asked grimly. His accent had a lot of Canterlot nobility in it, which was quite strange, considering he was an earth pony, not a unicorn.

“Ehm...” Twilight was taken aback by this response.

“Nevermind.” he shrugged. “Welcome to Flankfurt Library. My name is Lovecraft, what can I do for you?” he asked, snapping his book close.

It downed on Twilight, that she didn’t actually know why she went here for in the first place. She just wanted to relax herself in the peacefulness of a library, to read something that will allow her to forget about all the grim reality. The local librarian however didn’t help her much, and by just exchanging a few words with him she knew she would have a hard time relaxing now.

Then a thought struck her. Something that she was constantly hearing for the last couple of days and seemed to engrave itself on the back of her mind came to the forefront. She didn’t even notice when she blurred out:

“I’m searching for information about something, that the ponies named ‘Leper Messiah’.” Twilight was both shocked and disgusted with herself for saying that. She normally didn’t let superstitions dictate her actions, but with this...

If Lovecraft was surprised by her question, he didn’t show it. His face was still the same emotionless mask, and his eyebrows didn’t even twitch at Twilight’s words.

“Messiah... interesting. Doctor or writer?” the colt asked.

“Doctor.” she answered. “Why are you asking?”

“No ordinary pony has enough intelligence and wisdom to actually come here in the first place.” Lovecraft said in a bored fashion. “You are my first visitor in a month. And that one was a bailiff.”

“Oh.”

Lovecraft searched through a pile of his notes.

“But coming back to your question... Messiah, right? I suggest you search in the Medieval wing, section 3 to 5.” Here he pointed at a set of doors behind him. “And now please leave me alone, I’m busy.” he said and started writing something in his notes again.

“Actually, aren’t you too young to work as a librarian?” she asked out of curiosity.

“I’m not a librarian. This is my home.” he shrugged, not even raising his head from his work.

Twilight knew that she wouldn’t get any more information out of him, so she approached the doors he pointed her to and opened them. She nearly stumbled back in shock at the site that greeted her.

The room was filled to the brim with bookshelves, each one sagging from the sheer number of books placed on them. It was such an absurd amount of books, that even she had a problem grasping the sheer number of them. If all of these books were his private collection, Twilight concluded that he must have been the richest, most dedicated collector in all of Equestria, and coming from her, that was a lot. Even the Royal Canterlot Library didn’t have such a collection, and comparing her own Golden Oak Library to this monster of a collection, it felt grossly inadequate. Probably only the library in the Crystal Empire could compare to this.

After a few moments of searching she found some books that seemed promising enough. An old translation of ‘Solaris’, ‘The Evil Influence on Reality’ and a quite detailed chronicle of Flankfurt’s history. Twilight levitated all of them and took a seat near one of the desks. Lovecraft was still busy writing in his notes and Twilight’s curiosity demanded her to check what he was working on, but now she had more important things to do.

She opened ‘Solaris’ and started to read. It was a religious text, really important to several ponies. It contained several myths, letters and history lessons from the old times. She was scanning it, trying to search for something that would give her a hint as to what the Leper Messiah actually was. She still couldn’t believe she was actually doing this...

“Why do you seek answers? Why do you want to know who he is?” she nearly had an heart attack when Lovecraft’s voice came from behind her.

“Why wouldn’t I want to know?” she respond with her own question, trying to calm her heart at the same time. “Isn’t the search for truth a noble goal?”

“Noble?” Lovecraft’s expression almost changed at that. “Maybe it would be ‘noble’, but in fact, the truth shall doom our kind.”

At this point, Twilight was completely lost.

“What do you mean?” she asked, confused.

Lovecraft picked another book from desk and opened it. Then, he turned towards Twilight.

“Are you interested in astronomy? I guess you are, no well-educated pony would stay neutral towards this topic. Our world isn’t even a single drop in the black, infinite sea of the cosmos. The ignorance is strong in ponykind, that’s the fact. Each of us is an individual pony. All of us are equal and of course, everypony is special... that is the biggest nonsenses I have heard in my entire life. Sometimes, the truth is the synonym of doom, I cannot count how many times lies are told to make ponies feel safer, better about themselves... but especially ‘safer’.” Lovecraft said in a slightly more energetic way.

“The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but someday the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.”

Twilight finally managed to rise her jaw from the floor.

“Well... right.” she said uncertainly. “So you you’re saying that if I will discover the truth, it will threaten me?”

“I’m not saying anything.” he answered and went back to his notes.

Sweet Celestia... this whole town is crazy. Insane. Simply mad. And that goes without saying how creepy this library and its owner is...

“Actually, can I borrow these books?” Twilight asked, hoping that she could read all of them in the comfort of her nice room in the hospital and not here.

“No. This is not an ordinary library and I’m not lending books. You can read all of them here, if you want.” Lovecraft replied.

Shoot.

Twilight went back to reading the books she took. However, ‘Solaris’ didn’t gave her any answers. There were a lot of tales of horrible epidemics, but none of them mentioned somepony, that could be compared to the ‘Leper Messiah’. She met the same result with ‘The Evil Influence on Reality’. It was some sort of codex written several hundred years ago and, describing what ‘unnatural’ beings could threaten ponykind. Most of them were rubbish - phantoms, specters, wraiths, hags and other supernatural creatures that did not exist in reality. There were however Windigos listed in it, which made it somewhat credible, if not fiction-filled. Sadly, there was nothing on the Leper Messiah.

She didn’t have much hope when she started leafing through the tome on Flankfurt’s history. To Twilight’s surprise, it was there she found something.

13 of June, 587 Anno Celesis

The ship from the far east approached the port of Mareggen. During disembark, a single passenger of the trade vessel was discovered to be afflicted with lepra. Panic broke out and the town guards threw the traveler into the sea. The method of disposing of the leper was deemed unreliable and dangerous, as the leprae could pollute the local waters. Sailors started searching for the body, but it was never found. Guards responsible for this action were punished and thankfully, the potential leprae threat never came to be.

“So this ‘Leper Messiah’ could be an almost five hundred years old being?” Twilight thought skeptically. “The single pony that rises from the dead, seeking for vengeance? But the guards responsible for his death are since long dead. Even if the Leper Messiah was a ghost haunting the city, he wouldn’t have any reasons to do so, at least if you believe what they say about specters. It must be something else.”

However, beside this single note in the chronicle, no other fragment mentioned anything even remotely similar to leprosy. She briefly reviewed all three tomes again, but still she found nothing.

Twilight stood up and marched towards the medieval section again. However, before she entered the chamber, she noticed a quite strange looking corridor branching off to the left. Yes, the library wasn’t exactly in a prime condition, not with bookshelves placed around seemingly at random and dust covering large patches of the floor, but this corridor was in total chaos. Rubbish littered the floor alongside dust bunnies, a clear indicator, that Lovecraft scarcely (if ever) cleaned his house. Some bookshelves were stacked here, as if to place them out of the way, and on some of them lied single books, each of them in various states of disrepair. Some of them looked like more than half their pages were missing, others seemed singed as if by fire and others still looked like if somepony decided to drown them and changed his mind mid-way.

On the end of that corridor, lighten only by a single oil lamp was a door. Twilight approached it and found a small hole in the wooden frame, a place where the wood rotted through. She used it to peer inside. To her surprise, the doors were leading to staircase, somewhere beneath the building.

“Some kind of basement.” she reasoned. “Maybe I’ll find some books with actually useful information there.”

“Wait, but what about Lovecraft? He won’t be too pleased with me if I scour his cellar... nah, who am I kidding. He’s too busy with his notes and books. Let’s do this.” she thought and silently opened the door.

The staircase, in comparison with the rest of building, was made out of stone bricks. She slowly marched down, the stones proving to be slippery and dangerous, but with some effort she managed to reach the bottom of them safely. There she found another set of doors. She gently opened them and walked inside.

Twilight was right when she thought, that there were more books below. However, she didn’t expect ‘this’ kind of books. All of them were incredibly old, a lot of them had improvised covers, missing pages. The air inside here was musty and it was hard to breath. While of course the room hasn’t been cleaned in a long, long time (if ever), she noticed that Lovecraft visited down here from time to time. The chair near one of tables had pillow on it, and the pillow in comparison to other pieces of furniture wasn’t covered in dust.

She trotted inside, searching for books that would interest her. They were scattered around, seemingly without any order. It took her several minutes to find something really astonishing.

She didn’t even have to open the book to know, that this tome was special. It was a really small tome, but its cover was something she wished she didn’t have to look upon. It looked like the skin of somepony that suffered from leprosy and it seemed like if it was slowly rotting, not like a piece of paper or wood, but actual flesh. The smell was the same as the usual odor of a leper, and it almost made her heart stop when she realized that. She was reluctant to even touch it, a first time ever when she didn’t want to read a book, but she realized that this might have be the only chance she would get to learn the truth.

Taking a deep breath to steel her nerves, she opened the book. The smell of decay attacked her nostrils, but she managed not to vomit. The title page was written in the careful hoofwriting.

Nostramane

The Plaguebearer

Chapter Thirteen - The Plaguebearer

Twilight reread the first few words of the book. To say she was surprised by what she saw was an understatement; she knew perfectly well who the supposed author of this book was, but this was definitely not something she would write.

Nostramane from what she remembered was an accomplished apothecary living some five hundred years ago, as well as a supposed seer. She was known mainly for the latter unfortunately, as many ponies were gullible enough to believe in her nonsensical "prophecies" and seek deeper meaning in her words. There were even whole conspiracy theory circles dedicating their time on pursuing supposed leads and connections to her predictions It was of course a load of hogwash in Twilight's opinion, but nonetheless she was familiar with all her works, even if only to disprove them in a scientific manner.

This however… this was something new. An actual manuscript that seemed to be written by Nostramane herself, it didn't match any known book written by her. Twilight never heard of "The Plaguebearer" before, and judging by its cover it wasn't exactly a collection of made up prophecies. Curiosity winning over her earlier reluctance, Twilight turned a page, discovering it indeed wasn't a collection of prophecies. Instead, she found something much different.

…and in doing so he has brought my attention towards the far east, beyond the shimmering waters of the trackless sea, to the city of Coltcutta. The word of the town suffering from one of the oldest plagues known to pony kind was proof enough. He must be there, growing in power, preparing to cross the ocean and start his reign of terror in the lands under the rule of our Holy Protector. And I shall not sit idly back and wait for that to happen. Between my knowledge of medicine and the gift bestowed upon me by The Lady of the Sun herself, I shall conquer all the hardships he will place before me and prevent him from tainting my homeland with his wickedness. So help me Celestia!

Twilight didn't know what to think about that, the book starting practically from the middle. After a short inspection she realized that a few pages were missing, as if someone ripped them out, but considering the state of other books in this library it wasn't something all that surprising. Still, she lacked the context to those words and she could only guess as to what Nostramane was referring to.

Twilight turned the page and found the rest of the book written in the form of a diary. Entries were supplied with dates they were referring to, and they ranged from short and to the point notes to larger, more elaborate entries. Figuring she might learn something more from them, Twilight began carefully leafing through them.

12 of November, 586 Anno Celesis

Managed to board the last ship to Coltcutta this year. Captain sais journey will take about a month with favorable winds. Brought medical equipment –might prove useful.

27 of November, 586 Anno Celesis

Half way there. Hope wind does not change. Crewmembers getting more and more obtrusive; now I know why most mares loath traveling by sea.

1 of December, 586 Anno Celesis

Overheard conversation between crewmembers. They were talking about the latest news from Coltcutta. Seems like my suspicions are correct; town has problems with plague (name of disease not given). Possibility of enacting quarantine in city. Note to self: prepare plan in case of having to bypass quarantine quickly.

15 of December, 586 Anno Celesis

Reached Coltcutta. City looks impressive; architecture like nothing in Equestria, yet the picture is marred by the districts of the poor. As feared, city is on lockdown; no pony can get in or out. Tomorrow will try getting inside.

16 of December, 586 Anno Celesis

Managed to bypass quarantine (easier than expected). Looking for a place to set up and stay. In the meantime will keep eyes peeled for victims of plague.

Found group of victims on street near district of poor. Suspicions confirmed: discolored coats, blisters and open wounds, puss, and rotting parts of body clearly indicate l̴̥̺̳ͅẹ̺̙̲͓͇̕p͔̺̠̞̹͡r͈̳o̤̮s͕͚̙̠ͅy̩.

Twilight strained her eyes trying to read the last word. It seemed like if it was covered by some sort of stain, which would make sense around here. However, as she was about to continue reading, something caught her attention and momentarily distracted her from her research.

The room was filled with the putrid smell of a pony suffering from advanced leprosy, originating from the book at Twilight's hooves. Yet even with that morbid stench lingering in the air, Twilight was able to pick up another, similar smell. It was like if something was rotting away intensively, like if somepony just moved a mound of trash, releasing a cloud of odor. Gagging, she began searching for the source of the smell, hoping to get rid of it. For some odd reason however it seemed to originate from the book itself, mainly from the front pages which were now obstructed from view by the latter ones. Wondering what was going on Twilight turned the pages back, and nearly dropped the book once she got to the first page.

She couldn't wrap her head around what she had just witnessed. It made absolutely no sense, yet she was one hundred percent sure that she wasn't just hallucinating this. She doubted that her mind could come up with the picture of parchment pages being covered in rot, and not just any kind of rot, but the variety most common on a pony's body.

Twilight stared at the odd phenomenon, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. It was thanks to her freezing up she was able to notice something that both made her even more confused and sent a shiver down her spine. The layer of rot and decay covering the pages was growing, spreading along its surface, consuming the parchment in front of her very eyes. Confused beyond words, Twilight was still able to think at least partially logically, which led her to a frightening realization.

"If I don't hurry up the whole book may rot away." She whispered to herself, gulping down her nerves. Shakily, Twilight turned the pages back to the place where she left off and began scanning them in search for something interesting. It was moments like this she was thankful that she learned speed reading.

17 of December, 586 Anno Celesis

Managed to find place for my experiments. Placed out of the way, in quiet part of town; scarcely patrolled, so risk of being found out is minimal. Considering some forms of treatment I plan on testing it is preferable not to draw attention.

Cursory glance at nearest districts seems promising. Percentage of infected is high; at least 7% of population has l̴̥̺̳ͅẹ̺̙̲͓͇̕p͔̺̠̞̹͡r͈̳o̤̮s͕͚̙̠ͅy̩.

And again with leprosy being almost illegible. Twilight was beginning to wonder if it was some kind of attempt at redacting information, but didn't dwell too much on it. The rot was constantly spreading, not waiting for her to ponder such things.

24 of December, 586 Anno Celesis

This is getting frustrating! Even though I offer free treatment and a chance to be rid of their curse, I cannot seem to convince any of the local ill to come with me. It must have something to do with the strange custom they have here. I noticed this earlier and back then though it a curiosity. Now however I begin to see the real meaning behind this.

Castes. Ponies here segregate themselves into castes. One cast is responsible for say running an inn, while a completely different caste keeps the streets tidy. Interactions between casts is also limited and highly ritualized, to the point where I have difficulties understanding what is a custom here and what is day-to-day interactions.

The fact everything here circles around castes makes me an outsider in their eyes, and somepony not to be trusted. They choose either to limit their contacts with me, or ignore me altogether. I fear that until I manage to take care of this issue I will not be able to conduct much research.

25 of December, 586 Anno Celesis

Prize the Sun, I have found a solution! I have managed to spot a group of ponies responsible for helping the ill, I guess they belong to the appropriate caste. They do not seem to be held in too high regards, but alas –it is better to have a method of reaching to the ill than not have any. I shall attempt to emulate their behavior and acquire similar garb to the one worn by them.

26 of December, 586 Anno Celesis

Managed to get clothes similar to those of physicians. Immediate successful interaction with ill. Managed to convince a few to come with me and be examined. Note to self: need to procure several beds and other necessities for patients; forming a small l̤̫̭̯̥͙̼͟ep͖̩̲͝ŕo̰̪̹s͍͉͕a̡r̭̭͙͇̕i̟͘u̮m̭̝ needs to be my next step.

Tests conducted on ill prove beyond doubt that this is indeed l̴̥̺̳ͅẹ̺̙̲͓͇̕p͔̺̠̞̹͡r͈̳o̤̮s͕͚̙̠ͅy̩. Interestingly enough, most of the infected are not sure how they came down with the illness. Some of them state that they were infected in the classical manner, but two or three of them said something about being cursed by an evil power (possible lead!). Will have to investigate further.

Twilight's heart began beating faster after the last two sentences. It appeared that Nostramane had a similar experience to her own, at least when it came to the fact of something presumably being responsible for the spread of the disease. In fact, it seemed like she was going after whatever was causing the leprosy. While Twilight was still skeptical about the whole story with the Leper Messiah, she wasn't going to ignore a possible source of information on him.

29 of December, 586 Anno Celesis

First full-time patients are coming in, all of them from the poor districts (possible point of origin). Began treating them using all available resources, utilizing both classical methods as well as some less known or experimental. As of now results are inconclusive; need time to get anything solid. Right now the hot water treatment seems promising.

Did a few interviews with new patients. Apparently, not all of them originated from the poor district. As per local custom, infected with l̴̥̺̳ͅẹ̺̙̲͓͇̕p͔̺̠̞̹͡r͈̳o̤̮s͕͚̙̠ͅy̩ are ostracized and excluded from the community. They refer to themselves as untouchables (fitting, considering their condition). This means that l̴̥̺̳ͅẹ̺̙̲͓͇̕p͔̺̠̞̹͡r͈̳o̤̮s͕͚̙̠ͅy̩ is more wide spread than I initially thought.

Managed to get a few of the patients to talk. Asked them if they knew anything about the entity that spreads the disease. Five out of ten declined such things happening. Four refused to elaborate beyond that there is evil lurking the streets of Coltcutta. Last one mentioned only one thing before becoming silent and refusing to talk: Grandfather of Rot (possibly the Plaguebearer?)

31 of December, 586 Anno Celesis

Hot water treatment is the stupidest idea I have ever heard of! I cannot understand how the zebra shamans are able to control the temperature of the water as to not boil their patients. Even though I am a unicorn I cannot control the heat to such an extent. After the loss of two patients I will not continue to use this method.

Trying a different angle in my approach. Decided to use simple healing spells on affected areas of skin on several patients. Seems to lessen the swelling and closes the wounds. Subjects Patients still have no feeling in healed areas. Possible internal damage?

Patents begin to notice I do not ridicule them for speaking of the Grandfather of Rot. This brought several information to my attention. Seems like the Grandfather is an urban legend of Coltcutta, a campfire story of sorts. It speaks of an elderly pony in the traditional garb of a Brahmane (highest caste), stalking the streets of the city. He is supposedly covered with blisters and infected skin, and is said to have puss flowing in his veins. Legends say that he is somehow responsible for the spread of l̴̥̺̳ͅẹ̺̙̲͓͇̕p͔̺̠̞̹͡r͈̳o̤̮s͕͚̙̠ͅy̩, although it is not stated how exactly. Despite several differences from the depiction provided in "Somnum Exterreri Solebat", I am able to see similarities to the Plaguebearer, which leads me to the conclusion that he is in the city.

"Somnum Exterreri Solebat?" Twilight muttered softly to herself. The name ringed a bell, though she was sure that she never read the book itself. After a moment she remembered where she heard that name before.

It was listed on the Index of Prohibited Books, and if that was the case, it must have been a really vile tome indeed. Princess Celestia didn't make a decision to ban any book lightly, and most of those that were on the list spoke of unimaginable things, either relicts of Nightmare Moon's wicked influence or treaties speaking of things questionable at best. The fact that apparently Nostramane read one of those books was worrisome.

1 of January, 587 Anno Celesis

Decided to conduct autopsy of recently deceased patient. It is not something completely legal, but I have reasons to believe that it may shed some light on the nature of l̴̥̺̳ͅẹ̺̙̲͓͇̕p͔̺̠̞̹͡r͈̳o̤̮s͕͚̙̠ͅy̩.

Autopsy will be conducted on the body of one Swift Lance; age 38; male pegasus, infected. Prior to his demise he was one of my patients; was taking the illness better than most, showed most promise to be "cured" with the abandoned hot water method. His death is a mystery in itself, and I hope to uncover its secret.

Results of autopsy brought forth more questions than answers. Despite showing close to no external signs of l̴̥̺̳ͅẹ̺̙̲͓͇̕p͔̺̠̞̹͡r͈̳o̤̮s͕͚̙̠ͅy̩, patient had his internal organs strongly affected (most medical treaties fail to mention that; magical healing of patients postponed until further notice). Surprisingly enough, it was not l̴̥̺̳ͅẹ̺̙̲͓͇̕p͔̺̠̞̹͡r͈̳o̤̮s͕͚̙̠ͅy̩ that ultimately killed him. Patient seems to have died of myocardial infarction. That and the fact that the patient was found curled in his bed leads me to believe that he was frightened to death by something. Will need investigating.

2 of January, 587 Anno Celesis

Interrogated patients closest to Swift Lance. Two patients mention hearing muttering coming from deceased. Apparently victim of a vivid nightmare; may be the reason behind heart attack.

Noticed something odd. No matter how far from the l̤̫̭̯̥͙̼͟ep͖̩̲͝ŕo̰̪̹s͍͉͕a̡r̭̭͙͇̕i̟͘u̮m̭̝ I find myself, each time I go back I make the same amount of steps. Always the same amount: exactly 2986 steps. Odd.

17 of January, 587 Anno Celesis

Close to no progress. Patients begin suspecting I have no idea what I am doing. I cannot blame them –I am in the dark. Some mutter of leaving and searching for other physicians. Did not decide what to do with the knowledge.

Mortality rate of patients increased by 50%. No idea why. Patients seem to develop advanced stadiums of l̴̥̺̳ͅẹ̺̙̲͓͇̕p͔̺̠̞̹͡r͈̳o̤̮s͕͚̙̠ͅy̩ unnaturally fast; the best I can do is provide them with painkillers and wait for the inevitable. Still, what could have spurred the disease to advance at such a quick rate?

22 of January, 587 Anno Celesis

Running low on medical supplies. Need to get hold of some more (local physicians perhaps?). For the time being lowering distribution of drugs to patients by half.

A peculiar thing happened to me today. I was out of the l̤̫̭̯̥͙̼͟ep͖̩̲͝ŕo̰̪̹s͍͉͕a̡r̭̭͙͇̕i̟͘u̮m̭̝ in search of a possible way to acquire more medicine when I have spotted an unusual pony. Judging by the blisters he was infected with l̴̥̺̳ͅẹ̺̙̲͓͇̕p͔̺̠̞̹͡r͈̳o̤̮s͕͚̙̠ͅy̩, so I attempted to approach him and convince to come with me. Before I was able to come within talking distance with him however he had disappeared into thin air. No idea if it was teleportation or simply a trick of my mind. Still, I cannot shake off the feeling that whatever happened today was not something normal.

Twilight reread the last paragraph, just to make sure. What Nostramane described there was so similar to her own experiences with the Messiah that it was uncanny. The whole journal suddenly became all the more interesting to her, and she was just about to get back to reading when she noticed something on the edge of the page. Half suspecting and half dreading what she would see there, Twilight chanced a look at the aforementioned part of the book and let out a silent gasp.

The rot caught up to her. Somehow, the slowly creeping mass of decay managed to spread fast enough to reach where she was now. At first it didn't make any sense to Twilight, but it quickly became apparent what caused this.

The rot was spreading at an alarming pace. Furthermore, once the now fast moving layer of rot reached one of the barely legible variants of the word "leprosy", the word itself seemed to get even more distorted before it merged with the rest of the rot, and it began spreading at an increased pace.

With this frightening discovery made, Twilight was forced to do something that she would never under normal circumstances even consider. A book containing knowledge on a subject she barely had a grasp on was right in front of her, yet she wouldn't be able to read through it fully, for it would soon be rendered useless. Biting hard on her lips, she forced herself to do what she considered a sin only slightly less severe than destroying a book.

She skipped ahead, condemning the knowledge written upon the parchment pages she bypassed to oblivion.

After opening on a random page Twilight immediately noticed that something had changed. Where before Nostramane's notes were written neatly and tidily, as per custom back in her epoch, now her diary was anything but. Words were crooked and uneven, and numerous ink blots littered the pages. It was still legible and Twilight wouldn't have too much of a problem to read it, but it nonetheless spoke volumes about Nostramane's state back then.

16 of April, 587 Anno Celesis

City Guard is suspecting something. Have to find different place for waste disposal. Will try dumping it in local medics territory, avert suspicions from me.

Subjects from group A show no change of their state. Most are catatonic, the few still conscious report increase of pain levels. Administering additional doses of improved formula. Group B has highest mortality rate; cyanide-mixture too toxic. 4 subjects expired last night.

Subjects from control group attempted escape. Managed to subdue most; 1 subject badly wounded (terminated afterwards to prevent further attempts from other subjects). Situation under control.

Ok… Maybe she skipped ahead just a little bit too far. This made no sense to Twilight; why would Nostramane change from a mostly law abiding physician wanting to help stop leprosy into a half-crazed sociopath treating her patients like prisoners? Was it the pressure that forced her to change? Or maybe it was something else? Maybe it had something to do with the "Plaguebearer" or whatever it's called? The answer to that lie somewhere within the book, and as much as it pained her, Twilight couldn't go back, not if she wanted to see the end.

17 of April, 587 Anno Celesis

My associates begin to question my methods. They do not say it to me directly, choosing to whisper behind my back. They say that I have lost the sight of our goal, that I have went down the path that would lead me to my doom.

The fools! They are the ones kept in the dark, they are the ones blind to the truth! Who are they to question me?! Were they blessed with the power to see the truth?! Are they haunted by him in their sleep?! NO!!! It is I that see it, it is I that he noticed and chosen as his adversary, it is I that know what is to come! They are but blind foals, kept in the darkness of ignorance, not to harm but to save their miserable, worthless lives!

They worry about the patients. "What we do here is immoral" they say. But what do they know, and why do they care? I pay them for their work, and they should not question my decisions. And the patients. They all are dead already, every stallion, mare and foal here are dead! They just do not know it yet, and as long as they are kept in the belief that they still have a chance they will serve my goals perfectly. It is for the greater good aft

18 of April, 587 Anno Celesis

I cannot begin to fathom what possessed me to drink last night. The stress of the situation is slowly getting to me it seems. I have written so much nonsense that it is staggering. I shall leave it how it is however, as a reminder of what alcohol can make me do.

The rest of the entry, and the few next looked quite alike each other, limiting themselves to dry recounts of failed experiments and writing down statistics, mostly of the death toll of Nostramane's patients. The numbers were frightening to Twilight: there wasn't a day that somepony didn't die, and the death of only one pony a day was the absolute minimum. On average six to ten ponies expired daily, either due to the administered "treatment" (if one could call say amputating infected limbs treating leprosy), or by the advanced stadiums of the illness.

There was however one more statistic written on the sides of the entries. At first Twilight didn't know what they referred to, written in what must have been a perfectly legible code to the author but sadly not to her. The notes were just a duo of repeating abbreviations: SOP and TSOP, and both of them were accompanied by corresponding numbers, typically "1" next to SOP and a two digit number next to the other one. After seeing them on every other page however and quickly checking one to another, Twilight realized what it was.

It was the number of sightings of something, most probably the Plaguebearer. It made sense, the letters would then mean respectively "Sightings of Plaguebearer" and "Total Sightings of Plaguebearer". But if that was true, if she really saw the creature and not just a random ill pony, and if the numbers were correct, than the Leper Messiah, the Plaguebearer, appeared to Nostramane 40 times in the span of three months.

Twilight leafed through the book in search of something interesting, keeping an eye on the ever growing number of decaying pages. Unfortunately for her, the rot was spreading ever faster with each consumed piece of parchment. Twilight hoped that she would find something useful before the accursed mass of putrefaction would consume it all. And fortunately for her, she may have stumbled upon one such fragment.

The entry stood out to Twilight like a sore hoof. It was easily the largest out of any she had seen up until now, and it seemed that a great effort was made to write it down as carefully as possible. It might have as well been circled in red with a giant "Important" written in capital letters next to it in her opinion. So, losing no time for the rot to catch up, Twilight dived right into the centuries old text.

3 of May, 587 Anno Celesis

Today I have met an interesting individual. It happened to be the most helpful pony I had the good fortune to meet during my stay in Coltcutta. We have talked for many hours, and thanks to his insight on the matter at hoof, I finally have some clarity on what I am facing against.

The pony I have mentioned is a foreigner like me. He came here from a country called "The Commonwealth", a nation to the east of Equestria. He also is a priest of some sort, though he does not recognize the Holy Light of our Protector, but a "Mother Creatrix" figure I have never heard about. "A priest of Faust" he calls himself, though his beliefs are of no importance to me. It is his vast knowledge of the curse plaguing this land and the Plaguebearer himself that matter.

Our discussion on the matter of the Plaguebearer took up most of my day, but it shed light on so many things that I cannot feel anything but gratitude for the time we devoted to it. The priest (who asked to be anonymous if I decide to record this) had access to "Somnum Exterreri Solebat", as well as books on similar matters written by his people for a far longer period of time than I had. He managed to garner enough knowledge to come up with whole theories on the source of origin of the Plaguebearer as well as who and what he actually is. The two most prominent I have decided to write down in hopes of coming up with a method of defeating him and putting an end to this plague.

The first theory speaks of an evil, malicious spirit existing far beyond our reality. It is a creature of immense power, on par with her Royal Majesty herself yet contrary to her beyond our reach. It is possible that the creature itself is the source of all illnesses, that he is all the diseases that plagued pony kind from times immemorial, and that he is all the sicknesses that have yet to strike at us. It can be the plague itself and live within all infected, be anywhere and everywhere at once, and in being so impossible to defeat. The Plaguebearer himself however might be something else entirely.

It is possible that the one we refer to as the Plaguebearer is nothing more than a construct of sorts created by the malicious spirit, a physical manifestation of its wickedness. It can be tied to one of its aspects, in this case l̴̥̺̳ͅẹ̺̙̲͓͇̕p͔̺̠̞̹͡r͈̳o̤̮s͕͚̙̠ͅy̩, and it can spread its filth, with each pony succumbing to it strengthening the evil standing behind it. End even though this thought itself is frightening, as destroying the Plaguebearer would not mean the end of the spirit or the plague itself, it is nothing compared to the second theory.

My learned interlocutor stated that it is entirely possible that the Plaguebearer may have a completely different origin, unrelated to any sort of hypothetical higher being that may or may not exist. The second theory is in this sense more trivial, yet frightening all the same, for if a lord of illnesses is not at work here, than what is? Apparently we, simple ponies, may be responsible for our own demise.

Magic is strongly connected to emotions a pony feels. Powerful emotions like love can bolster the power of certain spells, or create new magical effects outright. Yet not only positive emotions contribute to this effect. Negative ones, such as hate or wrath can create comparably strong effects, yet usually far more destructive. And if one pony can create powerful magical effects feeling mad, than what can a whole city filled with terrified, paranoid ponies do?

The second most reasonable theory states that the Plaguebearer is nothing more than condensed fear and paranoia fueled by the deaths of the victims of l̴̥̺̳ͅẹ̺̙̲͓͇̕p͔̺̠̞̹͡r͈̳o̤̮s͕͚̙̠ͅy̩. The locals have a legend about a being called the Grandfather of Rot, and it is entirely possible that when their fears took physical form and adjusted to way they imagined him. It might be real, a being of flesh and bone, or it might be just a specter conjured up by our fears, but nonetheless it can and does spread the disease, feeding off fear and death and growing ever stronger. And if that is the case, than fighting him will serve only to postpone his inevitable coming. For if he is conjured up by ponies themselves, then he may come back anytime there is a plague spreading amongst us.

This all is much to take in at once. I fear I may have overestimated my own powers while making the decision to come here. Compared to what may be lurking the streets of Coltcutta, I am but a fragile pony, trying to stop a rampaging dragon by using a stick. It may be wise to consider going back to Equestria and leaving this place to its doom. I shall start making arrangements, bit I will stay here for just a little longer. If Lady Luck has me in her favor I may be able to come up with a method of at least slowing the Plaguebearer down.

Twilight frantically tried to memorize as much as she could of this entry. To her, it was like hitting jackpot in a lottery –this was a real treasure trove of information, even if most of it seemed really farfetched. Both the idea of a higher being controlling diseases and of ponies' fears conjuring up a malicious spirit wasn't something she would readily believe in, but at this point she wasn't ruling anything out.

The layer of decay was quickly gaining up on her, so Twilight was forced to move along. She turned a few pages, again in search of interesting entries, and she quickly found one unlike the others, yet having a certain familiar feel to itself. Only after Twilight remembered to whom the diary belonged to did she realize what she was looking at.

7 of May, 587 Anno Celesis (SOP 1; TSOP 41)

The day has come that dawn will fall
The alabaster palace rots at its foundations;
The Sun will shatter at the groans of the dead
Triumphant is the Lord damned a thousandfold.

A Nostramane Quatrain, her preferred method of writing down prophecies. Twilight should have known she would encounter one sooner or later. She was almost tempted to chuckle at her discovery, if not for two things. One: the way the prophecy was written was off, not so much looking at its structure, but rather the messy hoofwriting. It was easy to deduce that Nostramane was under much stress while writing this, possibly scared out of her mind. The second thing was that it wasn't all of the entry. There was still one sentence left, one sentence that changed everything.

I will not allow this to happen, even if it will be the last thing I shall do!

She didn't have the time to ponder this as the rot was quickly covering the page. Forced to continue, Twilight flipped the pages frantically until she was relatively sure she was far enough from the layer of decay. Not even checking what page she was on she began hurriedly reading, hoping to find more answers.

14 of May, 587 Anno Celesis S̠͜O̖͎̲̹P̳̝͚͉̗͓ ̛͔1̧̲̞̰;̞̞͓͓̮̪̥ ̷͇̦Ṱ̞̭̞̪̹̬SO̫͘P̦̼̗̩̥̘͘ ̷̱͉̤̦̺̘̲4͈̣2̠̝͢

I have it! Now I know how to finally face off this monster! The Grandfather of Rot, the Plaguebearer has a weak spot I can utilize! It took me weeks to come up with this plan, but I am certain it shall work. If not, I will surely die a horrible death, but until then I shall clutch at the safeness of my plans.

I will find him, or rather he will find me. I am sure that he will a̴͈͙̖̲̩͚̝t͙̻̘t̥͖̥̠̬͚̰ém̩̜̞̪p̷̮̗̹͉̹̗t̼͕̜ to stop me from spreading the word of his w҉̪ͅé͖͓̤͎̲̤̝ak̸n̘e̘̹̥̱͡s̱s͈, but I shall not be iͅͅn̟͚͘t̟̥̘̘̣̝͕i̸̝m͓͉̩͖͔̯ͅi̵̞̝͕̟d̫̘͍̥̜̕a̡̰t͙͚̳́ę̤̤̩̬̤d̰͚͚ ͖͙͇̥b͎͙y̯̮͈͇͔̻̤͠ ̱̻͙̗̤͈͙͠h̩͓̦i̷̹͈̞m̛̺̰̭͇͉ͅ. Let this diary hold the wisdom of ḥ̷̥̮͖o͚͈͕̠̹̳̥w̵̜͖͓̺̖ ̫̀t̴o̧̻͓̭͍̙̤ ͈̩̥͜d̲̯̦̬͓͖̼è͈f̦̯̙̫͚e̪͔͕͎̲̩͝a̗̪̖̫͕͇ṱ̜̩̪̲̦͡ t̡̖͎̬̗̤̙h̻̯̥̻͢ę͚ ͈̠̥P̫͔̖̫̼̬͍l͖̀a͍̰̹g̬u͏͕͖̲̳͚̙̲e̻̜̼̹b̧̲̹̦̞̼̻e͉͖̝̫̜a̜̭̩̠͎͖̘r͘e̶͚͈͈͓̩͉̣ŕ. Ț̸͉̞̦̖̯h҉̬̤̲͖e̮̭̩͈͜ ͕͍̯̞̰̩̥k̤̱͚̙̳̳e̪̫̩͎͞y͔͍ ͢t̸͓͕̺ͅo̴̯̙ ̵h̺̬̗͕i̘s̩͓͕̣̩͇̝ ̮͙̻̹͝p͈̦̠o͘we̢ͅr͈̺̹̯ ̻̝ li͉̰̲̤͔̳e̵s̬̤̤͚̤ ̰̺͠w͜i҉̠̪t͙̥̰̠̰h͏̼i̭̹͚̣͉̗͔n̸̖̼̤͉ ̨̙̖͙̱̘̩̫ẖ͕̣̙͎̭̯i̤͇͙̹̦̣͝s̙̬̩̥ ████ a̜͚͍̲̤̙̦n̪̠͍̮̖d̼̹̞̲͎̫͕ ̥̙̠͈̦̗t͙h̵͓̻̱͈̣̪̠e̸ ̟o̞͇ṉ̡̗̻̩͔̥l̼͘y̞̻͖̳͠ ͢t͉͈̳͚ḥ̺͖ͅi̝̥̯̳͟n̨̘̻̲̖͔g͓̩͕̀ ҉̻c̜̠̪͖̼̲̘a̡̳͇͔͔p̟a͏̠̬b̠͇͢le͢ ̢of̡̹̲̠ ̸w̘͢o̷͈̠u̧̙̲̣͓̺̙n̟̘̤d̙̀i̼̝̠̤̖͖n̞̗͔͖͚̠̻͢g̙͙̺̩͈̻͡ ̲̣̠͔h̩̤̥͉̣̠̰i̙̼͔̹ͅm̙̟̱ ̘̤̲̻̣̬̠i̼͖̭͔̺̙̠s͍̯͇̬̠̯██████

The rot caught up to Twilight, engulfing the contents of the page within moments and preventing her from learning about the Plaguebearer's, or rather the Leper Messiah's weak points. The decay consumed the parchment page within seconds, turning it into an unintelligible mass of flesh-like goop. The mare tried to turn the page and find out if she could learn something more from latter entries, but she couldn't. Her magic for reasons unknown refused to touch the fleshy mass, and her instincts were telling her that trying to turn it by hoof wasn't the best of ideas. She could do nothing more than stare as the book was quickly turning into nothing more than a pile of rotten flesh.

She couldn't believe this. Twilight had the answer right in front of her, and it was snatched from her before she could read it. It was like if some evil force was preventing her from finding out the method of defeating the Leper Messiah. It was as if…

… the Leper Messiah was trying to stop her. Why didn't she make this connection earlier? The rotting pages, the warped mentions of leprosy in the diary, it all made sense now! The evil spirit was trying to stop her from finding out how to defeat him, and it was successful at it. The only partially reliable source of information was right now lying on a desk, turned into an amorphous blob of rot. But why did he start only now? Why didn't the Messiah destroy the diary earlier? Unless… Unless he didn't know about it earlier. It might have learned about the diary's existence moments after she did. But if that was the case than it would mean she was followed…

"Oh my…" Twilight breathed silently, her pupils shrinking into pinpricks. What if she really was followed by the Leper Messiah? What if he was standing right behind her just now? Images of rotting and dying ponies flashed before her eyes, some of them terrifyingly similar to her friends. She was paralyzed by fear, her whole body tensing in a manner of seconds, and she started hyperventilating. "Oh please don't be there, oh please don't be there, oh please don't be…"

*crunch*

Chapter Fourteen - The Writer

Twilight froze in place, her every senses straining to the brink of madness, focusing on the soft sound. It echoed behind her in a slow, monotonous rhythm, like a grotesque pendulum heralding the coming of an unspeakable evil. Every nerve in her body tensed, every hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she waited for what was to come.

*crunch*

She slowly turned around, her eyes wide open in fear. The door behind her was unlocked, Twilight completely forgot about it in her haste.

*crunch*

There was no exit apart from the one leading to the stairs.

*crunch*

She had no weapon, she had no means to protect herself.

*crunch*

And she had hope.

*crunch*

There was a little pause. After several silent seconds the door creaked open and her eyes fell on the grotesque form of the wraith in its full putrid splendor.

From this distance she could see all of its terrifying features. The broad leather hat bathed most of its face in shadows, but the Messiah’s glowing eyes were still visible, glaring at her with pure hatred. A single glance at its rotting form was enough to send sharp needles through her brain, the powerful stench it emanated stunningly disgusting, almost making her vomit. His skin was covered with grievous wounds, but none of them were bleeding, instead pus slowly seeped from them in yellow rivers.

Twilight’s mind screamed at her to get out of there, to teleport as far away as she could, to run for her life, but she didn’t move an inch. She was frozen in place, paralyzed from fear this eldritch abomination was inducing in her, reducing her brilliant mind into a jumble of half-formed thoughts she couldn’t understand. The terrifying form was too much for her to comprehend and for the first time in her life she didn’t know what to do.

The Leper Messiah slowly approached her, the stink getting even more overwhelming with each step it took. It was at that moment her legs decided to work again. In pure panic she started to back away, never leaving her gaze from the horror in front of her. But she couldn’t back up forever; Twilight’s rump hit the bookshelf behind her, making her gasp in surprise.

“No, no, no, don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me!” she cried, rising her hoof to her eyes to block the terrifying visage, a futile attempt to protect herself. She was going to die, she knew it.

Nothing happened.

“With all due respect Miss; what are you doing in my basement?” a droning, monotone voice asked.

Wait, what?

She looked again, and where once stood the grotesque figure of the Messiah now was the tiny, gray form of a colt. Lovecraft looked at her disapprovingly. Twilight blinked several times, almost expecting the eldritch apparition to sprout in front of her, but no, it was only the owner of this library. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, the librarian still possessed the same blank expression painted on his face.

Twilight’s mind sprung back to life and was frantically looking for a plausible explanation what she was doing here. She seriously doubted the colt would take kindly to her trespassing in his basement. But before she could come up with any way to “omit the truth” (Twilight didn’t like word “lie”), Lovecraft inhaled deeply, his face twisting into a disgusted frown. He spotted the completely degenerated book lying on the desk.

“Wait… did you really… did you really touch this!?” he finally snapped, for the first time showing any kind of emotion.

“Ehm, what exa-” Twilight tried to shakily say something, but Lovecraft almost immediately bolted out of the basement. He came back after a moment with the bucket full of… oil!?

“Stand back” he said as he kicked the book into the far corner. He poured the contents of the bucket onto the tome. With that accomplished his hoof traveled towards one of the oil lamps which he then promptly threw at the corrupted book. The tome almost exploded, coloring the flames with a deep, red hue, like the flames of Tartarus itself. Lovecraft kept an eye on the sizzling grimoire, making sure the fire would not spread. After a few moments, there was nothing left but dust.

“I believe that entering other ponies’ basements is not socially acceptable.” Lovecraft spoke softly after the flames died down. “Especially in case of this basement. And I lost an incredibly valuable tome because of you.

“I’m sorry.” Twilight said, bowing her head

“Don’t be. I believe that your arrival here has set into motion a new series of events.” he spoke. “You came here in search of answers and I think I can deliver some of them…

“Here, take this.” Lovecraft passed Twilight a cup of hot, steaming tea.“You look like somepony who saw a ghost.”

Twilight accepted the cup with silent gratitude, sitting in one of two chairs. Even though it was several minutes since the incident in the basement she still couldn’t concentrate enough to use her magic, and her hooves were still shaking, as evident by the loud rattling of the china. She tried to recall every single moment from that situation. How it was possible? She thought that she saw this thing in the corner of her eye when she was walking through the streets of Flankfurt, but to appear in the middle of somepony’s home? That was unthinkable!

Twilight also tried to think what should she do next, especially with Lovecraft. She wasn’t sure she could be completely honest with him. Twilight was pretty sure half of the books in the basements were strictly forbidden. How in the name of Celestia was he even able to obtain them?! Then again, this was a perfect opportunity to finally get some information.

They were in Lovecraft’s personal study. It was a small room with several wooden, ancient pieces of furniture. It was probably also the only room here that wasn’t filled with books stacked to the very roof. The only paper here was in the form of several notes and small tomes stacked into a small tower on a rickety desktop. The only decoration was a portrait of an elderly pony wearing a monocle on the wall, glaring at her from the darkness. A single oil lamp was illuminating the chamber, making the furniture cast spindly, flickering shadows on the walls.

“I would like to ask the first question if you do not mind. It is something that was troubling me for some time now.” Lovecraft started, clearing his desktop a bit and sitting on the opposite chair. “Could you explain to me why you started to behave so strange when I found you in the basement?”

Her mind was set: collector of forbidden texts or not, she was going to be honest with him.

“I think I had some sort of hallucination.” Twilight said slowly. “I thought you were the Leper Messiah. Gosh, it was so real that I could even smell the decay of a leper’s body.

Lovecraft silently mulled over those words.

“Interesting. So you were sure that this “thing” was the Leper Messiah?”

“Certainly.”

Again, silence. Lovecraft propped his head on a hoof.

“If that is the case then before we continue I suppose some apologies are in place.” he spoke, his gaze shifting guiltily to the floor. “I should not have ignored you like some sort of mischievous ruffian back during our first meeting. I am deeply sorry.”

Twilight was surprised to say at least. “Oh. Ehm, thank you. “

“Back to the matter at hoof: you still need answers, correct?”

Twilight nodded.

“Yes, indeed. In 587 Anno Celesis there was an epidemic of leprosy in Coltcutta, right?”

“Correct.” It was Lovecraft’s turn to nod.

“Has the epidemic been countered? What happened with the city?”

“Fire happened.” Lovecraft stated flatly. “In the apogeum of the panic and complete madness somepony set the slums ablaze. The conflagration was incredibly powerful, most of the city has been turned to ash. The fire purified the entire city, killing thousands of ponies yet also halting the spread of the disease.”

A strange thought invaded Twilight’s mind as she realized something. Isolated, poor city. Leprosy. Complete panic. Entire city built out of wood… in the name of Celestia, is the fire the next step!? No… wait… conditions are quite similar, but not that similar. I’m freaking out, I have to calm down. Besides, it’s so cold, there is no way fire can spread… right?

“And what happened with Nostramane?” she asked, shaking her head to clear her thoughts.

“Who? Nostramane? You mean the apothecary?” Lovecraft said confused. “Well, I am not really sure, but I do not recall if there are any sources that speaks of it. Actually, I am not really sure if it is known when she died. The only thing that is sure is that she vanished after the destruction of Coltkutta.”

“Huh.”

There was a short break, a dozen or so seconds of silence. Twilight was drinking her tea while Lovecraft was busy inspecting the notes that littered his desktop.

“Is life hard here?” Twilight suddenly asked, completely out of the blue.

“Nah, it’s not that bad I guess.” Lovecraft turned his face and regarded her, a shadow of a smile on his lips. “I did not eat a good meal in over a month, but I have a stable job and I am proud of it. Of course, the pay I get from the Council is getting lower and lower, so I had to start proof-reading other writers works just to make a living.”

“Are you a writer?” she asked, her eyes suddenly sparkling with interest.

“Well… yes. But I do not have any of them published in the form of books.” Lovecraft admitted a bit embarrassed. “I published three of my short tales in a local Manezette, but besides that, nothing. Everything I wrote lies on this desktop.”

With curiosity Twilight lifted one of the first pages with her magic and began reading.

“I am writing this under an appreciable mental strain, for as of this night, I shall be no more…” Twilight read. “It seems that you don’t live up to your name.” she smiled and put it away.

Lovecraft chuckled, a tiny smile gracing his lips.

“Yes, I guess my name should be Hatecraft. More fitting.” he laughed.

“Yhm.” Twilight nodded and took another sip from the cup.

Lovecraft cleaned the desk with one swift move. He leaned forward a bit.

“So, what are you going to do next?”

Well, that was a good question. She had nothing more to do here, maybe expect chatting with the librarian for a bit more. She also didn’t have any particular idea what to do in Mareggen. Maybe she should go back to the hospital? Yes, she probably should do just that...

“Well, I guess I’m going back to work.” Twilight said while standing from her chair. “There are a few ponies waiting for me back at the hospital.”

“Fine by me.” Lovecraft nodded with understanding. “If you’ll ever find yourself with some free time to spare, please come and visit. Maybe we could talk about literature a bit more.”

“Thanks, I’ll try.” she promised smiling. “Bye!”

Meanwhile

Dostoyevsky trotted through the snow-covered streets, searching for the last house from his list, but he couldn’t for the love of Faust find it. He was out on yet another search for infected ponies that could’ve skipped an earlier search and hid somewhere in town. He already visited two houses and thankfully he didn’t found any signs of leprosy. This was the last house for the day, and as if Lightbringer himself decided to play a cruel joke on him it hid from his gaze.

Today was far warmer than yesterday, and the elder pony was mostly used to the cold by now. It was almost like walking in the middle of summer, that is Flankfurt summer of course. Maybe the wind was slightly stronger than usual, but his noble apparel blocked out the worst of it.

Dostoyevsky turned into another street, this one leading to the noble district. The residences here were built with skill far beyond that of the rest of the city, the buildings neater in comparison to the ones in other districts and far more decorative. Reading through his notes Dostoyevsky realized that this was the street she should have been looking through the whole time. Feeling stupid he search for “the third house on the right side” as per his notes.

He found the house quite quickly, if it could be called a mere house. “More like a palace” Dostoyevsky muttered under his breath as he gazed upon the oaken building swept from all sides by sparkling snow. It was fairly old, and maybe not the best looking of all residences on this street, but still, it was fairly impressive.

He looked on the wooden plate nailed to the front doors just before knocking.

Quicksilver Manor

We do not welcome visitors!

“Huh, they seems to be vere vere friendly.” Dostoyevsky hummed to himself as he knocked.

Chapter Fifteen - The Guilt

Several seconds passed, yet nopony seemed to be interested in answering the door. Dostoyevsky, his pride as a noble being already strained as it were, had no patience for this. He knocked at the door again, this time more forcefully, and started to tap his hoof impatiently on the snow.

The faint sound of a lock being undid emanated from the other side of the door and they opened a fraction, allowing the old noble to peer inside. He was met by a pair of scared blue eyes looking at him with apprehension. She was obviously an earth pony, a small one at that, and the maid uniform she wore immediately informed him that this was but a servant of the nobles living here. Dostoyevsky couldn't tell for sure, but judging by the fact she took a step back after realizing who she was looking at told him that she probably knew of his occupation.

"Salve, Miss." He greeted her with a nod. "My name is Dostoyevsky, and I am a medicus. May I step in?"

For a few seconds the maid didn't know what to do or say, too stunned to force herself to make a sound. After a moment of impersonating a fish though she managed to blur out:

"We're not accepting guests. It's written so on the note." She punctuated her hasty reply by pointing her hoof at the wooden sign.

Dostoyevsky was no fool, he could tell that she was trying to get him to leave. However, he was duty bound to proceed with his examinations and he couldn't just go back empty hooved. So, thinking quickly, he decided to use what authority he had in these parts and use the law to his advantage.

"Unfortunately Miss, the note on this door does not concern me. As a medicus in service of the Flankfurt Council I have the right to enter any household and conduct my examinations if I so wish. It's written so in the City Codex, chapter 3, paragraph 29." Dostoyevsky stated calmly, taking a step towards the entrance. "Of course, Miss, you could try to teneo me here, but unfortunately, that would force me to call for some ruffian watchponies to allow me entrance. I am quite sure when I say that both of us would rather not create more chaos than this is worth."

Of course, this was a bluff, and an obvious one in Dostoyevsky's eyes. He didn't know if the third chapter of the City Codex had anything about medics being allowed into homes in case of an epidemic, nor if it even was covered in it at all. He was far too old to concern his mind with such trivial matters. As a noble though he was used to pretending to know the law, and posing himself as a bigger authority than he really was came naturally. True, it wasn't exactly the most honorable thing to do, but then again, there is a big difference between telling a "lie" and "misinforming" somepony.

At least, that's how Dostoyevsky saw it.

"Well…" He rose his eyebrow in challenge. A frown appeared on the maid's face, mixing with her panic.

"If that's the case than I don't think I can prevent you from coming in, sir. If I refuse, you'll call the guard on me, won't you?"

"Confirmitavum." The noble nodded solemnly. The mare sighed and opened the door wider.

"Please, come in." She took a few steps back, allowing Dostoyevsky to enter the household. "Unfortunately, you came just as dinner has been served, and the family will not be able to see you right away, sir. It would be a show of courtesy to allow them to finish, would it not?"

Dostoyevsky nodded again, entering the mansion. He couldn't tell exactly what kind of pony lived here from the outside, aside from a rich one, but now he could see it clearly. The head of house had to be either an influential noble, or an extremely successful merchant. Nopony could keep a place so big and so well decorated and still be able to afford to keep servants. Yes, the master of this house was rich, and with the way he was flaunting his wealth by expensive works of art scattered across the halls he was proud of it.

While walking down the corridor Dostoyevsky could hear the sound of conversation coming from behind a nearby door. He had half the mind to change course right there and head inside, but the maid noticed his intention and quickly stopped him.

"I'll go inform Master Quicksilver of your arrival, sir. He's not dining with his family, so he should be able to see you in a few moments."

"The head of house is not attending dinner?" Dostoyevsky tried to wrap his mind around this concept, having difficulties with imagining something like that.

"No." Was all he got in terms of response.

The maid gestured for him to follow her, and Dostoyevsky did just that. She led him to a set of stairs and started to climb them, the old noble following her slowly. His mind however was somewhere completely different.

The strange absence of Quicksilver at what Dostoyevsky assumed was a family dinner was troubling. Where he came from, the attendance of the head of house was customary at any family meal, especially one as important as dinner. From what he gathered throughout his stay in this land, a similar rule applied here. Yet Quicksilver wasn't attending. Just what could have happened for something like this to happen?

Dostoyevsky shook his head, banishing those thoughts. He needn't jump to any conclusions. It would also do him good if he changed his train of thought at something more pleasant. Glancing at the maid in front of him, he came up with a perfect distraction for his mind.

"My apologies, Miss, but due to the dirum situation I failed to ask you for your nominis. May I have the honor of knowing it?" He tried to strike up a conversation. This made the mare stop mid stride and look at him flatly.

"My name's Feather Duster, sir, and I am not in the mood to talk." She stated, turning around and continuing her way up the stairs.

"Is there some ratio for this?" The pegasus tried to coax some information out of her. Feather Duster once again stopped on the stairs, this time hanging her head down as if in sorrow.

"Its… Since she's gone… The atmosphere in the house is really heavy, and… never mind." She stopped mid sentence and straightened up, continuing on her way. "Please, follow me sir. It's not much further."

Dostoyevsky silently fumed, having been denied what could've been vital information, but also understood this decision. Feather Duster was obviously forbidden from speaking about what was going on in the household, especially with a foreigner like him. What he did manage to get however wasn't that revealing. All he managed to catch was that somepony was missing from the mansion, maybe a family member, and that it somehow affected the household. Not much to go out on.

There was also something else. This place, this mansion, it had a specific feeling about it. Dostoyevsky couldn't quite place it, but he knew he felt it somewhere else. He felt… like back home, or to be more specific, in his brother's home. Of course, this mansion was far more spacious than his twin's home back in Solitude, and it was decorated far more richly, but there still was an… emptiness to it. Like if something or somepony was missing, a really important somepony. Somepony very, very young…

Dostoyevsky was brought out of his musings by Feather Duster. The maid, having reached the second floor and leading him down the corridor led him to a set of oaken doors which she promptly opened.

"This is Master Quicksilver's study, sir." She turned to the noble and invited him inside. "Please, take a seat. The Master will soon be here to greet you personally."

"Thank you." Dostoyevsky nodded, and the moment the maid closed the door behind him plopped to the floor out of breath. Damned old age, he was getting tired way too fast. If he had to walk a flight of stairs more he would probably cough his lungs out.

Having calmed his breath somewhat, Dostoyevsky glanced around the study. He had to admit, it was definitely a place to behold. Works of art were scattered around the room, a small bookcase stood under one wall, and a set of expansive-looking mahogany furniture stood in the middle. He also noticed a fireplace, though it was unlit at the moment, and an oil lamp standing on the desk, a small, flickering flame barely illuminating the otherwise dark room. His old eyes also noticed a saber hanging on one of the walls, as if a memento of times of its owner's former glory. He idly wondered if it was time for him to do so as well.

Having scrutinized the study thoroughly Dostoyevsky made himself comfortable on one of the chairs and waited. He always considered himself a patient pony, at least when it came to waiting for others, and had a large tolerance for their tardiness. Knowing quite a few methods of passing the time, he could wait and wait. Even so, when he ran through most of the bar songs in his head, knew that the room was composed of exactly one hundred and thirty eight planks, and having completed his prayers for the next whole week and there still was no sign of Quicksilver anywhere, he was starting to get restless.

The old noble stood from his place and started circling the room, walking around the desk and letting his eyes fall on anything that sparked his interest. One item in particular caught his attention . Standing on the windowsill and basking in the light of the setting sun was a small picture frame. Having been bored out of his mind, Dostoyevsky reached for it and examined the picture.

The picture was obviously of Flankfurt, and judging by the lack of snow it had been taken sometime during the summer. The main focus of it however was on two ponies. One of them was a unicorn stallion wearing the cadet uniform of the Equestrian military. He was obviously young, maybe just past adulthood, and he was wearing a proud grin on his face. Due to the photo being black and white Dostoyevsky couldn't guess what color was the lad's coat.

The other pony on the picture, a small filly sitting on the back of the cadet seemed familiar to the noble. He looked at her closely, at how she was hugging the neck of who he assumed was her older brother, smiling a pleasant, infectious smile, and couldn't help but think that he saw her somewhere…

"Primrose?" He whispered silently, sudden realization hitting him.

"I have adorable children, don't I?" A weak, wheezing voice from behind him startled Dostoyevsky. He quickly put the picture back on the windowsill and turned to face the newcomer.

"Salve, sir… ekhm… with all due respect, you are not in good condition, are you?" Dostoyevsky asked, worry creeping into his voice.

It was true, the earth pony before him definitely didn't look to be in the best of shapes. His eyes were completely bloodshot, his normally silver mane matted and in disarray. Large bags formed under his eyes, and he looked like he just got out of bed after a night of restless sleep. Actually, Dostoyevsky realized that that well may have been the case, making him feel bad for getting annoyed at his tardiness. He started to regret for coming here in the first place; Dostoyevsky did not want to talk with Quicksilver when he looked like he was about to collapse any second.

"I'm… fine." The host said after a moment, his voice hoarse as if it wasn't used in a long time. "I just have problems with sleep is all. It's good to meet you."

To Dostoyevsky it was painfully obvious that Quicksilver was lying, but he decided to just play along. Quicksilver meanwhile slowly trotted to one of the chairs, his tired limbs almost giving out under his weight, but he managed to reach one and sit down without falling.

"Of course, sir. Forgive me for interrupting your somnus." Dostoyevsky said diplomatically, pretending not to notice anything wrong with this whole situation.

"It's nothing really. So, let me guess, you came here to conduct another test on my family?" Quicksilver asked bluntly, a bit of bitterness slipping into his voice. "Of course it's that, there would be no other reason for you to even be here." He added after a moment, sending a tired glare at the pegasus. "Am I right?"

Dostoyevsky hated this part. He always tried to be diplomatic about this, after all he was trying to help both the sick as well as the healthy, and these tests served that very reason. He also tried to tell them that there was nothing to fear from this examination, that they were working on a cure and that there was a big possibility that now, with the discovery of the bacteria responsible for this bane of pony kind they were on the brink of finally creating a working one. All that was meant to bring the spirits of the potential ill up. But now, with this one simple, bitter question Quicksilver forced him to cut straight to the chase, at the same time making this all the more difficult.

"Unfortunately, yes." He nodded.

"Of course, another test… you do nothing but testing, do you?" Quicksilver continued, slowly getting agitated.

The old noble had no idea how to answer that.

"You see… after you took my darling baby girl… after you came here and took away her life from her… I realized something." Quicksilver started to ramble, his voice gaining strength as he went. "I realized that this isn't fair, that all this just isn't fair. I realized that there is no fairness in life. I didn't do anything wrong in my life, I was a benevolent noble, a philanthropist. I even gave some of my money when Hansen asked to build that thrice damned death house you call a leprosarium. And that's the funny part: I helped start all, I helped create what will be the tomb of my precious little Primrose…"

"Sir, I…" Dostoyevsky tried to interject, but Quicksilver cut him off immediately.

"Fate is a curious thing, doctor. Sometimes tyrants get to live to old age, and sometimes the innocent die young, be it in a blaze of glory or a silent whimper of the diseased. Diseases… plagues, pandemic… tragedies happen, and you are powerless to prevent them. You can no more change the spread of a virus than an ant can change where you're about to place your hoof. Some call it 'bad luck', others claim this is the 'punishment of the gods', they all are subject to the same fate. But do you know what this… this tragedy did to me? It made me see, doctor. And what I saw… it's not a pleasant site."

Quicksilver fell silent for a moment, letting those words sink in as he brought his hooves to his eyes. Then, after a moment of silence, with his face still covered by his limbs he continued, his voice weak and broken, punctuated by silent sobs.

"I saw what have become of me. I saw myself, unbiased, for the first time in my life. And I felt disgusted with me. I saw a hollow pony, a noble that cared only for money and fame, and naught for what happened to others. My philanthropy –an empty, meaningless shell, serving only to further my goals. I did not care for what was going to happen to others, I could care less if they lived or die. For all I cared they could all rot in their homes. And when the same disease that plagued the streets touched my own flesh and blood? I… I was scared, I was terrified. I saw a pony that in fear decided to throw out his most precious gem like one throws out a limping dog, out on the snow, to fend for herself. To die in the snow. What have I done… What have I done…" By this point the noble broke out in tears, sobs racking his whole body as he didn't even pretend to have control over himself. It didn't matter to him that he did it in front of a stranger, he was too far gone by now, and it left Dostoyevsky speechless.

A few moments passed and Quicksilver managed to reign his tears in, calming down somewhat. He looked even more miserable than before, dampness staining his cheeks, but he cared little for it as he tried to bring back his earlier, direct demeanor.

"Let's get this over with. You want everypony present in the household to come for an examination, correct?"

Dostoyevsky couldn't force himself to speak, so he simply nodded. Quicksilver stood up, his legs still shaky, but he seemed to regain at least a bit of strength as he didn't stumble as much.

"I'll inform my family and the staff of this arrangement." He was about to walk out the door, when he stopped and looked at the elder pegasus and furrowed his brow. "Before I go, can you tell me what's the current date? I haven't left my bed in… some time now."

"It's… em… 20 Decembris." He replied with slight confusion.

Quicksilver seemed to freeze at that.

"Did you say… December 20?"

With a burst of speed that moments ago seemed impossible for him Quicksilver dashed towards his desk and pulled open a drawer, searching for something. After a second he pulled out a small calendar and started to leaf through it until it's pages were on the current date. Then, Quicksilver froze again.

"Doctor." Quicksilver started, looking at Dostoyevsky seriously. "Can I ask you to leave my house this very instant? For your own safety?"

The pegasus blinked in confusion, growing worried. "Why? Is something the matter?"

There was a loud knock coming from the bottom floor. Despite the distance, Dostoyevsky could hear it without problem, the rapping at the door strong and aggressive. He also could hear the maid from before answer it seconds later.

"My son is coming back from Stalliongrad Military Academy for the holidays. And I very much doubt he'll be happy to see you here." Quicksilver explained with a defeated sigh. "He has an… explosive temperament."

Author's Note

Seven months.

This was a lot of time. I'm sorry you had to wait so long for this Chapter. I only hope this will satisfy you greatly. I want to thank you for the patience and for the fact, that you are still reading this story. It's wonderful experience guys. I will try to not dissapoint you again.

Stay Awesome

Verlax

Chapter Sixteen - The Duel

"Okay, don't panic. There has to be some kind of modus to get out." Dostoyevsky said to himself, all the while looking frantically around the room. "Your son doesn't know me. Is there a possibilitatis that I could get out by pretending to be a local nobilis here on a social visit?"

"Unlikely." Quicksilver responded, himself looking for a possible way out for the old pegasus. "With the plate I ordered placed on the door nopony should be allowed in, and you don't look like any of my close associates who could be excerpt from it."

"Any other ideam?" The doctor asked. "I do not wish to bring forth the furor of your son if I can help it. At the very least he does not know about Primrose yet. I still could try to pass him that wa…"

"THEY DID WHAT?!" The two ponies jumped when they heard the feral scream coming from downstairs.

"Cholera." Dostoyevsky cussed in his native tongue. "Scratch that last bit; he knows."

"Please, try to understand doctor. My son is not a bad pony, nor is he overly violent. But when it comes to protecting his little sister, he could kill." Quicksilver tried to justify his son's behavior. "And as for your earlier question: no, I don't have any other idea. But can't you just fly out through the window? You're a pegasus, are you not?"

"No, infortunatus. I'm too old and heavy for my wings to lift me from the ground." Dostoyevsky grumbled dejectedly. It was an unfortunate truth; despite his rather youthful appearance, at least for his actual age, he was not as fit as he used to, and his body was slowly giving up on him, his wings being the first thing to go. And being a pegasus that couldn't fly anymore was all the more infuriating to a proud son of Furious Sky.

Shaking his head, Dostoyevsky concentrated on the here and now. He really didn't fancy ending up skewered by Quicksilver's son, and all the stories of lynch mobs killing doctors, not understanding they were trying to help, or the stories Twilight told about doctors in Zebrica ending up eaten alive didn't help much. It was then that his eyes fell on the old saber hanging on the wall, giving him an idea.

"I think I intelligo what to do." He said slowly, his eyes never leaving the weapon. "I shall simply try to avoid your son by going recta to the door. If I'll be fast enough I may be able to get out without giving your son even the slightest ocassio to react."

"Are you sure that's wise, doctor?" Quicksilver looked unconvinced. "This plan of yours heavily depends on the element of surprise and loads of luck."

"I realize that, yes." Dostoyevsky nodded. "That is why I will be bringing your old machaera with me, so if push comes to shove I can defend myself."

It took a second for Quicksilver to realize what Dostoyevsky meant by that, but once he did he became appealed by the idea. "You want to fight my son?!"

"Only if there will be no other way." The old noble replied easily. "And besides, I have a good few decannium of experience in swordplay under my belt. I should be able to disable your son without leaving any life-threatening or lasting injuries." He ended confidently. Quicksilver looked him over for a few seconds, and then, with a sigh, nodded.

"Very well then, you may take my sword. Just please, try to refrain from hurting my son too bad. I've already lost one child, I don't want to lose another."

"You have my word." Dostoyevsky swore and quickly took the blade, attaching it to his belt and hiding it in his thick coat.

The way downstairs was both easier and harder at the same time for the elderly pegasus. With each step he took down he could feel he was nearing an unfortunate and unavoidable confrontation, one that he couldn't for the love of Faust blame on the young pony. He could understand the colt's, Sharp Arrow's ire, and if the situation was reversed he would probably do the same thing as him. It didn't change the fact that it was his life at stake here, and he still wanted to live a few years more. Fortunately for him though, Dostoyevsky managed to reach the bottom floor and not run into the young master of the house, allowing himself a sigh of relief.

*click* * clack* *click* *clack*

So far so good. He was half way towards the door and there was still no sign of Quicksilver's son.

*click* * clack* *click* *clack*

"I have to warn you Dostoyevsky, my son is on the top of his class when it comes to swordplay." Quicksilver warned him from behind his back. His exhausted body was barely able to keep up with the pegasus. "He’s actually one of the best in the academy."

*click* * clack* *click* *clack*

"Now he tells me." Dostoyevsky silently fumed, yet still went on, undeterred.

The doctor passed one corridor and turned into another. Before he managed to make a full turn however he bumped into the large frame of no other than Sharp Arrow. A sudden surge of adrenalin pumped in his veins, his heart beating like mad, but more importantly his instincts kicked in, and without a hint of emotion on his face Dostoyevsky proceeded to greet him.

"Good evening." He nodded and without breaking his stride passed the stunned colt.

The term colt was used very loosely to describe Sharp Arrow. What the photo in Quicksilver's study wasn't able to convey was just how large of a pony this boy was. Easily half a foot taller than Dostoyevsky, as well as significantly wider, Sharp Arrow was a literal mountain of muscle, his mere presence feeling overwhelming. He was clad in the standard cadet uniform of the Equestrian Military, and a saber was resting at his side, sheathed at the moment. Hopefully, it would stay that way.

"Em… good evening?" Sharp Arrow finally replied, confusion written on his face.

*click* * clack* *click* *clack*

"Almost there!" Dostoyevsky thought to himself. "Just a little further…"

Meanwhile Quicksilver was trying to buy some time for him, engaging his son in conversation.

"My, you've grown! What are they feeding you in that academy?" Quicksilver chuckled, slapping his son on the arm weakly. "Welcome home son. I'm sorry for my dreary state, but unfortunately, I'm not feeling too well."

"Hi dad." Sharp Arrow responded, his voice gaining a bit of an edge. "You know the doctors took Primrose?" Dostoyevsky nearly stumbled at that. Whatever this colt had been told, it most definitely didn't have anything to do with what actually happened. Quicksilver too seemed to notice that, and seemed to have decided to pony up.

"Well, about that…"

For a short second Dostoyevsky entertained the thought of waiting to see where this was going, but decided against it. This was a distraction after all, and he had to use it. Quickly closing the distance between himself and the door, he reached for the handle and pushed.

The door was locked.

"Szlag!" He whispered a native curse under his breath.

All this became more complicated in a manner of seconds. Now he had to somehow find the key, which was probably in the possession of the maid from earlier, which means he'd have to look for her, probably passing Sharp Arrow on the way. This was definitely not good.

"Leaving so soon?" Dostoyevsky momentarily froze, hearing the voice of Sharp Arrow from behind him. "I think you need somepony to open that door for you first." The pegasus glanced behind him, only to see the large frame of the noble's son slowly approaching him. Both the tone of his voice and the glint in his eye were worrying.

"Say, are you perchance a doctor?"

Yep, definitely not good.

His cover has officially been blown. While a good diplomat, Dostoyevsky was a terrible liar, so he didn't even bother to try and hide his occupation. Instead, he turned around to face the large cadet and look him in the eye. As he was doing so, he moved one of his hooved under his coat and rested it on the gifted blade, preparing for the worst. His wings twitched in nervous anticipation.

"Confirmitavum." He nodded.

"What?"

"It means yes." Dostoyevsky murmured, limiting his use of Old Cirran to a minimum.

Sharp Arrow took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air.

"Where's Primrose? Where'd you take her?" He asked, his steely voice carrying an obvious threat.

"She's in the hospital. She's ill." Dostoyevsky replied simply. He didn't have to add it was leprosy; at this point, it was pointless to do so.

Sharp Arrow took a few steps forward, each time his hooves made contact with the wooden floor sending a slight tremor. He stopped merely a few feet from the noble.

"You will bring her back here, now!" The cadet demanded.

"I can't. Quarantine." Dostoyevsky replied in an unnaturally calm voice. "I would be breaking the law."

"Son, please, calm down. We really can't do anything now. This pony really is representing the authorities, and…" Before Quicksilver managed to say anymore he was cut off by his son, who turned to face him with a rage-filled scowl on his face.

"If you're not stallion enough to defend your own daughter, I will!" He hissed at his father. "Now, you will bring her back." Sharp Arrow turned back to Dostoyevsky, his voice sounding like a growl.

"I can't." The doctor repeated. "The law…"

And then, in but a blink of an eye Sharp Arrow drew his saber and making a quick slash closed the distance. Fortunately, Dostoyevsky was observing his body language the whole time and knew in advance what he had planned. Drawing his own weapon he allowed the two blades to collide, parrying the hit, and in a surprisingly quick maneuver he managed to reposition Sharp Arrow, so that the two of them changed their places. While this may have been a good move from a fencing point of view, now the cadet was blocking the only way outside.

"We don't have to do this." Dostoyevsky tried to reason, all the while adopting a proper fencing stance. "I don't want to hurt you."

"But I will hurt you if you won't give us Primrose back!" He cried and attacked again.

Dostoyevsky parried the blow and stepped back. Quicksilver was shouting something in the sidelines, but he didn't pay him any attention, too busy with avoiding Sharp Arrow's attacks. No matter how much he didn't want to do this, Dostoyevsky had to admit: the colt was a really good fighter. The elder pegasus may have several decades worth of experience in swordplay and warfare in general, but his body was growing old and weak, and couldn't hold up as it should against the youthful vigor of Sharp Arrow. Add to that the difference in height, sheer strength displayed by the youngling, and the fact the borrowed saber he was using was a work of an amateur when compared to his own, with a weird balance and slightly dulled over the years of disuse, and you have yourself a very one sided fight. Even if Sharp Arrow's technique left much to be desired of, his speed and relentless attacks were enough to keep Dostoyevsky on guard.

The doctor ducked under a wide slash that would've beheaded him. This was getting ridiculous; he was fighting with a mountain of meat, was barely keeping up with him, and still had to hold back. He couldn't disarm Sharp Arrow like he initially planned –the cadet was too good for that, and fleeing was out of the question for obvious reasons. Killing him was out of the question too –his word as a noble was on the line here, and he didn't want a killer's fame, nor did he want to break the hearts of his family.

Dostoyevsky performed a quick counter attack, forcing the cadet to give up what ground he won. He was getting tired however, and wouldn't last much longer.

"Quicksilver, open this Faust-damned door already!" He bellowed, parrying a downward slash with a loud clang.

"Don't you dare!" Sharp Arrow threatened, pressing his momentary advantage.

Quicksilver passed them both and ran into the staff's room, pushing aside the frozen, terrified form of Feather Duster. Finding the key would take a while, and Dostoyevsky was quickly losing what little strength he still had. No matter the difference in experience, an old pony such as himself couldn't win with a youngster when so severely handicapped.

Quickly running out of options, Dostoyevsky decided to perform one last trick. This would either end in a spectacular success, or be the end of him, but at this point, he really didn't have any options. Looking into Sharp Arrows eyes, Dostoyevsky tried one last time to put an end to this meaningless fight.

"Sharp Arrow, please. We don't have to fight…" He didn't finish however, realizing something was out of place.

Sharp Arrow's eyes. They were so… distant, so vacant. There was nothing in them, nothing but an endless, black abyss, darker than the deepest pit. For a split second Dostoyevsky felt almost losing himself in this emptiness, in this unnatural void of eldritch darkness. But just as suddenly as he noticed it, the darkness disappeared and Sharp Arrow's eyes changing back to their normal, frenzied teal of hatred.

"You should find him and kill him!" He bellowed with primal rage and unleashed a devastating flurry of blows. Dostoyevsky was hard pressed to avoid being hit, climbing to the peak of his skill to avoid, dodge, or parry them all. He was on the verge of collapsing, his strength leaving him with each move he made, and only his willpower allowed him to continue fighting. In his frenzied state Sharp Arrow was attacking in blind fury, with no technique to his blows whatsoever, but they were no less dangerous than precise slashed made by such masters of the saber like Little Knight from back in the Commonwealth. Any of them could end his life if he allowed himself to grow sloppy. Dostoyevsky had to end this. Right now!

The doctor waited for the perfect moment to attack. Seeing an opening, he feigned an upwards cut, but in the last moment readjusted on his hind legs and with all the might he could muster sprung forward, performing a long, wide slash, aiming at Sharp Arrows hooves. The blade connected with the cadet's front legs and forced him to drop his weapon, clutching and howling in pain as blood poured from his wounds.

He was breathing hard, but couldn't help but slightly smile. He did it. He managed to end the fight with minimal injuries on both their sides. Sharp Arrow may be in pain now, but his wound was shallow and didn't threaten his life. It would take only a week or two to heal enough for the colt to be back to full health. Satisfied, Dostoyevsky tried to stand up, but it was then that he realized that there was something seriously wrong. Looking down he realized, that he was standing in a small puddle of his own blood.

While performing his last desperate move, Dostoyevsky failed to notice that Sharp Arrow managed to reposition his own blade and perform a sloppy thrust with his saber. A deep gash ran the length of his belly, not deep enough to reach anything vital, but large enough that if he didn't get medical attention within the next half hour he would die from blood loss.

He tossed his gifted saber on the ground and limped towards the door where Quicksilver stood, just moments ago managing to pry it open. The local noble stared wide eyes at his son's moaning form, unable to compute what just happened.

"Dress his wound. They're not deadly." Dostoyevsky said towards Quicksilver, all the while trying to stop the bleeding from his belly.

"I… I will." Quicksilver stammered out. "Please, don't mention what happened here to the guards.."

"I won't." He assured him. "Farewell."

The moment Dostoyevsky passed the threshold he realized how empty his words were. Once he reaches the hospital, assuming he will reach it before he bleeds out, the doctors will recognize his wound was dealt by a sword. And the moment that happens, the staff will immediately call the guards, as per procedure. Even if he tried to stop them from doing so, Dostoyevsky doubted they would listen. He may be the director of this hospital, but he couldn't force his employees to break the law.

He left the mansion behind him, in the billowing snowstorm that picked up not five minutes ago. The silent, empty streets of Flankfurt greeted him with their eerie silence, the only witnesses to his plight. Wincing in pain with each step and leaving a red trail of warm blood that was bound to disappear within the next few seconds, he forced himself to pick up the pace. The hospital was far away, and this district was on the opposite side of town…

Eh, who was he kidding? It was only 2986 Steps…

Chapter Seventeen - The Preparations

"…and that is in essentia how I have revenio here." Dostoyevsky concluded his tale, ending his story in a coughing fit.

Hansen didn't say a word. He allowed the nurse to bondage the old pegasus properly, all the while staying silent and listening to his companions tale, wearing a blank expression. Dostoyevsky himself was lying in a bed. Quite ironically, it was one of the beds reserved for the patients. Hansen waited patiently for the nurse to finish her job and after she left the room he closed the door. Sluggishly, the doctor approached his colleague and sat on a stool next to his bed, staying silent for the next couple minutes. Just when Dostoyevsky was going to point out how awkward the situation was had the good doctor opened his mouth.

"Dostoyevsky, you stupid, idiot." Hansen scowled at the pegasus, glaring at him. "How many times had I told you to take guards when you go on the rounds?"

"Oh, that it irrisorie, especially coming from the mouth of a pony that never takes city custodes himself." The pegasus pointed out.

"Well, I at least know how to behave and I don't get involved in fights!" Hansen growled in response. "What do you expect from me? That I'll stay silent about this whole thing and sweep it under the rug? You know full well that I can't do that; I have to inform the authorities in cases like this."

Dostoyevsky indeed knew that very well. The local laws, especially the ones in force during a state of emergency like now gave physicians an unprecedented level of protection. Any pony suspected of attacking and injuring a doctor, be it by sword, magic, or bare hooves were to be reported and arrested on the spot, leading to interrogations and later on to imprisonment, if not worse. And Dostoyevsky did not like the idea of that.

"No. We will not report it. I promised not to." The pegasus said firmly.

"Are you scared?" The doctor lifted an eyebrow at his companion. "Expecting revenge?"

"Of course not." Dostoyevsky denied with indignation. "I just do not wish to put them in a periculosum situation, not more than they are now in. I made an oath no to."

"So let me get this straight: you, the director of this hospital, want one of the doctors in your hospital to break the law, is that right?" Hansen asked, already knowing the answer he would get.

"Confirmativum." Hearing this Hansen sighed in exasperation.

"I don't like it. We'll have problems with this sooner or later. And we'd have to forge medical reports…"

"If you will report this, I am going to fire you from this facilitas." Dostoyevsky's demeanor suddenly shifted, taking on a more edgy tone.

Hansen gulped. "You wouldn't…"

"Yes, I would." The pegasus cut him off before he could finish. "Oaths are a sacred thing for me, and I am not about to break one, even if it means going against the law."

Seeing the fire of determination in his eye the unicorn doctor sighed in defeat. "Fine." He muttered. He knew that there was no reasoning with Dostoyevsky when he got like this, and technically he was his employer. If he really wanted to, he could go through with his threat.

Just as the two stallions finished their little squabble the doors to the room opened with a crash and Twilight dashed inside. The mare looked like she just ran a marathon; her disheveled hair was wet from snow and sweat, she was panting like she was about to spit out her own lungs any second now, and her restless eyes darted around the room for a moment, unable to focus on anything. Only after a moment had she managed to calm herself enough to finally notice the two stunned stallions.

"I came as quickly as I could. Dostoyevsky, are you alright?" Twilight managed to ask once she slowed down her breathing a bit.

"Of course, miss." The pegasus smiled reassuringly, managing to overcome his initial surprise. "Actually, I dare say you look worse than me at the moment."

"Dostoyevsky, you had a damn saber slice through your stomach, leaving a two inch deep gash!" Hansen growled in annoyance. "Lucky for you you're fat enough that the blade didn't damage any internal organs."

"I'm not fat." Dostoyevsky protested theatrically. "I just have just big bones…" he added under his breath.

"Guys?" Twilight looked lost, the two ponies before her confusing her no less than Pinkie Pie. "I hope it isn't as bad as it sounds like…"

"Nah. Like Hansen had said, no internal organis have been damaged." The injured pegasus assured. "Unfortunately, I cannot leave this cot for at least a week."

"If I know him he'll try to escape the hospital before the end of the day." Hansen groaned.

"Maybe…"

Before Dostoyevsky was able to continue his thought he was interrupted by Hansen's raised hoof. "As we're all here I think we should change the subject to something more important. I have recently found something that I think you need to see for yourselves."

While he was saying this the doctor started to shuffle through the contents of a nearby wardrobe, taking out several small boxes from its depths. After he was through with this he opened one and pulled out of it a strange mask crafted from a heavy, dark wood.

"This is a carving made in Quaggagascar." He explained, passing it to Twilight. "I got it as a present from a fellow scientist working there. The mask supposedly represents a deamon from old Zebra myths…" As he was telling them that he opened the other boxes and was pouring out their contents. "This I received from doctor Maritz from Hoovai. Here we have a woodcut from the Hinnarat Empire. And here is a gift I received from a Faustian missionary in Coltcutta."

"They're all the same…" Twilight whispered, her eyes widening. "Or at least they're strikingly similar. It's like they are a copy of something…"

"And whatever they're copying, it must be interesting to say the least. Leprosy often creates a condition called the 'lion face', where the thickening and swelling tissues heavily distorts a pony's features. These masks represent that very acutely, yet each of them has something that just doesn't add up. For example let's take the Quaggagascar one." He lifted the mask with his magic for everypony to see. "As you can see, the 'skin' on this mask looks like it has been eaten away by rot, and the nose collapsed. However this small patch over the left eye is the most interesting part. As you all know, every leper sooner or later loses his eyebrows. What I just pointed out to you is the complete opposite: the mask has a small tuft of carved 'hair' indicating brows." He let the mask sail to the side and pulled out another. "If you look here, this mask, despite its completely different origins has a tuft of hair over the left eye as well. Every one of them has a tuft of hair over its left eye.”

Dostoyevsky was silent. Twilight in the meantime was inspecting the mask, albeit careful not to touch it. She knew deep down it was a silly reflex, but she couldn't help the irrational fear that crept up her spine, as if just by touching it she could somehow end up infected.

"All my life I was trying to live by logic, to stand firmly on the ground." Hansen continued, putting away the masks. "But now, facing such a terrible plague and making next to no progress I can't help but think that something is behind all this. It's like I'm not fighting a bacteria which I can see under my microscope, but rather an alien, hostile mind…"

"Maybe the townsfolk are right?" Twilight suggested weakly. "Maybe we should…"

"Find him and kill him?" Dostoyevsky finished for her in a whisper.

"And how do you exactly propose we kill a ghost?" Hansen levitated the boxes back inside the wardrobe, in the meantime pouring a glass of anisette with his hooves. "That's impossible."

"No it's not." Dostoyevsky replied almost immediately. "All you need is to craft silver bullets, bless them, and then load a revolver with them and shoot."

"A revolver?"

With a grunt Dostoyevsky pulled out a strange, metal object from his vest pocket and placed it on the nightstand. It vaguely looked like a flintlock pistol, but was far more advanced than anything Twilight ever seen. It had a strange metal cylinder with six chambers, in each of them a small brass object she never saw before. It was fascinating.

"Six bullets." Dostoyevsky's voice snapped Twilight out of her silent stupor. "High penetration, high accuracy, humilis fire rate, magnus recoil. It was gifted to me by an old, insane engineer. You know, the kind of pony that builds metal birds and time machines and other such nonsense. Id est the most advanced firearm you could possibly find. Argentum bullets will guarantee that the ghost will be slain. Like my dear brother says, 'iron is for ponies, silver is for monsters'. He also…"

Hansen sighed in annoyance. "No more tales about the Commonwealth, please. Besides, this can't possibly work. Why would a ghost be susceptible to silver of all things?"

"Trust me, it will." Dostoyevsky firmly replied, keeping his eyes on Twilight. He already gave up on trying to convince Hansen, his overly rational mind making the doctor all but impossible to influence. Instead, he focused on the young mare who he saw was on the fence. "Silver missilibus will work, trust me. I can also show you how to fire this thing, I have some ammunition you can train yourself with."

Twilight looked at Hansen, then at Dostoyevsky. She did that several times. The young unicorn simply couldn't believe that somepony could be that stupid.

"Dostoyevsky, you had this 'revolver' of yours the whole time and you didn't use it back then?"

"Of course I didn't usus it. It would be dishonorable." The pegasus replied proudly. "I am not some kind of make-believe archeologist that would shoot a fencer. Saber contra saber only."

The two unicorns in the room rolled their eyes at that.

"Never mind." Twilight muttered with resignation, deciding that there was no way she could reason with Dostoyevsky's 'sense of honor'. "However, despite it being obvious that Dostoyevsky isn't the most rational of ponies, it still is the best plan we have. The only plan we have. If this will work and the Messiah really exists, than we just have to do two more things –find a way to locate him, and then eliminate him."

Hansen swore viciously under his breath, his voice low enough that Twilight wasn't able to pick up any words. If she was to hazard a guess, he was probably cursing the fact she sided with the 'featherbrain'.

"As I have mentio earlier, silver bullets should do the trick." Dostoyevsky quipped. "I don't think there is any Faustian clericus nearby, so I will bless them myself. Heck, maybe it will even work better this way?"

"Buck this, I'm out!" Hansen finally snapped and left the room, slamming the door behind him. "Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense!"

The sound of his voice and heavy stomping moved rapidly down the corridor, leaving Twilight and her elder companion alone. Dostoyevsky sighed looking at the shut door and shook his head.

"I believe it would be best if I show you how to handle the revolver now…"

It took Twilight about an hour and a half to get the very basics of using the revolver and how to shoot it with at least the barest amounts of accuracy down. Of course, most of the accuracy training was highly theoretical, consisting mostly of Dostoyevsky explaining the technique to the mare in great detail, but she did manage to set up a temporary shooting range on the hospital square. The unusual weapon was indeed very accurate, at least when compared to the clunky and unreliable flintlock weapons that were slowly being integrated into the Equestrian Armed Forces, and after a couple of minutes of practice she could use it to reliably hit a target of the size of at least a full grown pony. She did use up all the normal lead ammunition that Dostoyevsky had, but the old pegasus assured her that was hardly a problem and that she would require silver bullets either way. In the end Dostoyevsky set out to prepare the monster-slaying ammunition, leaving Twilight to her own devices.

Having the image of Hansen slamming the door angrily in her head, Twilight decided to check on him and at least try to smooth things up with him. However, before she could find him she ran into the hospital receptionist, who waved her over, clearly wanting something from her. As she approached, her curiosity getting the better of her, she noticed an envelope resting on his desk.

"A letter for you, miss." The receptionist explained, passing her the envelope. "From Ponyville."

And with that simple sentence her world crumbled on her. Twilight, in her haste to get to Flankfurt completely forgot to tell anypony about her plans. It was basically 'get an idea to help somewhere far away, pack your bags, and leave without a word'. Practically only Spike knew where she was, and even then he didn't knew why she went there in the first place. She should've talked with the girls before she went, or at least write them once she got to Flankfurt, but with the confusion, grim reality and horror stalking the streets she completely forgot. The girls were probably worried sick about her!

The logical part of her brain told her that any letter she would've sent would be delayed anyways. But that didn't make Twilight feel any better. It only meant that even if she wrote them now they probably wouldn't receive it for another few days, and who knows if she would even live that long.

"Thank you." She managed to respond weakly to the receptionist and took the letter from his hoof. Twilight turned the bend walked a little bit before she succumbed and opened the letter, devouring its contents within minutes.

Dear Twilight

I am quite frankly shocked and appealed by the way you have departed! Leaving for Flankfurt so abruptly, without even saying goodbye? I do understand that the situation in that far away town must be dire if it prompted you to leave on such short notice, but you could have spared a few minutes for your friends. In the end though it does not really matter. We did not write this letter to scold you for forgetting about us, but to tell you how proud of you we all are. You always do put others before yourself, do you not? Just please, try to be careful dear. From what I understand this leprosy-business is a nasty piece of work.

We really wish you were here with us. Dear Applejack has a bit of a problem with some ghastly rat-like creature breaking into her apple cellar and ravaging her supplies. Fluttershy of course volunteered to help, but we've yet to find, let alone catch the culprit. Aside from that its unusually quiet here in Ponyville. It is getting pretty cold, the weather teams informing us that winter this year is scheduled to start a little bit earlier than normal. It's still snow-free in our corner of the world, but that can change in a few days.

As you probably already expect, Pinkie Pie is preparing a welcome home party for when you come back. Her enthusiasm is as big as ever, and as usual we had to moderate her somehow. After all, when she started to prepare ice cream for the party yesterday we had to convince her that the trip from Flankfurt back to Ponyville would take up enough time for her treats to melt. As Pinkie wants this to be as grand a ceremony as possible, please do inform us when you are expecting to return home in advance. Two or three days before you come should be enough.

You may want to know that Rainbow Dash also isn't in Ponyville at the moment. Our mutual friend received not too long after your departure an invitation to yet another flying competition and went off soon after. From what I understand the competition is held in a distant city on the eastern border of Equestria, but I'm afraid I don't know much more. If we receive any correspondence from Rainbow we'll be sure to send it to you, and vice versa.

Pinkie Pie also wanted for me to say that she's sorry she couldn't send you any care package. Actually, that's because I told her it most probably wouldn't survive the trip so far up north, not with the dreadful passes and the harsh winter of that faraway region. Instead we added a photo we made just before Rainbow departed for her competition.

Sincerely

Your Friends

Applejack, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie and Rarity

P.S.

Next time give me a heads up before doing something like this!

Spike

Twilight turned the letter and realized that indeed there was a photo added. Made in front of Sugarcube Corner, it featured all her friends. In the forefront stood Rarity and Applejack, the former smiling gently and the latter tipping her trademark Stetson. Rainbow as usual couldn't sit in one place and was hovering above the rest, sending a daredevil smirk at the camera. Fluttershy, as usual, was the hardest to spot, her shy nature and bad experience with modeling prompting her to stick to the background. Even so she was still sending a heartwarming smile from behind Applejack, partially obscured by her hat. And then there was Pinkie, who as per usual was trying to make her laugh by making a silly face, sticking her tongue out and if Twilight's eyes didn't deceive her trying to fold it like an accordion. The weird part was that she was doing a great job of it.

"I hope everything goes as planned. If it does, I'll be back to Ponyville and with the girls in a few days." She thought to herself. "Yet another reason to get this thing over with."

And with that thought she headed back to the room Dostoyevsky occupied.

The moment Twilight opened the door she was hit by a wave of heat, something she was slowly getting unused from because of the constant snowstorms outside. She spotted Dostoyevsky laying, or rather 'sitting' on his bed. Somepony brought him all the equipment he needed to prepare the silver bullets. He was currently fitting the silver projectiles into small brass tubes filled with gunpowder. He was also protected from the hot liquid silver he was working with before by a protective leather apron.

"Oh, you are finally here, miss!" Dostoyevsky greeted her from his bed. "Cholera, it is hard to work on these silver missilibus when I am stuck in a bed. But anyway, here they are."

He gestured towards five of his finished 'bullets' as he called them, lying on a nearby desk. Their quality was obviously worse than those Twilight used during her practice session, but they were still undeniably ammunition. Even so, Twilight still had her doubts.

"Are you sure they'll fit the barrel?" She asked, lifting one of the bullets with her magic and examining it closer.

"Confirmativum. They may be a little bit less accurate and have smaller penetration, but aside from that they should still work as intended." The pegasus replied. "Now, there we go…" he finished the last one.

"Six bullets." Twilight murmured. "And what if I miss and then desperately need more?"

Dostoyevsky was silent for a moment.

"Don't miss." He said simply.

That was worrying to say the least. Twilight would have to admit that when she was shooting with normal ammunition she wasn't half bad, but that was during a practice session. There was a stark difference between being at a shooting range and in the process of shooting something living. Not only did she worry that she might not have enough cold blood to do the deed, but she had her doubts she'd be able to hit a target that was going to move and possibly attack her.

"Do not worry so much. I hear it's bad for health." Dostoyevsky chuckled.

"Right." Twilight managed to utter, confidence leaving her with each passing second.

"I managed to convince Hansen to go with you, if it's going to help calm your nerves." The doctor added.

"And he agreed? I thought this was all 'nonsense' and 'nonsense'.” Twilight mimicked Hansen's characteristic accent to a tee, forgetting about her doubts for a moment. Dostoyevsky smiled at that.

"And that is exactly the causa why Hansen wants to follow you. He thinks it is more probably that you will get mugged by some thug on the platearum of Flankfurt. He is waiting for you by the hospital exit."

"Thank you Dostoyevsky." Twilight smiled, silently wondering which of the two stallions was more ridiculous and subsequently lifting her own spirit. "I'll try my best."

And with those words Twilight left the old pegasus alone, or at least that's what she thought. Something small moved under Dostoyevsky's bed.

"Is she gone?" A small, barely audible whisper came from underneath his bed. Dostoyevsky nodded.

"Confirmitavum."

"What?"

"It means 'yes'." Dostoyevsky repeated, reminding himself to stop inserting Old Cirran into every other sentence.

"Finally!" Primrose emerged from her hiding spot under the pegasus' bed. She was still very much the same, leprosy having a surprisingly weak effect on the young filly. Practically the only parts of her body that carried any indication of her being ill were her legs, a grim reminder of the state she really was in.

"I told you this was a bad idea." Dostoyevsky reprimanded weakly. "I know you are bored Primrose, but you are technically breaking quarantine. I shouldn't allow for this."

"But Yeeevsky, pleaseeeee!" Primrose pleaded with her childish, sweet voice, giving him her best puppy dog eyes. "I have nothing to do. We have one book for eight patients! And it's not like I would read a book in the first place."

Dostoyevsky rolled his eyes but didn't comment. Truth be told, he himself was terribly bored, and not too long ago he had something to do. "Okay, come over here."

Primrose jumped onto his bed, making the old piece of furniture groan in protest.

"So…" Dostoyevsky scratched his head. "Where did we end last time?"

"You told me how Casimir and his group arrived at Lubuck." Primrose reminded him.

"Ah, right. Before we move on to how they met Winterspell I should tell you who was in that group, so you're not too confused. The group was led by my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather, Casimir Dostoyevsky. I know this story actually only thanks to his diaries, or what survived of them. Casimir himself didn't even write those –he knew how to read, but not how to write. It was in fact his sister that wrote down his memories. Nevertheless, he was a pony of many talents. His group consisted of the auroch Weird Hoar, who…"

"What's an auroch?" Primrose immediately asked upon hearing the foreign word.

"Hm… it's like… do you know how a buffalo looks like?"

"Yeah."

“So basically, aurochs are far bigger, have longer and sharper horns, and they are placed further apart." The pegasus tried to explain.

"Oh… I never met one before. Could you show me one someday?" The filly asked innocently, making the old doctor cringe.

He was terrible at lying. In fact, he didn't even like the idea of it. So, with a heavy heart he decided to play it fair. "There are no more aurochs nowadays. They went extinct. Only their smaller cousins live, and they are called 'wisents'."

At that Primrose adopted such a heartbroken expression that it was painful for Dostoyevsky to even watch. "That's not fair. What happened to them?"

"It's a long story. Do you want to hear it?"

Primrose nodded and made herself comfortable, allowing Dostoyevsky to start weaving yet another tale.

"So… here we are." Hansen said once Twilight emerged from the hospital building onto the dark, snow-covered streets ofFlankfurt. "Maybe we should try to find him tomorrow? You know, in the morning, when it's light?"

Twilight took a look around, taking in her surroundings. It was already dark, despite the fact it was barely four o'clock. Aside from them there was no other pony on the streets, which all things considered wasn't anything new. The worst part however was the blizzard. The wild dance of snowflakes obscured their eyesight, making it impossible to see further than a few meters in front of them and hiding any of the features of houses that surrounded them. It was as if the whole town was being consumed by the raging snow and wind. It was the worst weather since their arrival, and for some reason it reminded Twilight of the Hearths Warming Pageants and the all-consuming cold of the Windigos.

Banishing those thought out of her head Twilight checked the pocket of her winter coat with her magic. It was there that she carried the revolver, already loaded with the six silver bullets that were meant to end this madness. The weight of the weapon made her feel a little better.

"No, Hansen, I won't change anything. Not now." She denied, her voice sounding more confident than she really was. "Do you have a lantern?"

"Yes." The doctor nodded. "Any idea how to find this 'Messiah'?"

That… was something she didn't think of. The creature was paranormal in its nature, and as such Twilight didn't have the slightest idea where to search. No book, or at least no easily accessible book she knew of had any information on supernatural beings, at least no concrete information. So where to look? At a cemetery? In some place where many lepers died? No, that was stupid. If that was the case they'd had to look around the hospital they just left. So what, did they have to wander around the building, or…

Wait.

Wander?

"Yes, I know how to find him." Twilight proclaimed, suddenly enlightened.

The doctor looked at her with complete surprise. "Really? Where?"

"It doesn't matter." Twilight stated bluntly.

She turned to face the doctor. There was only one thing they needed to do.

"Count the steps."

Prologue - The Panic

2986 Steps

Written by Verlax

In tribute to Andrzej Pilipiuk and his glorious work.

The marvelous view that stretched just outside the window was nothing if not enchanting. The raging winter storm that sent down a myriad of snowflakes to cover up her home town, Flankfurt, was a sight to look upon, the white flakes dancing in the wind as they descended from the heavens. Ponies with poetically inclined minds would surely compare the cold beauty of this sight to something equally poetic. Those outside… well, they would most probably be damning the accursed Windigos right now, using a variety of colorful insults. As for Primrose however, she could think of only one thing right now.

Ugh… This is so dull.

Primrose ran her pale yellow hoof along the surface of the frosted window. Oh, how she longed to be somewhere, anywhere but here! It almost felt as if she was a bird in a cage, a golden one to be sure, but a cage nonetheless. So restricted, so entrapped. So bored.

She was supposed to be at school right about now. Be with her best friends, Royal Blue and Long Shot; get into trouble for dozing off on miss Harvest’s lectures; play in the snow in the school courtyard. Of course, that wasn’t the case here. She had to stay back home today, only because some kind of doctor wanted to check up on her and her parents. Why did he even want to do that in the first place? And come to think about it, why did her Mom and Dad look so spooked while they were telling her that yesterday?

Primrose sighed again, tracing a lone snowflake’s descent in the tumult of the raging storm. Oh, what would she give for her brother to be here with her. She missed him dearly, him and the games they played together. He was always there for her, playing with her and keeping her company even when her mom or dad couldn’t. Sharp Arrow was like the best big brother in the world in her opinion. It was such a shame he had to go this year to Stalliongrad to that school thing. What was it? The Stalliongrad Military Academy? Mom said that he was going to be a strong, valiant guard, maybe even work at the Royal Palace one day. Be it as it may, she missed him terribly and wished he didn’t go there.

A soft knocking sound coming from her door shook Primrose from her musings. Turning away from the sight outside the window she looked at the door, blowing away a stray lock of her light-and-dark blue mane.

“Come in!” She said to the pony outside the door. Moments later the door creaked open and one of her parent’s maids, Feather Duster, looked inside.

“Miss?” She said, looking at Primrose. The filly nodded, indicating she was listening. “Master Quicksilver requires your presence in his study.”

“Thank you Miss Feather.” Primrose said, smiling at the staff member brightly. “Tell Dad I’ll be there shortly.”

“As you wish, Miss.” Feather bowed and backed out of the room, leaving the filly alone. Primrose didn’t however dawdle too long in her room and moments later she was in one of the many hallways of her home.

Now, Primrose wasn’t what most would call a common earth pony. Quite frankly, she was the exact opposite of it. Her father, Quicksilver, was one of the more prominent members of Flankfurt’s nobility, having his fear share of deals with the local branch of the Equestrian Shipping Department. Blooming Myrtle, her mother, also came from a noble house and she was a member of the Flankfurt Traders Guild. It was only natural that she also was considered a noble pony, the image only reinforced by the manor overlooking the city that she called her home, though it all brought more annoyance to the young filly than it held benefits. After all, not all of the other kids at school wanted to play with somepony whose parents were more or less ruling the town.

Primrose didn’t even notice when her hooves brought her in front of her father’s study. She approached the heavy oaken doors and knocked on them softly, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. For some reason, every time she had to go to her father’s study, she felt like if she was about to get scolded for something.

After a moment she heard a muffled ‘enter’ from the other side and she pushed the door open, letting herself in. Her father’s study was a grand affair, richly decorated with both sculptures and paintings. There was a small but well equipped bookcase standing under one of the walls, a carved desk and a number of matching chairs, all made out of mahogany, and a small fireplace with a fire crackling merrily inside of it. On one of the walls there was an old, curved sword-like thing hanging in display, clearly polished not too long ago. Her dad called it something funny... a ‘sabre’, whatever that was, and was really fond of it. It looked quite menacing if she had to be honest, only reinforcing the the feeling of inadequateness she was always experiencing while in here.

Primrose looked around in search for her father, and sure enough she found him easily. Sitting behind his desk, Quicksilver was looking at her with his green eyes. His daughter noticed right away that something wasn’t right with him; his normally well-kept silvery mane was in disarray, and he had bags under his eyes. In a chair not too far from him sat her mother, who looked as tired as her husband. The bags under her eyes were probably even more visible on her face than it was on Quicksilver’s due to the poor attempts at hiding it with makeup, and her normally pristine white coat seemed to be somewhat matted.

“Primrose.” Her father inclined his head. There was something strange in his voice Primrose noticed, like if he was worried about something. “Please, take a seat.”

Primrose did as she was told and plopped on one of the free chairs. She looked at her parents, a curious glint in her eyes. Quicksilver sighed and looked at his daughter, trying to look as stern as he possibly could.

“I assume you are wondering why I summoned you, yes?” It was more of a statement than a question, but Primrose nodded nonetheless. “As you are aware, we will be having a certain… guest… visiting us today. I want you to be at your best behavior around him. We do not need for you to bring shame to our name by embarrassing yourself in front of a pony of his reputation.” Primrose was about to nod when her mother interjected, looking at her husband a bit crossed.

“Honey, is this really necessary? You’re scaring Primrose for no reason. She’s a clever filly, she knows how to act amongst other ponies.”

“Yes, I realize that dear.” Was his response as he massaged his temples with his hooves. “It’s… It’s just this whole bloody situation that’s getting to me is all.” That got Primrose really worried. Her father, as stern and scary as he could be almost never cursed. The worried look in both her parents’ eyes was only reinforcing the strange feeling of unease building up in her heart.

Primrose was about to ask her parents what gotten them so worried, but the sound of somepony knocking on the door prevented her from doing that. After Quicksilver allowed entrance to whoever was behind it, the door opened and in stepped their majordomo, a unicorn stallion by the name of Sound Advice. He bowed seeing his employers and addressed them in a manner most valets were thought to.

“Sir, Madam, I am to inform you that doctor Hansen has arrived. I allowed him to utilize the guest room for his examinations.” Hearing those words made the two grown ponies pale a bit, but they nonetheless nodded in thanks to their majordomo. Sound Advice backed out of the study hastily, and after a deep, calming breath Quicksilver followed in his hoofsteps, his family not too long behind him.

They got to the manor’s guest room in a few minutes. Primrose, who was still worried about the strange behavior of her parents almost didn’t notice they were there until she almost ran into her mother’s flank. Stopping herself and casting a look at her mother, the filly mouthed a silent apology, receiving a soft if somewhat forced smile in response. Something was definitely not right here.

Quicksilver knocked at the door, receiving an almost immediate response for the occupant of the room. Steeling himself visibly for what was to come, the stallion pressed the handle and pushed the door open and entered the guest room, followed closely by the rest of his family.

Primrose noticed the doctor right away –he was sticking out like a sore hoof after all. Where her parents and she herself had either white or muted coats and manes in rather cold colors, he had a light blue coat and a dark red mane. He also didn’t look like any other doctor Primrose had ever seen. He wasn’t wearing the normal, fancy apparel other doctors had either, though he was wearing a pair of glasses, a certain trinket that she learned to associate with physicians. And he was a unicorn, that meant something too, right?

The doctor looked at her and her parents, nodding at them without a word and pointing them to a few chairs. Normally, her dad would have had a fit about somepony ordering him about in his own home, but he was too out of it to care much about it. Without a word they all took a seat and looked as the unicorn was finishing his preparations, heating a number of needles over a flame from a spirit stove, holding them still with his magic. Once he finished he turned to them, looking at them for a moment from behind his glasses.

“I would like to start with our examinations now.” He said with little emotion, casting a long look at the family. He frowned slightly seeing the three of them. “I was informed that there was one pony more in your family. Why isn't he here?”

“My son is in Stalliongrad.” Answered Quicksilver hastily. “He’s there for over half a year now. He doesn’t have anything to do with this mess.”

The doctor leveled him with his gaze, just as if trying to discern if Quicksilver was lying to him or not. After a moment however he nodded in understanding. “I see. Well, I would appreciate it if one of you stayed here while the rest waits outside in that case, so I may begin with my examinations…”

“That won’t be necessary doctor Hansen.” Myrtle interrupted. Primrose looked at her mother and saw a forced smile on her lips, quivering in what the filly assumed was fear. “We’re family, I think we can be allowed to be examined together.”

The doctor looked at her, surprised by the request, but after a moment he nodded in agreement, allowing for them to stay together. Primrose was very thankful for that, both to her mother for coming up with the idea and to the doctor, for allowing this. She was getting more and more nervous by the minute, her parents’ own fear not helping her any, but this little show of familial support was enough to quell her own fears at least a little bit.

The doctor asked her dad to be his first patient. Quicksilver shakily got from his seat and approached the unicorn, standing in front of him and letting himself be examined. It took a few moment for the physician to conclude his examination, and he deemed the stallion as ‘not ill’ as he put it, eliciting a sigh of relief from Quicksilver.

Next was Primrose’s mom. Doctor Hansen took a bit longer examining Blooming Myrtle, taking careful note of the number of small freckles on her face, usually masked by her makeup. After a moment however he decided that there was nothing odd about it and finished up with her too, stating she was perfectly healthy. Myrtle let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and went back to her chair, giving room for her daughter.

Primrose wasn’t sure what to think now. Her parents seemed to become more relaxed after the doctor checked on them, though it seemed like if he was the reason they were scared in the first place. But why was that? Did they think that the doctor would say they were ill? Well, if that’s the case than it was stupid. She too caught a cold from time to time and she wasn’t nearly as terrified about it. Then again, when other doctors examined her, they weren’t looking at her coat and skin, but into her mouth and her throat, so maybe this wasn’t a cold they were examined for.

“Sweetie, it’s your turn.” Her musing were interrupted by the voice of her mother. Primrose noticed, that the doctor was patiently waiting for her in the middle of the room, and that her mother was coaxing her towards him. Blushing embarrassed, she approached the blue stallion and smiled shyly at him.

“Um… hello.” She greeted meekly, suddenly self-conscious about her lack of a Cutie Mark. Doctor Hansen answered her with a reassuring smile, a first show of actual emotion, and went straight to work.

The doctor began from her face, scrupulously checking every square inch of her skin. His eyes, magnified by the glasses he wore scanned her quickly, and after a moment he deemed her face free of anything abnormal. After he was done with that he moved to the rest of her body. Her back, her front legs, hooves, he checked them all, making sure he didn’t miss anything. Finally, after the most embarrassing part for her, which was the examination of her hind legs the doctor moved on to her hind hooves. “So far so good” she thought, she was going to be ok. The doctor will finish his check-up and will deem her healthy, just like with her parents. She just had to wait a little bit longer.

The doctor didn’t say anything.

Primrose swallowed hard, turning her head around to look at the doctor. He was currently holding her hind left hoof with his own front ones and was looking at something, his face becoming more and more grim by the second. His silence must have alerted her parents, because she saw them shift uneasy in their seats, but she hardly noticed that. Right now the only thing that mattered was what the doctor was about to do.

Dr. Hansen looked at her hoof for a while longer, making Primrose wonder what was actually happening. She almost didn’t notice his horn lighting up with his magic, but when she finally did, a lump formed in her throat. He levitated towards himself one of the needles he was heating earlier.

“Now… Primrose was it?” The doctor turned to meet her face. She nodded shakily, noting the strange look she was giving her. “I want you to close your eyes and not open them until I tell you that it’s alright. Can you do that for me?”

Not trusting her voice at the moment, Primrose nodded in response and did as she was told. She waited for something to happen, half expecting to feel a needle being jabbed into her skin, but nothing came. Or at least she didn’t feel anything. It was even more nerve-wracking than when her parents were acting so scared not a few moments ago.

Finally, Primrose decided she had enough. She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at the doctor. She was about to ask what was going on when her eyes fell on the lower part of her hind leg, where her hoof started. If her heart wasn’t in her right now, she would have surely screamed at what she saw.

Her hind hoof was a slightly darker shade of yellow, having a sickly hue to it. It seemed to be swelled and covered in small tumors and blisters, almost unnoticeable if not looked directly upon them. Her hoof also seemed to slowly lose its coat, a few patches of discolored naked skin visible through the gaps. All that, as sickening as it was wasn’t what terrified Primrose. It was something completely different.

One of the blisters on her hoof was pierced by dr. Hansen’s needle, sticking out of her hoof like a metal sting of an angry bee. It was jabbed really deep into her flesh, just like if the doctor wanted to penetrate her limb through, yet for some odd reason Primrose didn’t feel the needle there. She didn’t feel anything from that hoof to be honest. But why? How?

“I told you not to open your eyes… ehh… “ Hansen sighed once he noticed Primrose looking at the needle. She shook his head a bit and looked at her once again, this time inquisitively. “Do you feel any pain?”

Primrose didn’t answer right away. Her eyes were drawn towards the needle in her hoof like magnets, having an almost hallucinating effect on her. This was so bizarre and scary… she didn’t know whether to scream or to cry. After a moment however she managed to tear her eyes away from the needle and looked at the doctor.

“N-No. I-I don’t feel… anything.” Primrose answered softly, unable to force her voice to speak any louder. “I-Is that o-ok?”

The doctor looked her in the eyes for a moment, his expression blank. However, Primrose could see it all in his eyes –this was definitely not ok. Needles just didn’t go inside ponies’ hooves without causing any pain, this wasn’t normal at all. Hansen tried however to smile at her, to assure her that everything was going to be alright.

That wasn’t about to happen.

“What in Celestia’s name is that?! What did you do to my daughter?!” Blooming Myrtle’s furious voice echoed in the room as she got to her hooves and stormed in the direction of the unicorn doctor. Her eyes were stuck on her daughter’s hoof, the one pierced with the needle, and she looked about ready to tear the stallion who did this to shreds.

There was a bit of a scuffle between the doctor and Blooming Myrtle, the enraged mother wanting nothing more than to give him a piece of her mind with her hooves. Hansen tried to calm her down to the best of his abilities, but it seemed to be an effort in vain –the mare was not thinking clearly at the moment. During this commotion Primrose was accidentally shoved to the side, landing on her side with a dull thud.

The sudden movement was enough however to bring out the needle stuck in her hoof. She didn’t feel any pain when the needle left her limb, but she noticed something, that made her swallow hard. From the hole in the blister a strange, thick and smelly liquid mixed with blood was slowly dripping out, trickling down her hoof and onto the floor. The mixture of pus and blood formed a miniscule puddle on the ground, staining the planks red-and-yellow. Primrose stared at it in silent horror, though she wasn’t the only one looking at it.

Once Primrose fell to the ground the fight between Hansen and Myrtle subsided. The adults looked at the filly in concern, and once they noticed what was trickling down her limb they fell silent, Hansen in worry and Myrtle in fear. Quicksilver joined them not too long after, looking at the puddle of his daughter’s lifeblood with poorly concealed dread and disgust. He visibly paled, his eyes shrinking to pinpricks as he stared at his daughter, only adding to her own terror. Finally he broke the silence, his voice shaky and full of fright.

“Take… it… away from us.” He ordered, looking Hansen deep in the eyes. “Take that Celestia damned thing away from us!”

Primrose didn’t even notice when she ended up in the middle of the raging snowstorm. It was like if one moment she was in the warmth of her own room, looking out the window upon Flankfurt, only to now find herself on the icy streets of said city in the next. She didn’t know how, she didn’t know why, but she ended up here, marching through the snow, accompanied only by the silent, distant doctor.

No… No, that wasn’t right. Not at all. She knew exactly why she was here, she just didn’t want to accept it. She couldn’t accept it. Something like this should have never happened, not to her and not to anypony else. She refused to accept it. It just couldn’t be true.

Unfortunately for her, it was.

Her father… how could her own daddy do something like that? It was so unlike him, so out of character… He always was stern, true, and he demanded perfection from everypony, himself included. But this? This was as if something in him snapped, broke like a string that was stretched too much and made him play a false, off-key tune. Who she saw back then… it wasn’t her dad. It was some kind of cruel monster.

Her mother tried to stop him from doing it, but she couldn’t. He didn’t let her. When she tried to reason with him, he ordered her to be silent. When she protested, he claimed he was doing this for their own good. When she started pleading, he finally had enough of her. He told her, that she was free to go, but she would find the doors locked behind her. He left a simple message for her –either you do as I say, or you may leave and never come back. Reluctantly, and not without a hefty dose of internal struggle she came to a decision.

Primrose was trotting beside Hansen, and nopony else.

Dr. Hansen wasn’t too pleased about what happened, not one bit. It was actually frightening when he made his displeasure known. He hardly showed any emotions earlier, but when it came down to what her father had done… It was as if this was a completely different pony. He argued with him fiercely, trying to explain to him that what he was doing was wrong, but he didn’t listen. All he managed to accomplish was to provide her with some warm clothes for the road, when her dad… no, father. Her father wanted to throw her out in the snow without any protection. Sigh… Now at least she wasn’t freezing to death, though she felt like if she was already frozen on the inside.

Primrose shook her head violently, blinking as the drops of snow assaulted her eyes. She should probably try not to dwell too much on what happened. As hard as it was, it would be for the better. Thinking about something to do, she began looking around, trying to avoid looking straight in the direction the wind was coming from as not to get blinded by snow.

They were passing by rows upon rows of wooden houses, trotting along one of Flankfurt’s many streets. The buildings were mostly painted white and bright-green, colors that normally sang of the approaching spring. Yet in the furious storm of ice and snow they seemed to accomplish the exact opposite; they seemed so depressing and uninviting now. Many a house they were passing by had their doors and windows boarded up, wooden planks nailed to every entrance. Abandoned and empty, many of them for years now, they’ve seemed to be frozen in time, the icy chill of the far north conserving them with great effect.

Primrose noticed, that most of the streets were empty. It wasn’t that surprising, really –it was the middle of a snow storm right now, and most reasonable ponies stayed at home, those who needed to be outside huddled into small groups to keep warm. The setting sun was also a factor in this she reasoned; after all, most did not dare wander the streets in the dead of night, especially if the nights could last up to fifteen hours around here. Normally she liked that –she was odd like that, liking the night more than the day sometimes. Now however… now the city seemed empty and uninviting, just like a cemetery.

They passed a few groups of ponies who had to brave the snowy streets after all, but not everything with them was normal. They seemed to give them a wide berth, some of them going as far as to enter alleyways, others ducking into their houses, just so that they didn’t have to come near them. At first it greatly confused her, but after a few moments she began remembering something she learned from her friends.

Long Shot and Royal Blue told her about what was going on around the town lately. They said that there were strange ponies around, ponies that looked like if they were really sick. They claimed they were covered in tumors and blisters, some of them even looking like if they were rotting alive. And then there were doctors roaming the streets. They were generally finding those ill ponies and taking them to a… she forgot what it was called, but it was like a hospital or something. In any case, not a lot of ponies liked the doctors. It was like if they could take you with them even if you were healthy, or they could infect you with whatever those rotting ponies had. So everypony tried to stay clear, both of the doctors, and the ill.

Was that why all other ponies tried to avoid them? Did they try to avoid doctor Hansen and her out of fear? Did they think she had whatever those ill ponies from the stories had? Did she actually had it?

Primrose shook her head once more, this time to try and clear her thoughts. She didn’t need to think about such scary things right now; she already had something to be terrified of, no need for more. This however left her without anything to do. Dr. Hansen was still silent and it didn’t seem like if he was going to change anytime soon. So, to do something, anything, she began counting her steps, one after another, slowly and steadily.

They moved in silence for quite a ways away, Primrose not keeping attention to where they were going, concentrating on her counting. She lost herself in the ever growing numbers, almost completely cutting herself from the world. She was barely aware of where the doctor was, and she almost ran into him at several occasions. The numbers provided her with an escape from the harsh reality, an escape so perfect, that she almost wished it never stopped.

They were walking like that for some time now when something quite unexpectedly caught Primrose’s attention. A slight movement to her right, so minuscule that it appeared that she was the only one to see it draw her attention, making her pause in her steps and look in the direction it came from. At first she didn’t see anything, just a bunch of abandoned houses framing the street from that side. She was about to ignore it and continue on her way when what she first assumed was only a shadow cast by the building moved unnaturally.

Her eyes darted to the place she saw it, both dreading what she would find there and drawn to it. She looked into the shadows, searching for anything that could have hid in them. And then she saw it –a pair of eyes looking directly at her, full of hate and malice, but also superiority and smugness. She could vaguely make out the silhouette of a pony, what she assumed the owner of those scary eyes, and that he was wearing some kind of clothes, though she couldn’t see any details if them. But the eyes were the worst part; they were looking at her, unblinking, so full of hate… Primrose shuddered and took a step back on instinct.

As quickly as those eyes appeared they vanished again, their departure almost instantaneous. It took less than a blink of an eye for them to completely disappear, using the cover of a furious swirl of snow. Primrose stared at the spot for a few moment longer, as if expecting it to come back any second now, and attack her if she so much as moved a muscle. She couldn’t however stay that way forever, and dr. Hansen quite quickly noticed that she was lagging behind.

“Is everything alright Primrose?” He asked once he joined her where she stood, something akin to concern sounding in his voice.

Primrose didn’t answer right away. She still didn’t know what she saw or if she saw anything at all to begin with. She began coming up with excuses for what happened there, trying to chalk it up upon some sort of hallucination. Yes, it definitely must have been her mind playing tricks on her. Finally, after a longer-than-normal pause she answered the doctor’s question.

“It’s nothing. I just thought I saw something.”

“Ok, just stick closer to me, alright?” Hansen half-asked half-ordered, and after Primrose nodded he continued on leading her towards where they were headed. She lagged a bit behind him however, casting one final glance at the narrow alley where she saw those hateful eyes.

It didn’t take them long to finally get to their destination. They were approaching the gates that led to that hospital-thing she couldn’t remember the name of. The gates themselves, made out of heavy wood and bound with wrought iron looked quite intimidating to the young filly, making her gulp audibly at their site. Primrose, in an attempt to not think about them concentrated on counting her steps again, even though it was clear that she wouldn’t be doing that much longer.

“Well… we’re here my dear.” Hansen announced once they stopped in front of the gate. “I will have to run some tests on you once we enter, make sure you really are ill. There still is the possibility that those changes to your hoof is not connected to the disease.” He added, trying to sound hopeful and failing miserably. Primrose however seemed not to notice any of his words, preoccupied with something else.

“Two thousand nine hundred eighty-six steps…” She whispered softly to herself.

Hearing her say that Hansen whipped his head in her direction, looking at her with surprise.

“What did you just say?”

“I was counting steps, and it’s two thousand nine hundred eighty-six of them.” Primrose backed away from the doctor, startled by his sudden outburst. “Is there something wrong?”

Hansen turned away from her immediately and concentrated his magic on the gates, slowly opening them. “No.” He replied after a moment. “There is nothing wrong. Now come, I must run some tests on you and make sure you really have it.”

“Have what?” Primrose asked, though she feared she knew the answer to that. It had to do with those strange, numb spots on her hoof, she was sure of it. The reason why her father tossed her out of the house and why all the ponies on the streets were avoiding her.

Hansen took a couple of steps and turned around, facing the filly. For the first time his face showed something else than that indifferent mask of his or anger –it was sympathy, maybe even pity.

“Lepra, my dear.” He finally said, his voice hardly above a whisper. “Lepra.”

Chapter Eleven - The Fear

Twilight screamed terrified as her eyes shot open. As quickly as she could she tried to back away, only for her legs to get tangled in something. With blurred eyesight she managed to recognize the item as a blanket, and on instinct she hid under it, just like a four year old filly, shaking in fear like a leaf in autumn.

She panted for a few agonizing moments, her lungs burning and threatening to burst out of her chest. Her quick, ragged breathing served only to aggravate her throat, which felt like if she downed a bottle of vinegar in one go. Her nose was assaulted by the mixed smells of her own perspiration as well as her salty tears. Only now did Twilight notice, that she was crying.

She didn’t know how long she was lying there, before she managed to calm her nerves and gather the courage to look around. She slowly raised her head from the comfort of the blanket and took stock of the room. It was shrouded in complete darkness, shadows looming all around her. She almost missed a candle standing on a nightstand, barely a meter away from her.

She tried to levitate it to her, but for some reason it was incredibly difficult. The candle seemed far heavier than it should be. It felt almost like trying to lift Tom. Once she managed to bring it to her, she summoned a small flame and finally light spread across the room.

Twilight raised from her bed sluggishly, each step taking a huge effort to make. She slowly marched towards the bathroom with the candle in her mouth. Once there, she looked herself in the mirror.

She almost backed up once she saw how she looked. Twilight’s eyes were completely bloodshot. She could barely make out the lavender in her eyes, they were covered in red lines, giving her the appearance of somepony that didn’t sleep in months, further stressed by the bags under her eyes. There were also tear stains on her cheeks, leaving traces of salt on her coat.

Twilight washed her face several times with cold water, trying to wake herself up. She was still shaking from head to hoof, and she had problems even with things as simple as standing.

She looked in the mirror again. She still looked absolutely horrid, but at least it was possible look at her and not scream in terror. Closing her eyes, Twilight tried to recall that...

Dream? She hardly remembered anything from it. Twilight knew only that it was something really dreadful, something that made her literally jump out her bed. The last truly terrifying nightmare she had was just before her entrance exam to Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, but that was years ago. And in hindsight, it wasn’t even that terrifying to begin with. Actually, now she thought of it more as a really bizarre, if not downright hilarious at times dream. Back then however it scared the living daylight out of her.

She washed her face again. No matter how much she tried, she was still shaking, even though she didn’t remember what frightened her so much to begin with.

After a few more minutes Twilight deemed herself presentable and decided to get out of her room. Opening the door with her magic proved to be much easier than lifting that candle, but it was still much too taxing for her liking. Just what happened to her magic?

Shaking her head slightly, Twilight took a look outside the window. The sun was slowly rising over the horizon, giving enough light for her to see that the several days-long blizzard had subsided. The sky was still overcast, but it stopped snowing and it seemed that the wind ceased blowing as well. She spotted several ponies trotting through the snow-covered streets of Flankfurt. It was probably the most beautiful weather since her arrival.

“Flankfurt must look really beautiful during summer.” she mused, admiring the old, wooden structures of the city, for the first time not blocked from her sight by the raging snowstorm.

Twilight went down the staircase and towards the exit when suddenly she almost bumped into Hansen.

“Oh, good morning miss!” Hansen greeted energetically as he turned to face her. “What can... I...” his eyes went wide. After a moment of silently staring at her he asked: “You didn’t sleep well, did you?”

Twilight blinked slowly, having difficulties keeping her eyes open. Her eyelids felt so heavy...

“Well... yea.” she admitted and yawned.

Hansen rubbed his head. “You know, we prepared all the equipment to start the experiment on the mercury mixture...”

Twilight almost facehooved at that. “Sweet Celestia, I completely forgot!” she thought

“...and you know, we would really appreciate the help...”

Horse feathers, even now I can’t stop shaking. In this state I’m useless in a lab...

“Dostoyevsky have just run to the warehouse to gather the rest of the equipment we need to...”

“I need a break.” Twilight interrupted him. “This was probably worst night ever. Can you manage without me for some time?”

Hansen didn’t look too surprised at her request.

“You really don’t look too good, you know. If it will help you, take the day off.”

Twilight sighed. “Thanks. I’ll try to be back as soon as possible.”

Having said that, Twilight left through the doors of the leprosarium and out on the streets of Flankfurt. She was positively surprised by the city. Without the snowstorm to hinder her sight and without the howling winds lashing at her face, Flankfurt really was a gem of the North.

With the weather improvement, the ponies started filling the streets again. There wasn’t a lot of them, but it still warmed her heart to know that the city was living at all. There were times that she thought that the only living beings in the entire town were the ones dying in the hospital.

“I should go on a walk, stretch my legs a bit.” Twilight thought, choosing a direction at random. “Maybe I can get my head out of the gloom that way. And who knows, maybe I’ll find the city library.”

As Twilight didn’t have any particular direction in mind, she simply wandered the streets, choosing those with the nicest looking buildings over any other. After a few minutes she noticed, that the amount of ponies on the streets was steadily increasing. She was unmistakably heading towards the city center.

Twilight took another turn and quite unexpectedly marched right into a large square. It was clear that it was the center of town; the buildings surrounding the square were built in a much more elegant fashion, as well as freshly painted. It was quite possible, that a large number of the town nobility lived here. The square itself was occupied by a sizable crowd of ponies, huddled up into small groups and talking in hushed tones. Twilight noted that this time they weren’t actually cautious of getting infected, a sight that took her completely by surprise. She was half expecting them to keep to themselves and avoid large gatherings in fear of the lepra, but here they were, seemingly not worrying about it in the slightest. Only question is, what could possibly make them forget about the plague?

She tried to get into the middle of the crowd to check what was actually going on, but she couldn’t get even half way in. There were simply too many ponies, and most of them were too muscular or simply too heavy for her to push her way in. For a moment she thought about giving it a rest, but then she came up with an idea.

Twilight took a deep breath and prepared herself.

“Excuse me, I’m a doctor.” she said loud enough for everypony to hear. “Doctor passing through. A little space for a physician.”

Her little white lie worked as ponies moved out of her way, giving her a wide berth. Twilight suspected, that they did that more out of fear of the lepra than out of helpfulness, but in the end it didn’t matter as long as she reached her goal.

The gathered ponies stood in front of a platform, occupied by a single unicorn mare. She was surprisingly massive, with a brown coat and a light pink mane. Her voice was powerful, yet the sheer size of the square coupled with the hum the crowd was generating made her voice barely hearable.

“...mayor of Manehattan declined our request for help, same with Fillydelphia and Canterlot itself.” she spoke. “Equestrian Commission came to the decision, that they cannot risk sending us any more help until the winter snowstorms subside. The weather effectively cut off our supply lines and until the spring thaw, all land mass transportation in and out of our city is indifferently postponed.”

“We have also received word concerning the food supplies sent to us by the government of Los Pegasus. Captain Tidehunter and his fleet of ten trading vessels is unable to reach us due to storms blocking every port north of Manehattan. It is highly unlikely that he will manage to reach us until spring.”

The crowd fell silent. The spokesmare trembled, fearing the reaction her next words would bring.

“In light of these events, the ruling Council of Captains has decided to decrease the amount of food given out per citizen. From here on out, hot meals will be given out only once per week, and daily bread rations will be decreased from two pounds to one pound per citizen. This shall last for about a month or month and half, unless the promised supplies reach us earlier.”

For a short moment total silence reigned supreme over the city square. That didn’t last long however, and mere moments later the citizens of Flankfurt began showing their displeasure.

“Are you crazy!?”

“I have fillies to feed for Celestia’s sake!

“It’s impossible!”

“Give us food!”

“No, this can’t be true!”

“With all due respect ma’am, are you high!?”

“The poor ones suffer while the those rich pricks are eating daisies! Daisies!”

“Arrogant bourgeoisie!”

“Give us their food!”

At this point it was clear, that this that this would not end well. The crowd began shouting insults and threats directed at the local nobility, fury in every syllable they intoned. Twilight, not wanting to test her luck decided it was high time she got out of there. She turned back and with the same “I’m a doctor, let me pass, I’m a doctor, sorry” strategy she started making her way out of both the crowd and the square. From the corner of her eye Twilight noticed the poor spokesmare turning tail and bolting towards a nearby building, the town hall if she had to guess by the clock tower, and disappearing inside it.

“Give us their food!”

“You arrogant bastards!”

“Down with tyranny!”

“Down with tyranny!”

“Down with tyranny!”

She quickly went down an alley, just to get further from the mass of furious ponies. The day was supposed to be good one, but now... now it became almost as grim as all previous ones. Twilight trotted slowly, turning into yet another alley. The screams of the furious crowd were slowly fading away with each step she took.

“Even if the leprosy won’t kill us, the city is doomed anyway?” she asked herself grimly. “Famine, or maybe revolution? Slowly fading away due to the inevitable rot, or maybe the violence that will sweep away this city? Or will freeze to death.” She added, noticing that it began snowing softly, shivering despite the worm cloak she had as a frosty gust of wind blew in her face. “I miss home, my family, my friends... why didn’t I ask them to come with me? Why did I have to take the Princess’ word to the letter?...”

The thought of her friends made her eyes water a bit. She gulped down a sob.

“I didn’t even write them a letter... maybe they are all worrying about me? Sweet Celestia, I should definitely do something about this...

Twilight took another turn, her mind still weighed down with concerns.

“Why am I here? I’m barely making any difference. I’m not a doctor, and no matter how much I try, I simply cannot save the city from something that does not depend from me. I cannot stop the weather, because I can’t affect it in any way. I cannot stop the leprosy, because for now, there is no cure for it. I cannot stop the famine, because it’s the result of the weather conditions and bad decisions of the government. I’m completely useless...”

Twilight trotted slowly, marching into the less-populated areas of town. Her hooves were sinking deep into the puffy white snow.

She walked into the another alley, but this time something caught her eye. One of the buildings was much older than the others. It was like if a single building from Mareggen was somehow transported to one of the modern Flankfurt districts. It was a big structure, built out of dark wood. It had clear marks of its gothic descent with two columns right in front of the magnificent, old-fashioned oaken doors. There was a simple plate nailed to one of those with but two words written on it.

“Flankfurt Library”