Stitch

by adcoon

Rating: mature
Tags: Sad, Romance, Original Character, Cutie Mark Crusaders, Adventure, Sex, Sweetie Belle, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe
Length: 35827

On a school trip to a quaint little town, Sweetie Belle becomes entangled in the past. She soon learns that some stories infect everything they touch, like a virulent plague, creating sad, twisted clones of themselves. And they never truly die.

On a school trip to a quaint little town, Sweetie Belle becomes entangled in the past. She soon learns that some stories infect everything they touch, like a virulent plague, creating sad, twisted clones of themselves. And they never truly die.

This story takes place before the events of Fillystata. It explores the fate of Sweetie Belle leading up to and during the events of that story. Despite being a prequel, I suggest reading Fillystata first.

Published 2013-02-22 12:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-06-27 20:09:06 UTC

Act 1. A Stitch in Time

“Come. Follow me …”

I walk in the shade of trees, whose ancient forms haunt the dark and stalk the shadows of my mind. Their stunted trunks loom around me, unchanging and rooted in the past, with heavy boughs gnarled by age and still as the grave. Their fingers tangle and slowly choke the breath from the forest, catching the winds and their voices like a dream catcher snares a nightmare.

It is so very still here—nothing moves or makes a sound—and it is cold … s-so unearthly cold out here, but I am not alone; she is walking up ahead with me.

I can see her outline against the trees and the small white cloud emanating from her breath. A simple bouquet of flowers, hoof-picked before sunset in the back of her parents' garden, drifts gently in the air beside her. In a saddlebag strapped across her back rests a small white porcelain urn, tenderly wrapped in thick clothes to keep it safe on this, its final journey. She bought it with her own allowance from the old pony on the corner of Ergot and Chestnut Lane; saved up for weeks to have it made and inscribed just right. It had to be just right.

Inscribed upon the urn a memory reads: Daffodil, Herein Dreaming.

She stops briefly. I watch her shadow outlined between two looming trees, and I can't help but feel a knot in my heart at the sight of her. I stop and watch her lower her head to the ground. The bouquet droops slightly. Then she wraps her little scarf one more time around her neck and continues with slow hoofsteps through the soft autumn leaves that cover the forest floor.

I remember her fifth birthday, the day she unwrapped the brand new scarf. It is brown with flower motifs; she always loved flowers. I remember the gleam of tears in her eyes as she wrapped the gift around herself. Daffodil was there, smiling brightly; I see her in my memory still, so full of life and dreams. I remember the hug we shared.

A cloud drifts from the face of the silvery moon. The eye of the Mare seems to follow us from on high as she stops, standing where an old tree leans over the narrow path. It isn't really a path, but she made it one; her own path, for no other pony comes here anymore. Under that leaning old tree, a little clearing has been made. A stone stands in its shade.

In silence I watch her stand there, looking at the stone. Under cold and distant stars she lifts the bouquet and lets it drop on the ground in front of the grave. I watch her pick the urn out and set it down next to the stone with a care approaching reverence. Then she straightens up, head high and fierce, like a soldier before her sovereign. In the distance the rain is coming, soon it will be raining hard, but here the sky is clear. She glances up at the blinking stars before taking a long, low breath.

I hear her young voice rise among the trees, growing strong.

“Upon this very hour, by the ash and bone in the place of the deed, by the witness of the pale-faced moon and Her dark eternal grace I do swear, and forswear the name by which I was born! Rise up, rise up and claim me, for I shall be your vengeance and vessel, and through me you shall be allowed to see her fall! Nemesis be my name, Nemesis am I!”

A shiver runs through the forest as she speaks, like the sigh of a thousand dead. She raises her head high, and all the shadows of the forest breathe through her as an ancient star shines upon the tip of her horn. The urn glows with an inner light so white and pure, like the fire of a thousand suns burning in its porcelain heart. I lift a hoof to shield my eyes and see her eyes as she turns towards me, empty black buttons in a linen face, and I see the stitches running across that face.

I gaze into the black, bottomless eyes crowned by the fire of the heavens, and whisper,

“… dream on through me …”

* * *

“Sweetie? Hey Sweetie Belle …”

Fleeting memories of the dream fade into oblivion. I groan and blink awake to a sea of faded yellows, oranges and reds drifting by far below. Peeling my face off the window, I surreptitiously attempt to wipe the drool off both glass and chin as I stretch my hooves.

The train rounds the mountainside and snakes its way forward along the steep cliffs far above the great forest. Behind it the sun is rising, painting the sky in matching colors. Up ahead I begin to make out the great blue sea and the beautiful city of Baltimare which sits on the Horseshoe Bay.

What a beautiful view to wake up to. It should make my heart leap with joy at a new day awaiting. I should greet my friends with a smile and a song. For some reason I am not in the mood for smiles, and no songs come to mind. I just want to go back to sleep instead. I turn to Scootaloo. She's smiling at me. I shove her off her seat.

“Ow!” she cries as she lands on her tail on the floor between seats. Featherweight and Sunny Days look up at us from the other side of the car. Most of our classmates are still asleep. “What was that for?” Scootaloo asks, her feelings hurt more than her haunches.

Dumb pegasus still can't even fly, I think. A little voice inside me says that's really awful and I feel a little sorry for thinking it. Scootaloo and Apple Bloom are my very best friends, and I kinda think Scootaloo is really pretty, and really cool too even though she can’t fly, but sometimes we still fight, and I'm just really tired of her right now. I'm just tired right now.

“For waking me up,” I say and look across to the opposite seat where Apple Bloom is still sleeping with my new doll held tight in her hooves. She's breathing calmly and looking happy. I let her borrow my doll because she forgot her own back in Ponyville, and she always has trouble sleeping when she's away from the farm. I really envy her right now.

I lean against the window and get lost in the black button eyes. Her name is Stitch, and she's my favorite doll. My sister Rarity got her for me as a gift a week ago. Stitch is a funny little horse, she doesn't look like anything my sister would ever buy, but Rarity says she's kitsch, I think. It rhymes with Stitch. I like rhymes a lot.

Scootaloo has pulled herself back on her seat and doesn't seem ready to leave me be. “Well gee, I'm sorry,” she says without a hint of being sorry at all. “You know, you really should be thanking me, 'cause if Diamond Tiara or Silver Spoon heard you snoring like that, they'd never leave you alone.”

“I don't snore!” I protest, feeling my cheeks flush as I look around and give her a glare. It's not very refined to snore. Proper mares like my big sister don't snore, and I'm going to be a proper, refined mare just like her! “I don't,” I repeat just to put that straight.

“Sure you don't,” Scootaloo teases with a playful wink, making an impression of a snore that I am quite sure is totally exaggerated. Because I don't snore, and certainly not like that! “But you might want to check your flank. I bet you got a snoring cutie mark for that performance!”

I crank my glare up to withering. “I hope you turn into a big ugly toad, Scootaloo!”

“Yeah? Why don't you try it then?” she says and jumps up on the seat, poking my horn with her hoof. “Just try it, Miss Magic Pants. I bet you anything you can't!”

I'm just about ready to do it. I swear I could, too! I've seen Twilight turn all sorts of things into other things, like that adorable little croaking orange I saw down by the lake near our house that one time. I bet it's not very difficult at all.

Just then a plum-colored hoof clamps down on Scootaloo's back and interrupts my thoughts of toads and sweet poetic justice. Scootaloo looks up at Cheerilee and shrinks back down into her seat.

“This is the last time I tell you not to jump in the seats, Scootaloo,” Cheerilee says sternly, her hoof like a grip of iron on my friend's shoulder. She gives me a look as well. “And I don't want to see you girls fighting, is that clear? You have a whole week together, so be nice.”

“Yes, Miss Cheerilee. I'm sorry, Miss Cheerilee,” Scootaloo says and looks down at her hooves.

“Sorry, Miss Cheerilee,” I echo.

Cheerilee gives us both a long hard look before letting go of Scootaloo. “The train arrives in an hour, girls.” She turns around and trots back to her seat a little further back in the train.

I return to gazing out the window. I can feel Scootaloo looking at me while pretending as if she's not. I sigh and look at her. “I'm sorry. I don't want to actually turn you into a toad or anything. I'm sorry I shoved you, too.”

Scootaloo grudgingly looks up. “I'm sorry too. You don't snore half as bad.” She looks at me for a few seconds before asking, “Are you alright?”

I lean back in my seat and look at Stitch and her black button eyes. Vague images of a forest, and some filly with scars and stitches flash through my memory. “I think I had a nightmare,” I mutter.

“Was it bad?” Scootaloo looks genuinely concerned. I know she's had trouble with nightmares before. She doesn't want to voice it, but I can see the question in her eyes, “Do you need a hug?”

I turn around on my seat and accept her hug. It makes me feel a little better, and I don't have to look at those empty eyes. “No … just kinda weird, you know?” I say and sit back down, patting our seat with a hoof. “I'm just tired, and I miss my big soft bed back home. Don't you miss your bed?”

“Eh,” Scootaloo shrugs and turns around, kicking at the opposite seat. Apple Bloom sleeps on happily and completely undisturbed. “I don't know how you two can sleep at all. Trains drive me crazy, sitting still for hours in a big box. I can't wait until we get to Dappleshore.”

I glance back out the window at the city of Baltimare in the distance. A brief stop there, then a boat trip across the bay to Dappleshore, which is a small town at the edge of the great southern swamps. It's a shame we don't get more time in Baltimare, but we do get a whole week in Dappleshore, which is cool. Most of the trip has been paid for by Diamond Tiara's dad. He donates money to the school every year, and some of it goes to making sure we get trips like this. ”My sister says it's a 'really old and creaky village full of quaint little ponies',” I say and turn in my seat so that I have my back to the window and am facing Scootaloo. “But I don't think she meant that in a very nice way.”

“Yeah, no offense, but your sister is really dumb sometimes. Dappleshore sounds way cool if you ask me. I bet we can find lots of adventure there!” Scootaloo forgets her boredom quickly now that she has me to talk to. “And mysteries! Maybe we'll discover a dark secret and get our cutie marks for investigating it? We could be, like, detectives or something!”

“Cutie Mark Crusader Clue Collectors?” I turn the prospect over in my head and decide that I like the look of it. I like it a lot! “Ooh, ooh, and Stitch and I could make us some real detective hats and all. Real fashionable.” I'm starting to feel better as we talk. Maybe it was the hug, I even feel a little warmer. I hadn't realized I was cold before.

“That's an awesome idea, Sweetie Belle!” the excitable pegasus says and nearly jumps in her seat with joy. A loud cough from the back of the car makes her sit down quickly and grin sheepishly. “Heh, we're sure to get our cutie marks for that. I was so much born to be a real hard-boiled detective pony!”

* * *

The train pulls up at the station and everypony files out in a long line past Cheerilee. “… Snips, Diamond Tiara, Silver Spoon, Featherweight, Sweetie Belle, …” I hear her mutter as she ticks us all off on her list to make sure no pony is lost or left behind. I step out onto the platform and stop to wait.

Apple Bloom comes out behind me, holding my doll. “Thanks for lettin' me borrow your doll, Sweetie Belle,” she says, holding back a yawn as she hoofs me the funny little horse with the black button eyes. “I wouldn't have gotten any sleep without it.”

I take the doll and hug her, the dream now feeling like a distant memory. I give Apple Bloom a bright smile. “Rarity always says friends must share. You can borrow her any time, if you like.”

Scootaloo comes out last, looking glum. Cheerilee had her go to the back of the line because she tried to get out before everypony else. I can't help but hide a chuckle. It's her own fault, but it’s just how Scootaloo is. She quickly brightens up as she gets out and joins us on the platform. “Hey girls!” she grins, all sour apples forgotten. “Who's ready for some crusading!”

Apple Bloom takes a look around. “I don't think we get to do much crusadin' here.”

“That's right, Apple Bloom.” Cheerilee stops next to Scootaloo and ruffles her already quite ruffled mane. Cheerilee gives us all a bright sunny smile. “We only have about an hour here before the ship sails, so we need to stay together. Now, I want you all to follow me,” she continues a little louder so that everypony can hear her. “We will eat the breakfast you all packed down by the docks while we wait for the ship. Everypony got everything?” Everypony nod their heads and trot off with Cheerilee in the back.

I walk a little behind my two friends as we head out of the train station and down the street towards the docks. It's a new place and there are so many shops and things to look at. Oh I just wish we could stop and spend more time here!

I pause for a moment, forehooves against the window of a small boutique selling horseshoes. There are so many. I really like how they shine and glitter. I just bet my sister would love a pair like the silver ones here, they look like they were made for her! Aw, but they cost more than my allowance for a whole year. It's just not fair!

I feel a little poke and look up glumly at Cheerilee smiling back at me. “Come on, Sweetie Belle, don't fall behind.” With a longing glance back at the window, I follow.

* * *

The sun shines and the sky is a perfect blue, yet I am really happy that I packed several extra scarves like my sister always tells me a proper pony should do. It's so cold and windy out here by the sea, but it's also really beautiful from where we sit on a large pier. We are not far from the ship that will take us across the bay to Dappleshore in about half an hour. Many smaller ships are already out riding on the bay, and the harbor is full of life as ponies greet the day. I watch them all as they mill about.

“Hey, what have you two got?”

I look up at Scootaloo and remember that we're having breakfast. I feel a bit sheepish and quickly duck into my saddlebag, rummaging around for the food that my sister insisted upon preparing for me. She's the best sister a pony could ever have, even if I wish she would let me cook more often.

“I've got … some fresh carrot bread from Miss Golden Harvest our neighbor, and some apple jam, apple pie, apple cider, and three muffins from Sugarcube Corner.” Apple Bloom rattles off the contents of her tightly packaged lunch box. It's like her lunch box was made to feed two or maybe three ponies.

“Yum!” Scootaloo says and licks her chops, like a wolf thinking of chickens. “What did you get, Sweetie?”

“Um,” I say with my mouth full of paper and string as I try to get the wrapping off my package. It's like Rarity never expected it to be opened ever again. “Paper?” I joke and finally get the string off. “Or toast.”

“Is it … liquid?” Apple Bloom leans over and stretches her neck to look.

“Ha ha, you're both so funny today, you should get a cutie mark for comedy except we already tried that.” I continue unpacking. “Butter, cheese, croissants, and, um, tea and an apple.” All of it so neatly packaged it almost looks like it's meant to be seen but not eaten, maybe displayed at an art gallery. I send my sister a thankful thought.

“Whoa,” Scootaloo says, leaning over Apple Bloom's head to look. “You girls get the best food.”

“You can each have one of these here muffins,” Apple Bloom offers. “And I don't think I can eat all this pie myself either.”

I pick up a croissant and offer it to Scootaloo. “Don't you have your own food?”

Scootaloo gathers up all the food like some kind of squirrel gathering for winter. “Oh, yeah,” she grins sheepishly. A sheepish squirrel in wolf clothes hoarding baked goods for winter. “But my mom had to work late yesterday, so my dad did the food, and you know my dad and cooking.”

We all wince. Scootaloo gobbles down the croissant and grins, speaking with her mouth full. “Hey, he tries, and he's the coolest dad ever, just … not at cooking, okay?”

We all have a good laugh.

* * *

I am packing the rest of my breakfast back into my saddlebag and preparing to board the ship when I spot it. I stop and turn to look closer at a young unicorn colt, a little older than myself, pulling a small cart down the street. The cart is laden with brushes, a box and other tools. I can't be seeing it, it must be my imagination, but there it is, wrapped around his neck.

“Don't run anywhere now, Sweetie Belle,” Cheerilee calls as I start to trot off towards the colt.

I stop and bite my lip as I think of what to do. Maybe I can draw his attention. I jump up and wave my front hooves in the air. “Ooo, ooo! Mister! Over here, Mister!” I call out, waving wildly. He turns his head to look, then he smiles, slowly maneuvers his cart around, and trots down the pier towards me.

“Why, a pleasant morning to you,” he says to me with a bright but sleepy smile. He's got a sort of golden-sandy coat and a dark reddish brown mane and tail. He looks kinda poor, but also kinda nice. “Need your shoes shined? Only two bits.”

I blush a little and glance back at the ship briefly. “I can't really stay—”

He follows my gaze and interrupts my thought. “Ah, a quickie then? Just one bit, won't take a minute,” he offers, already pulling out a box, rag and brush, setting down the box on the ground as he looks at me with a hopeful smile.

I look down at my hooves, then back up. Something about those sleepy eyes and bright smile, I just can't say no. “Oh, um, okay.” I lift one hoof up on the box and watch as he gets to work, brushing and polishing with swift skill. I've never had my shoes and hooves shined like this, only at the spa or by myself. I try to ignore my friends looking, and Silver Spoon snickering.

As I set my hoof back down and lift the other one up, I look again at his scarf. “Um, that scarf you're wearing?” It's brown with flower motifs. I can't believe my eyes, but there it is, the scarf from my dream, the scarf that belonged to the filly with the scars and the button eyes.

He lifts a hoof to his neck without losing a beat on his work with the rag, which he holds steadily in the golden glow of his magic. “Aye, what of it?”

“Where did you get it?”

“Got it from an old mare once, for fixin' her shoes.” He lifts my hoof to clean the sole before setting it back down. “She didn't have any money, but this has kept me well and warm out here on the pier ever since, so I consider it well worth it.”

I turn around and lift my hind leg onto the box while biting my lip in secret. “I really like it. Do you think I could buy it from you?”

“You want to buy my old scarf?” The colt looks a bit confused and pauses briefly in his work. He shakes his head slightly and returns to polishing my shoe. “But then I wouldn't have any scarf myself, and it's pretty windy out here.”

“We could … trade?” I suggest and look back over my shoulder at him, lifting up my last hoof for him to shine. “I have several scarves I could give you in return.”

He lifts a hoof to touch the scarf again, his green eyes distant. “I am a bit fond of this one,” he says quietly and looks down at my hoof. “I'm not sure I could part with it. I'm sorry.”

“Not even for a filly like me?” I look him and smile innocently.

“Aw hay,” he says and flashes me a grin as he finishes cleaning the sole of my last hoof and sets it down. “Sure, why not, but only for you, and only if I get a kiss.”

I look around quickly to see if anypony is looking. The others have either boarded the ship or long since lost interest. Cheerilee is busy with Snips and Snails. I smile and turn around, giving the colt a peck on the cheek. “Deal.”

A light blush shines through his coat. “Now I have a memory to go with your scarf,” he says and unties his old one. “I hope you take good care of this.”

I pick it from his outstretched hoof and feel the fabric. It's a good scarf, a little worn and old, but it was clearly made to last. I smile and search through my saddlebag for one that matches it pretty well. I hold up a thick, gray scarf, as well as a single gold bit for the shine. “Will this do?”

He takes them and rubs the scarf with a hoof, then nods and wraps it around himself. “Aye, this'll do.”

“Great! And thanks for the shine,” I say and wave a newly shined hoof. I turn around and see Cheerilee waving at me. “I have to gallop,” I say and run.

“What's your name?” he calls.

“Sweetie Belle!”

“Mellow Trots,” I hear him say as I hurry off. I turn my head and smile at him as I run up the steps to the ship.

* * *

Apple Bloom lets out a long burp as I step on board the ship. “Pardon,” she says and punctuates it with a smaller one. It was a good breakfast. You can always tell by the loudness of Apple Bloom afterwards, and this one was about a seven.

I smile and trot to the front of the ship where I can watch as it slowly leaves the harbor and sets sail for open water. Far across the bay but still out of sight lies Dappleshore, waiting for us. I hold Stitch close and wrap the scarf a little tighter around me as I stare ahead.

Act 2. Hide and Seek

I want you to picture Dappleshore, surrounded by misty marshland and forests, sitting at the southern arm of the Horseshoe Bay. You can reach it by land if you travel through the swamps, but most ponies take the ship from Baltimare. The village is about the size of Ponyville, and the houses are old and made of wood and stone. It's like the buildings resist change, as if looking down a random street takes you right back in time to the founding of the village hundreds of years ago, much older than Ponyville. Rarity calls it quaint and crooked, but I already know I'm going to love it as we step off the small ship and set hoof on the creaky old pier.

“Ugh, this is Dappleshore? It's so …” Diamond Tiara pushes past me, followed by Silver Spoon. “Old and dirty. Watch out where you step, Silver Spoon, we might catch something icky.”

“Ew!” Silver Spoon lifts her hoof and looks concerned at the wooden pier. “Do you think the beds have, like, lice in them or something? Or … or rats!” The two fillies squeal in horror at the suggestion.

I grin as I watch the two of them freak out; it's better than any theater. I love this place even more knowing those two hate it, and that it was Diamond Tiara's own dad who paid most of the trip. Life can be so ironic. I turn to Apple Bloom and Scootaloo coming off the ship. “Isn't this place amazing?” I ask, with exaggerated volume and cheer.

“Yeah!” Scootaloo says and flaps her wings. She's been almost ecstatic at the prospect of finally being able to stretch them freely. “I bet the rats here are the size of dogs! Or ponies!”

Apple Bloom chimes in with an evil smirk, “I hear there are enough lice in the beds to suck you dry overnight.”

“And … and all the water comes straight from the swamp,” I add, getting carried away by the moment. “You need to scrape off the green top layer just to bathe.”

Silver Spoon glares at us. “Oh yeah? I think it sounds like the perfect place for you three, then.”

“It won't be much different from their lives in Ponyville,” Diamond Tiara scoffs.

“Now now, girls, let's be nice.” Cheerilee interrupts the small feud and smiles at us. “After all, we have a whole week to spend together in this beautiful historic village. There are not many places like this left in Equestria, and maybe they will all be gone in another century.”

“More like prehistoric,” Diamond Tiara whispers behind us.

Cheerilee either didn't hear the remark or ignores it as she pulls out her list yet again to make sure everypony is off the ship. We all know the drill by now, and soon we're trotting down the street towards our new home for the week.

* * *

The hotel we're staying at is in the west part of town and overlooks a small plaza with a flower garden. It is the only hotel in Dappleshore, and it's a really charming three-story building of wood and stone. There's a small café right across from it where one can sit outside and watch the flowers and the ponies walking by while enjoying a sandwich and a cup of tea.

My sister stayed here when she was a filly, too, but it's not the same to hear her describe it as it is to actually stand here and look around at the old houses and the ponies trotting about. They aren't like ponies in Ponyville. They seem to have much more time; it's like they are never busy. There are more pegasi than in Ponyville, too, but most of the ponies here are still earth ponies.

Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon quickly seize the “best” room, of course. The rooms we get are all pretty much identical, but they insist theirs is the best, maybe because it faces the plaza. I don't care. There are two beds in each room, but the three of us convinced Cheerilee that we could stay together in one if two of us share a bed, so I now share a bed with Scootaloo.

We're staying in room number seventeen, facing west with a view of the swamps and forests.

I throw my saddlebags on the opposite end of the bed from Scootaloo's and fall down between the two bags, bouncing slightly a few times on the mattress. Scootaloo is off somewhere looking for the restroom. Knowing her as I do, she'll be exploring the building from top to bottom before she finds her way back here.

I glance around the room while Apple Bloom upends her bag on her bed. The room is small and cozy, with warm wooden colors. It has two beds with a nightstand and large trunk each, and a table and chair by the door. All the furniture is wood and looks antique. There's one window, overlooking the town and the forest in the background. A painting hangs over each bed. Mine shows a pony on a pier, and the one over Apple Bloom's bed depicts the moon hanging above the sea and a small ship. There's a vase of fresh flowers on the desk, and each bed is made with clean blankets which smell slightly of perfume.

No lice or rats. It's really a very nice room.

I stretch and look up into the ceiling. There's thick rope all along the edge, in place of panels where walls and ceiling meet. Apple Bloom is industriously sorting all her stuff and putting it in the trunk or on the nightstand. All of mine is still in my saddlebags. All except my new scarf, which I am still wearing. I lift one end of it and dangle it above me, staring at the flower motifs.

“Aren't you going to unpack?” I hear Apple Bloom from the other side of the room.

“Yeah,” I mutter and drop the scarf.

“I like your new scarf,” she says. I imagine she would; it kinda fits her better than it does me. It would probably fit Scootaloo even better.

“The colors don't really fit me, do they?” I search my bag for my hoofheld mirror. I find it and look at myself in its polished surface. The earthy colors do stand out against my white coat and light purple-and-rose mane. My sister would call it a crime against fashion.

“Ah think it looks nice.”

I smile and put the mirror away. I feel the scarf was meant for me, even if it looks all wrong on me. Maybe if I find some more clothes in these colors I can make it work. Do detectives wear scarves? I bet they would wear scarves in these colors if they did. Not with flowers, though.

With my mind abuzz, I begin unpacking.

* * *

“This is the Dappleshore clock tower.” Cheerilee points up at the grand old tower. All our eyes follow her hoof as the minute hand moves with an audible click to six minutes past three. “You can see the tower from all over town. If you ever get lost, simply head for it and it'll be just a brief walk down this road to the hotel.” She turns and points back the way we came. You can easily make out the front of the hotel from here. “You are not allowed to leave the town without me, but you are free to explore within the town during your own time. Just be back at the hotel by the planned times that you have on your lists. Are there any questions?”

A few random questions later, Apple Bloom, Scootaloo and I are galloping down the street in no particular direction and with no real goal in mind. Scootaloo is the fastest, followed closely by Apple Bloom and me. We round a corner, and I nearly collide with Scootaloo while Apple Bloom storms right past. I scramble to stop and end up next to the pegasus.

Scootaloo looks around, then jumps back up and beats her wings with excitement as she turns to me. “I just had a great—” She blinks and looks around as she settles back down onto the road. “Hey, where did Apple Bloom go?”

I point a hoof past her, and Scootaloo turns to look as Apple Bloom comes trotting back towards us. She stops and looks at Scootaloo. “What's going on?”

“I think Scootaloo had an idea,” I say.

We all look at Scootaloo, even Scootaloo. After a confused second or two she flares back into life with a grin. “Yeah, a great idea for how we can explore the city and be like real detectives or something. We split up, see,” she begins explaining. “Then we walk in different directions and one of us tries to hide somewhere in the city. After, um, five minutes or something, the other two must try to find her. The one hiding can move around or stay in one place, but when one pony finds her they must stay together.”

“That sounds like fun!” I look at Scootaloo who's poking her hoof at her nose and looking between me and Apple Bloom with a grin. I blink and quickly lift my own hoof, but too late; Apple Bloom touches her own nose triumphantly.

“Nose goes!” Apple Bloom and Scootaloo cheer at me.

“No fair. I wanted to search. I want to be a detective too,” I pout.

“You can still explore the city,” Apple Bloom says. “You don't have to hide, just try not to be found.”

Scootaloo nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, you could be like a detective trying to solve a mystery while avoiding the bad ponies who are after you.”

That's not such a bad idea. “Ooh, I can do that!”

“Right! Let's go earn our cutie marks!” Scootaloo jumps up and throws one hoof in the air. We all join her, high-hoofing before running off in three different directions.

* * *

The sign here says Pedigree Lane. As I trot along, the houses on each side grow bigger and further apart. If I continue much longer, I'm going to leave town, so I stop and look around. The houses here are old too, like they were built hundreds of years ago and never changed. Some of them look abandoned.

I look up at the one in front of me. The paint is flaking off the old wood, but the garden is neat and well tended. Roses grow on the latticework of the front porch where an elderly stallion is planting new seeds in small pots. I turn and look at the neighboring house, further down the street. The garden is completely overgrown, and the house itself is clearly abandoned.

It looks like an old photograph.

I don't like that house.

The stallion with the roses is looking at me now. I smile at him and he nods, but he doesn't smile and his eyes are suspicious and not kind. I hurry up, cantering back along the street the way I came.

It's been two hours, and I haven't seen my friends yet. I wonder if they've given up as I turn off Pedigree Lane and follow a small alley through a neighborhood of smaller houses. This place looks nicer. The houses are still old, but they don't loom, and they all look inhabited and well kept. I pass a mare with three young ponies in a small playground at the end of the alley. She smiles at me as I pass, and one of the fillies wave.

I smile and wave back.

The alley ends blindly here at the edge of town. It looks like it once continued west towards the forest, but the swamp has long since claimed it. I follow it with my eyes. There's a little house out there in the swamp on the outskirts of the forest. It must have once been sitting at the end of the street, but now it has been cut off. It looks a bit sad, sitting all alone in the marsh and overgrown with green plants and moss on the roof.

“That's the house of the little dead filly.” I look down into a pair of periwinkle eyes hiding behind the naughty grin of a small pegasus filly, younger than myself. I recognize her from the playground a moment ago. “You don't want to go out there,” she says with a playful wink.

“Fern! Don't frighten the nice filly with your stories.” The mother trots across the playground and picks up the young pegasus, who sticks out her little tongue at the mare and giggles. “I'm so sorry, she's just trying to be friendly,” the mother smiles. “Are you new around here?”

I smile too and nod, “I'm here with my school.” I point at the little house in the distance. “Does anypony live in the house out there?”

“The little dead filly lives there.” Fern wriggles her eyebrows at me and stands up on her mother's back with her front hooves on her head.

Another little filly and a smaller colt come running up to us from the playground. “I hear she was a wicked little witch come back from the dead to eat all those who killed her and their families too!” the second filly joins in with gusto. The colt hides behind his mother's leg and looks out at me like I'm the witch.

“Skyline, honestly!” The mother sighs. “It's just an old house. No pony's been living there since the old days 'cause the ground is too soft and the foundation has sunk. That's all.”

“And 'cause everypony who ever stay there go barkin' mad!” Skyline chirps and dances around unevenly, her bright eyes rolling around in her head to demonstrate.

Her mother quickly picks her up. The little filly flails her legs helplessly in her mother's grasp. “No pony is going mad 'round here 'cept me. The house is not haunted and there is no such thing as ghosts or ghouls or evil old witches!”

Fern jumps off the back of her mother and leans close to me, whispering conspiratorially. “I've seen the lights at night. They're real, you know. That's when she's brewing her evil witch brews and poisoning the swamp.”

It's a bit funny to watch their poor mother try to stop the wild stories. Meanwhile their brother hasn't said a word or moved out from behind his mother. “We have talked about this, girls,” she says tiredly. “The lights are just swamp gas, nothing else. Now please calm down.”

Skyline bursts out laughing. “I-it's the w-wicked witch f-farting,” she chortles and struggles with tears in her eyes.

Fern evades her mother and runs in circles around me. “I hear—” the filly whispers, now even lower, as if what she's saying is a huge and terrifying secret “—that Fillystata stitched her together from dead orphan fo—”

“That's enough, Frost Fern!” Their mother stomps the ground, her eyes flashing dangerously. Fern stops in her tracks and looks down at her hooves. “I will not hear that name or any of those awful stories from you, young filly! You and me are going to have a very serious talk once we get back home! Now march to it!” She looks briefly back at me before marching off with the three little ponies. “I'm very sorry. I hope you and your friends have a nice stay here in town.”

I watch them all walk down the street. Skyline looks back at me sadly before they disappear into one of the houses. Once they have gone, I turn around and look at the supposed witch house in the distance. It doesn't look like an evil witch's house. It looks a bit like I think Fluttershy's cottage would look if Fluttershy lived in a swamp, and Fluttershy is no evil witch.

I look back over my shoulder before trotting along the uneven ground towards the house.

* * *

My hooves sink into the soft ground where the road has been flooded. I pull my hoof out of the marsh with a soft gurgling sound and stumble back onto a dry stretch of the path. I look back at the town behind me and hope this doesn't count as leaving it. Turning back around, I look up at the house in front of me.

It's very green, with moss and grass growing all over the roof and ferns and creepers claiming the walls. The whole house has sunk in one side, and the chimney has collapsed. The wood has long since lost all color and the stone become green with age. But all the windows are whole, and if it wasn't because it had sunk, the house looks like it could be made habitable again.

I push through the thicket of ferns to peek through one of the windows into what used to be a kitchen. Pots and pans still hang by the fireplace, though rusted through, and small pots on a table once containing herbs have long since withered and died. Half the floor is flooded.

I trot around the house, stepping carefully around puddles of dark green water. There's an old pile of logs, long rotted, piled up by the crumbled chimney. Elsewhere, an old wooden ladder has fallen over and grown over ages ago. I pause behind the house and gaze up at the trees of the forest. They are only a short walk away, but that would definitely be leaving town, and Cheerilee would be so mad at me if I went in there.

The distant cry of a bird breaks me out of my thoughts, and I look away from the forest. I return to the front porch and gaze up at the windows of the loft. There's a small balcony, but it's all dark inside.

“Sweetie Belle!”

Turning, I spot Apple Bloom waving at me down the road. I wave back and wait for her as she trudges right through puddles and all without stepping off the flooded road at all. I bet this is nothing new when you live on a farm. “Hi, Apple Bloom.”

“Found you,” she says and looks around. “What are we lookin' at here?”

“A house,” I say matter-of-fact. “I heard it's haunted by an evil witch.”

Apple Bloom holds a hoof up to her pursed lips and nods. “A sloppy witch is what it is. This place needs a hoof, or maybe a wreckin' ball.” She looks back at me. “What do you think?”

“I think we should look inside.”

“Aye, for clues!”

I grin and step onto the porch, checking the door. It opens outwards with a creak, causing a minor cascade of dirt, molding wood, and dead beetles from the frame. Brushing aside some creepers and cobwebs, I step through a small entrance hall into the living room, followed by Apple Bloom.

* * *

I look up and turn around, ears perked as I thought I heard something. I scan the small room with bated breath, but see nothing.

It's starting to get a little gloomy outside, but not yet really dark. I can still make out the forest through the window, though not very clearly now. This room has a large bed and a closet with nothing in it. I already checked, but I still eye it nervously. The room has been spared the flooding, but there's not much left from whoever lived here once.

It was probably just Apple Bloom in the other room who made the noise. I turn back to look under the bed, but it's not long before I hear another creak. I look at the door to the hall and stand up slowly. “Apple Bloom?”

The hall is empty as I peek around the corner of the door. Another creaking sound, now clearly above me, makes me look up at the ceiling. “Apple Bloom?” I call again, my voice subdued.

Apple Bloom trots in from the living room, brandishing a rusty old fire shovel from the fireplace in her teeth. She looks around before settling her eyes on me. “What?” she says.

“You said the door to the second floor was locked, right?” I look across the hall to the stairs leading up.

“Yeah, what of it?”

We both gaze towards the stairs at the end of the hall as one of the steps creak and a cold gust of wind blows through the hall. A chill runs down my back at a sudden voice.

“Whoooooooo—”

I feel cold and can't move. Somewhere, in another world, I hear Apple Bloom scream and drop the fire shovel, which clatters against the floor.

“—'s got my rusty horseshoe!” An orange blur rushes down the stairs and lands in the hallway, wide grin facing us and wings beating the cold air. “You do!” Scootaloo burst out laughing.

I breathe out and glare at her. “That's not funny, Scootaloo!”

“Yeah!” Apple Bloom chimes in and picks up the shovel, cheeks flushed. “You really scared us.”

“You should have seen your faces.” Scootaloo wipes a tear from her eyes. “Aw, come on, you have any idea how hard it was to find you two out here? I've been trotting around for hours; I even went back to the hotel because I thought you might have given up. I'm lucky I met somepony who saw you, Sweetie Belle.” She holds out a little box for us. “Want some chocolates? I found this really sweet shop. It had a huge chocolate Celestia in the window, and they made me these awesome chocolate scooters!”

I look in the box and pick up a small round chocolate with a scooter engraved on top. The wheels are little red crystals of sugar. “Wow, that's sweet.” I stuff it in my mouth and let it melt on my tongue. “Sorry about leaving you.”

Apple Bloom picks up a chocolate too and bites it in half. Red sticky stuff flows out; she quickly licks it off her hoof, grinning. I bet it's cherries; Scootaloo loves cherries.

“So what's up with this place?” Scootaloo asks as she closes the box.

“Just an old house,” Apple Bloom says and gobbles down the last half of her chocolate.

“I heard it's haunted by an evil witch, but it doesn't look like a witch's house,” I say. “How did you get up there anyway? Apple Bloom said the door was locked.”

Scootaloo grins. “I climbed in through a window, what else?”

Apple Bloom trots past Scootaloo and looks up the stairs. “So what's up there?”

“I don't know.” Scootaloo shrugs. “Rooms? I didn't look around.”

“Let's check it out then,” Apple Bloom says and begins climbing the old stairs.

Scootaloo and I follow as Apple Bloom pushes the door to the loft open. She steps inside and sneezes at a small cloud of dust. The room is full of it, as well as dense cobwebs. Everything has been covered in white sheets, which are now rather gray with age. There's a door at the other end of the room, and a pair of windows near the stairs.

I trot past my friends to a table covered in sheets. The floor creaks as I stop and reach out to touch the fabric. I wonder what things have been stored up here and how long. What stories are stowed away under blankets and decay in this old loft?

“Sweetie Belle …”

Something hits the floor as I pull my hoof away and freeze in place. I turn slowly to the closed door. I don't need to ask, the looks on my friends' faces tell me they heard it too. I really wish they hadn't.

“W-was that you?” Scootaloo asks, eyes wide as she looks at me.

I shake my head stiffly. But it sounded like me, and it came from the other room. There was no doubt.

“P-probably just the wind,” Apple Bloom says. We all glance at the windows. One of them is still open from Scootaloo's entrance earlier. None of us believe it.

Scootaloo backs away slowly towards to the stairs. “Yeah, o-or somepony playing a trick on us.”

Apple Bloom looks uncertainly around the room.

“Sweetie Belle … in here.”

I stare at the door, and ice fills my veins as a green light seeps out under the door.

“L-let's get out of here!” Scootaloo stammers. Apple Bloom is already halfway down the stairs.

I stare at the door as both of them scramble to get out. I swear it's moving. Part of me wants to open it and find the filly who knows my name and speaks in my voice. I want to help her, but I don't know why. And I'm also screaming at myself to run.

“Sweetie Belle!”

Scootaloo's voice pulls me back into reality, and before I know it we're racing down the stairs, stumbling wildly through the living room and out through the front door which clatters loudly behind us.

“Come on!”

I stumble over the porch and gallop down the road, led by Scootaloo and Apple Bloom. As we race down the overgrown and flooded path, I glance back at the house in the dimming light of early dusk. It looks sad and abandoned, and all the windows are dark.

* * *

“Maybe somepony lives there?”

“In that old dump?”

“The loft wasn't too bad, and … and maybe they're poor.”

“And how did they sound like Sweetie Belle, then? Or know her name?”

“Maybe it was a prank, then? Like you said.”

“If it was, they sure made us look stupid. And if it was anypony we know, they'd be laughing themselves silly at us right now.”

“I don't know. But what I do know is that I am plum tuckered.”

“Yeah, me too. I don't think I've slept at all since we left Ponyville.”

“Wow, that's a long time. Goodnight, Scootaloo.”

“Goodnight, Apple Bloom.”

“Goodnight, Sweetie Belle. Goodnight Stitch.”

I mutter something. I haven't really been listening.

I'm standing by the window of the hotel room. I can see the dark outline of the forest from here, and the small house at its edge is barely visible. A tiny green light flickers in one of the upper windows. I stare transfixed at it as it moves from the loft and appears a little later in the living room, then out on the porch. It drifts slowly towards the woods.

I watch it until it has faded entirely among the trees.

“Sweetie Belle?” Scootaloo yawns.

I stand for a little longer before turning around with a sigh. I crawl in next to her and wrap the blanket around myself tightly. “Goodnight, Scootaloo,” I mutter and close my eyes.

“Goodnight, Sweetie Belle.”

Scootaloo is fast asleep.

An hour later I'm still staring at the window.

Act 3. The Forest Whispers Her Name

She haunts me in my dreams, and every night I wake up sobbing and breathless to find that my dreams are but a shadow to my waking nightmare, a brief reprieve from the Tartarus of my days. Even the darkest recesses of my mind could never manage or imitate a face as twisted and demonic as the crooked little smile she wears for me.

It says, “I know.”

*

“Equisetum Trinervata Nigra, the black-veined horsetail. It only grows in the forest and is easily recognized by its three black veins. Mrs. Creek will be impressed if you write about it.”

I look at the book she's holding up. “That's the most poisonous one?”

“Around here? Yes. Even small amounts will kill a pony, but you'd never mistake the—”

“I have to hurry back. Mom's waiting for me.” I almost forget but turn around to grab the book before galloping out the door. “Thanks!”

*

The diary sits on her table, in plain sight of the door. It is the first thing I see, and she knows. It's why she put it there.

She just nods at a bit of open floor, expressing her intent without a word. I stop there and stand, like a marionette following her silent will. I immediately feel the walls closing in around me as she shuts the door, and I breathe a little faster.

“I-I don't like this,” I say and try to look around at her.

“Don't worry,” are her words, but her smile says, “I know.” With another nod she makes me look straight ahead again. I don't know how she has such power over me. Is it magic? I don't see her horn glowing, but maybe they don't have to do that.

Her room is small and cluttered with dresses and pieces of fabric. I recognize some of the dresses because she often wears them to school. There's an old loom by the window, and her table holds many needles and other tools for sewing and stitching. Her bed and a small bookcase take up the rest of the limited space, leaving barely room on the floor for one pony and certainly not for two.

I startle as she brushes past me to pull the curtains, leaving only a narrow strip of light to fall across the floor. The way she moves draws my eye to her tail and her cutie mark; a black spider in its web. Her lavender coat and dark blue mane and tail with the violet and rosy streaks … I blink and look up into her violet eyes as she turns with a smile; that smile, telling me that she knew where I had my eyes.

“I-I'm sorry!” I blurt out. “I didn't mean any of those things. P-please, I'm really sorry!”

“I know,” she says from where she stands, and the faint light of the window falls across one half of her face. She smiles placidly. “That's all in the past; don't worry about it. I forgive you.”

My eyes drift to the diary sitting on the table next to her, and the needles and tools surrounding it. My mouth feels dry and has a bad taste. “W-what do you want with me?”

“Shh …” A pale indigo light surrounds her horn and drifts across the table, searching out something. She lifts a piece of measuring tape off the table and trots towards me. “Just trust me.”

I feel utterly paralyzed as she stops right in front of me, our eyes fixed for a second. She smiles as she picks up the measuring tape and wraps it around the base of my neck. She casually looks down to take note of the measure.

I sink and close my eyes, but that only makes the tightness in my chest worse. I fear I can't breathe. “I-I really don't like this …” I whisper and feel her hooves touch my coat as she adjusts the tape. “P-please, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!”

She's not using her magic to hold the tape. Her hooves and warm muzzle brush against my neck and along my body as she takes my measures in silence. I feel her entire body lean against me as she walks around me in the small room. I open my eyes and stare straight ahead as the tape snakes around my hip and under my body. Her breath touches the soft skin of my belly while she reads the number, and for a second her lips touch my nipples as she picks up the tape again.

She's behind me now, nudging for me to spread my hind legs. Again I dare not do anything but silently comply. A hoof brushes aside my tail, and she's got her muzzle between my legs, measuring stifle and gaskin. I weep and try to think of something else, anything but her warm breath and tickling mane between my legs.

*

I watch her sitting by her table, skillfully cutting and sewing the fabric. I've been standing for what feels like hours, shut in this tiny room with her, trying not to cry. My legs hurt, but I dare not move or sit down. I dare not say anything. Every time I think of flight, my eyes fall on the diary like it knows my every thought and wants to keep me.

She stands up and drapes the cloth around my shoulders, her face set in concentration as she adjusts the fabric to fit. She's very gentle, but it doesn't feel right. She lifts my wing carefully with a hoof to fit the dress with her teeth. She still doesn't use her magic.

I wish I could fly, away from here and away from her.

I only hope she will let me go soon … maybe if I play nice and do everything she says, maybe if I thank her for the dress, maybe then she will let me go home.

She steps back and takes a look at me. She looks happy, so maybe she will let me go now. I dare to look down at myself, at the dress she has made for me. It is a nice dress, and it fits me perfectly. The fabric is light, and the white and pale yellow colors suit me well.

I look up and try to smile at her. I really try. “T-thank you. It's very lovely,” I say and pray to Celestia that she accepts the gratitude.

Her smile is warm, like a friend's. And it seems genuine. “It is yours. I want you to wear it.”

I smile and nod. I just want out.

Her smile twists a little and I feel my heart sink again. “I really hope you like it,” she says and walks closer, reaching a hoof out to touch my cheek. “I want to show you how much I adore you.” I hold back a sob as she caresses my cheek. “I want you to know that you are beautiful.” Sincerity fills her voice as she looks into my eyes. “Even if you've said and done some nasty things to me, I have never felt this way about another pony.”

She closes her eyes and her lips touch mine. It is brief, completely confident but still a little fumbling. She's never tried this before, I can tell. I stand frozen and simply take it as my hope dwindles into nothingness. She opens her eyes again and looks at me.

“I love you,” she says, and I know she means it.

I don't know what to say. What does she expect? I just stand there, lost and alone, hoping she will let me go. She's looking at me, waiting for me to speak. I know what she wants me to say, and I can’t say it. I used to dream of her, but this isn’t how I thought it would be.

I hate her, and it hurts so much.

“P-please, I just want to go home,” I manage as I look down.

Her smile falls and a fire lights in her eyes. I veer away as she trots past me. Before I can react she spins around and pushes me.

I cry out as I fall onto her bed and try to get back up, but she's on top of me in an instant, pressing me down and holding a hoof against my mouth. “Not a sound!” she whispers, the warning obvious in her voice. I sob and struggle to breathe as the whole weight of her body presses me down into the mattress.

The room falls silent as she waits, listening for hoofsteps outside. After a minute she speaks again, her voice low and sinister. “I'll tell you how this is going to work.” Her face is close to mine and I can't look away. “I want you. I want you to be mine. I want to play with you and be your friend, and I want you to love me too.”

She straddles my body and pushes me down harder, forcing my head up to see where the diary sits on her table. “And you will, because I know all your little secrets! So let's try it out.” Her horn glows and a piece of fabric floats towards us. I shake my head and cry as she folds it up into a long strip.

She leans down and whispers in my ear. “I know all your worst fears too. Oh yes, I know how the darkness makes you feel. Make any noise now, and I'll make sure your parents are first to read your diary. Imagine what they'll be thinking as they do so.” She lets go of my mouth and I gasp for air. “What do you fear more?”

“Please! I don't want to! Anything, just don't—” I cry and choke as she wraps the cloth around my eyes. I try to close my eyes to the darkness, but it never helps. My chest heaves as I try to breathe in the cloying dark, feeling it closing in and drowning me. I try to break free but she's holding me down, pressing her body against mine. “Please!” I beg through tears and choking sobs.

“Not a sound!”

My heart is racing; I can't breathe!

I'm going to die!

I don't want to die!

“You're so beautiful when you cry,” her voice whispers next to me in the terrible darkness. “I love you, Daffodil. You have no idea how you drive me insane.”

“I want to hear that you love me too.”

*

I hate her!

I hate her!

I just want her to die!

A branch snaps as I stumble through the dark forest, feeling the trees looming around me and the darkness closing in on me. But I have to carry on!

I want her to die! I want it all to end …

*

She sets her cup down on the table and smiles. It's her second cup.

My first cup is still full. I keep staring at the clock and feel nothing but cold. I couldn't have been mistaken about the plant, and there's no way anypony could survive that much. She should be dead. How isn't she dead?

She just smiles at me and pours another cup. All I can see is that twisted little smile of pure demonic innocence.

She knows! Celestia save me, she knows I poisoned the tea!

* * *

I can't move, and I can't breathe! It's all dark and there's no room!

H-help! I-I can't breathe in here!

She's here, smiling next to me! And I …

I want to live! I want to … Oh please …

“Let me out!”

I scream, sobbing wildly, and sit up with a sudden start, flailing at the air as I try to …

… breathe …

I sit in the dark as still as I can. I dare not look around or close my eyes. It was just a dream, just … a dream, but it felt so real, like it really happened to me. I turn my head stiffly and watch Apple Bloom across the room, hugging Stitch in her sleep. I miss my doll. I've never wanted to hug her like I do right now. I don't want to go back to sleep, not alone.

I sniff and look down. Scootaloo is still sleeping. I untangle a shaking hoof from my blanket and rub her shoulder. “Scootaloo,” I whisper, my voice trembling.

“Wha—” Scootaloo mumbles in her sleep and opens her eyes blearily. “Sweetie? What are you …” She rubs her eyes and sits up slightly. Her face quickly turns to concern. “Whoa, what's wrong? You're shaking all over!”

I simply reach out to hug her. She quickly and freely returns the gesture. I'm so happy to have her as a friend. I know she can be a little shy about affection in public, but when I really need it she's always there, giving of herself without reservations. And right now there's nothing I need more.

She holds me tight. I can feel her worry. “Wanna talk about it?” she asks uncertainly after a while.

I vaguely shake my head with my face buried in her short mane. “Do you … I mean, would you mind holding me while I sleep?” I feel a bit timid and self-conscious voicing the question, but it helps a little to ask. It's hard to blush and be afraid at the same time. “I don't want to go back to sleep alone,” I add so quietly I wonder if she heard it.

Scootaloo is silent for a few uncomfortable seconds. “Um … sure,” she says, and I feel her relax and brighten up a little. “I'll keep the bad dreams away from you. Maybe I'll get my cutie mark in fighting off evil nightmares and bogey mares,” she teases me lightly. “I bet that would look awesome, don't you?” She waves a hoof in a sweeping gesture at something behind me. “Like, maybe a shield and sword on a starry background or something wicked cool like that.”

I smile a little at her. “You're a great friend, Scoots. Thank you so much.”

“Hey, it's cool.” She stifles a yawn. “Lady Scootaloo, Knight of the, um, Lunar something, at your service tonight.” She groans a little. “That probably could use some work.”

I chuckle and lie down, snuggling up next to her. Scootaloo watches me for a moment, then settles down as well and rests a wing on my shoulder. I sigh and bury myself under her protective wing where it's warm and safe.

* * *

“That ship ain't never gonna sail,” Apple Bloom proclaims, tapping her cheek and pouting critically at the vessel in question. “Anypony would tell you that.”

I turn my head to take in the old thing as we trot by. It's more like a boat, really, because it doesn't have sails and doesn't look like it ever had … though it's kinda hard to say. It's so old and weathered that the wood looks more rotten and full of holes than some of the cheeses my dad eats. It's kinda long, and sitting on display in the middle of the entrance hall of the museum.

Scootaloo gives it a critical look. “Did it ever sail?”

“It certainly did, young filly. Four thousand years ago.”

Scootaloo jumps and spins around to look up at the earth pony stallion who had spoken. “Whoa! Where did you come from?”

I don't think any of us saw him arrive.

“Sorry ‘bout that, everypony always says I sneak up on them,” he says with a smile. He's pretty small for a stallion. “My name is Little Peat, and I work here at the museum.”

Cheerilee comes trotting back from the reception. “Mister Peat has been kind enough show us around and tell us all about the many things in the museum,” she explains brightly.

“Indeed, it's my pleasure to do so,” he says and gestures at the ship. “For example, the ship that you are looking at here is one of the oldest surviving vessels from the pre-Equestrian era. It was built by earth pony tribes who lived in these parts long before the official founding of Equestria. They were skilled sailors who traded frequently with the sea pony tribes off the coast. The marshes around here hold many riches such as this, most of which remain to be discovered.”

“I hear you have a real dead sea pony,” the excitable Snips pipes up.

“Ew, don't tell me we have to see that,” Diamond Tiara complains, looking pleadingly at Cheerilee. I wish Diamond Tiara's reaction would make me feel better myself, but I'm not feeling much enthusiasm for this whole trip.

Peat chuckles. “I'm surprised that's all you've heard,” he says and begins trotting across the room. Everypony follows behind him. “Many things end up lost in the swamps, and we do indeed have some remains of ponies and other creatures on display, including a very old and remarkably well-preserved sea pony.”

“I-I hear the museum is haunted.” Twist looks around anxiously, even though it's bright day. “By the dead ponies you store in the basement.”

“Aha, so you have heard the stories,” Peat laughs. “I'll tell you true, Miss, if you listen to all the tales around here, then soon enough every house in town is haunted by at least two different ghosts or ghouls.” He stops in front of a display showing a collection of stone tools. “I've worked at this museum for five years, often at night, and I haven't seen a single one of our inhabitants get up and walk around.”

“Remember, children, that you should never believe everything you hear,” Cheerilee provides with her usual sunny smile as she ushers everypony towards the display. “Especially those things said around campfires or at slumber parties when all the light is out.”

“You should definitely listen to your teacher, though,” Peat agrees. “A skeleton or dead body may look scary, but it's no different from a piece of wood or sack of oats. You can be absolutely certain it won't ever get up and walk around. Stories may be amusing and interesting, but it's facts that matter. Now, for example, these tools you can see here …”

I gaze blankly at the display case. Some of the objects behind the glass look like crude needles or stitching awls. Some of them look like they're made from bones, others are stone. They remind me of a table lined with needles of many sizes, just like this, in a small room in which she worked …

Maybe bodies don't get up and walk around, but I know I've seen a ghost. And the ponies in my dreams, they're real too. I'm sure of it, as sure as I am that I can not leave them.

Who were they? What happened?

The others have moved on. I wander slowly after them, gazing vaguely at the displays. Peat is saying something distant and unimportant. I'm thinking of the forest and three young fillies. The unicorn with the button eyes; the white, yellow-maned pegasus … and the one who looked like Twilight Sparkle.

A sudden tightness grips my heart. I find it hard to breathe again. I feel like crying, and shouting. “I hate her … I wish she would die!”

“Whoa! T-that's not okay, Sweetie Belle. That's way too far.”

I hadn't noticed Scootaloo was talking to me. She's looking at me with shock and worry. I am shocked myself, and I don't know what to say. “S-sorry,” I stammer. “I was thinking of my dream last night.”

“Oh.” Scootaloo takes a step closer. “Still don't want to talk about it?”

I shake my head and try to erase the images and thoughts of a moment ago. Scootaloo is about to say something else but is interrupted by Cheerilee calling for us. Looks like everypony has moved on again. I follow behind Scootaloo, but I can't shake off the dreams, or the little house at the edge of the forest.

* * *

The others are gathering around the dead sea pony, gasping and oohing in equal measure at the sight. They all want to see it after all, but I am still staring at the sad remains of a unicorn, arranged in a glass case. The sign on the wall says it's the remains of a young mare who was found drowned in the swamp. She had been dead for a long time and was never identified.

Peat said there are many like her, still out there, and that's why you should always stay on the paths and never go without somepony who knows the swamps.

The others are slowly moving on now; I guess the tour is almost done. I stare at the hollow eyes of the skull one last time and wonder what they once saw.

* * *

“This here fabric seems nice, don't you think?”

I turn my head to look at what Apple Bloom is holding up. It's a dark auburn piece of cloth. She's rubbing it gently between her hooves. I shake my head and turn back to my own search. “It's too thin and soft, and the color is wrong,” I mutter as my gaze drifts across the room.

“Oh.” Apple Bloom sounds a little disappointed as she puts it back down where she found it. “Uh, what does a deerthingy even look like?”

“Deerstalker,” I correct her as my eyes find the rows of dolls and plush animals lined up on shelves in view of the window. They are the only thing in the shop which are lit up, everything else is murky. No doubt they attract more customers than the plain fabric and woolly sweaters filling almost every square inch of space in the room. “You know what twill is?”

I think I hear a muffled “No” somewhere among the shelves and tables of fabric. Apple Bloom pokes her head out from under a stack of carpets. “That's a silly name. Who would stalk a deer, and why would they need a hat for it? Why not just talk to the deer?”

I should get her a doll of her own. I miss my Stitch at night. All the dolls here are strange, though. Most other dolls are ponies or teddy bears. I see one or two of those, there's also a dragon which looks kinda like a deep-red Spike, but most are strange chimeras or fantastical creatures. There's even a big black spider with a mustache, which doesn't look so scary to me. They all look like somepony was stitching something they'd seen in a dream.

“Hey,” Apple Bloom says, undeterred by my lack of response. “Why don't we just ask the owner?”

I turn to look at the old unicorn slumbering away in the corner, slouched back in her rocking chair with a thick blanket over her and a ball of yarn in her lap. She has been rocking back and forth in her sleep the whole time we've been here.

Perhaps the dolls were stitched from a dream.

“I think we should just—” I begin, too slowly.

“Excuse me, ma'am? Ma'am?” Apple Bloom is practically standing on the old pony's chest, speaking loudly into her face. I decide that Apple Bloom has experience with elderly ponies and how to wake them, so I leave it to her.

I trot up to the shelves of stuffed and stitched creatures and pick up a lone pony, stuck between two dream monsters. It's soft and cuddly, and entirely non-threatening.

“Wha—huh?” Behind me, the elderly pony has awoken. “Oh hello there, youngins. Interested in the dolls, eh?”

I turn the stuffed pony in my hooves. Its coat is colored a burnt orange, and it has a dark violet mane. I hug it and feel a little warmer, as if I was hugging a real pony.

The old pony's chair creaks as she gets up. “It's a fine doll, ain't it?” She seems eager to chat now that she's awake. I'm not really paying that much attention. “Did you know many of them were designed by my sister's own youngins? About your age, too. She says I shouldn't encourage them, but I always say there's nothing wrong with youthful imagination.”

I smile and nuzzle the pony before putting it back on the shelf among its weird friends. I look at it before turning back to the old pony and Apple Bloom. “Actually, we're just looking for twill, or something similar for making hats. Do you have any that we could buy?”

Something lights up in the old pony's eyes, and her wrinkled face softens into a warm smile under the graying, once vividly red mane.

Half an hour and several stories later, I close the door behind Apple Bloom and trot down the street next to her. Pieces of twill are draped across her back, ready to be turned into hats for all three of us.

I look up at the clock tower. “I wonder if Scootaloo is back at the hotel by now …”

* * *

I turn the unfinished hat around in my hooves and blink my eyes tiredly. Outside the moon hides behind a cloud drifting in from the sea. I look up at my weary face in the glass of the window, a pale and tired white against the dark city and the black silhouette of the forest in the background.

The quiet click of the bathroom door opening and closing wakes me from my thoughts. Apple Bloom steps into the room, rubbing her mane with a thick towel. “How's it goin' with the hats?”

I hold up the hat I've been working on for the last hour, probably. “Slow but steady,” I say and attempt to muster a reassuring grin. It's not such a bad hat … really. “What do you think?”

Apple Bloom scrunches her face at the hat and turns to Scootaloo on our shared bed. “It needs a bit more work, I think. What do you say, Scoots?”

Scootaloo mutters something incomprehensible and turns around, letting out a snore. The comic she's been reading is left stuck to her cheek for a second before falling back down beside her. I hold the unfinished hat up to cover a grin, while Apple Bloom snickers. “I concur, Scoots. I'm plum tuckered too,” she says and crawls into her own bed.

I sigh and return to making a few more stitches, trying to not get distracted by the forest in the distance. I can't make out the little house by the forest in this light, but perhaps I should move away from the window altogether so I can maybe stop staring at it.

“Aren't you going to sleep, too?” Apple Bloom asks and yawns as she reaches over to turn off the light.

As the room goes dark, the world outside seems to light up, and all hope of ignoring it is gone. “I want to finish this hat first,” I say as I wait for my eyes to adjust to the change. “Shouldn't be long.”

“Alright.” Apple Bloom nods and rests her head on her pillow. “Goodnight, Sweetie Belle,” she says and pulls Stitch close to her under the blanket.

“Goodnight, Apple Bloom,” I say and watch her. She's soon asleep.

I turn back to the window and my idle work. “Ouch!” I catch myself in cursing to not wake the others, and hold up my hoof. Dumb needles. I sigh and suck on the wound as I gaze at the dark house in the distance.

There's a faint light in one of the windows now that wasn't there before.

I narrow my eyes, staring fixedly at the light as it flickers off. A moment later it's moving around the house, across the marsh towards the forest. I quietly drop the hat and needle and drop off the window sill, biting my lip as I watch my two friends sleeping.

After a moment, I grab my scarf and wrap it around myself. The door closes silently behind me as I sneak across the hall in the dark, looking over my shoulder to make sure no pony sees me.

* * *

White clouds drift from my muzzle as I trot past the house, glancing at the dark windows. I can't look away, but nothing moves or appears behind the ancient panes of glass. I pick up my pace, and soon the house disappears behind me, hidden by the trees.

I slow down and hold my breath as I look around. It's utterly silent, not a branch is moving. I can even hear my heart beating. I wrap the scarf around my muzzle, as if I could hide myself behind it and walk unseen in the shadows of the forest. I let out a little breath through the soft fabric and continue on.

A green light flickers among the thickets of old branches. I stop to watch it for a moment before changing direction, following an old river bed. I don't know where I'm going or why, I only know I have to follow her …

The light flickers in and out among the trees. I crawl up a little bank of dirt and push through a dense thicket of old leaves and branches. A path, long since overgrown, winds through the forest. It bends around a huge rotten tree stump not far up ahead. I know that tree stump, and I know this path … I've walked it before in a dream.

I climb my way onto the path and trot around the tree stump. I pick up my pace, breathing into my scarf. There is no light now, but I don't need it to find my way. I know the way clear as day.

The forest is exactly like I remember it from the dream, with tangled old branches and still as the grave. And then I see it, the crumbling stone sitting under the leaning old tree. I slow down and walk the last few steps before coming to a halt in front of the grave. The stone is older now, overgrown by moss and grime. How long has it been here, forgotten by all alive?

I kneel down in front of the grave and reach out to brush off the moss. My hoof rests on the words as I stare at them. “Daffodil Dreams.”

I sit down before the grave, feeling so bitter cold and alone. A deep sadness which isn't mine alone fills my heart, and I cry as I close my eyes. I don't know how much time passes before I feel her by my side, here under the old tree.

“I wish … she would dream again. Will you let her dream again? Sweetie Belle …”

A branch snaps somewhere behind us. I look up, and she's gone again. The grave lies before me, old and forgotten, but the sadness is gone now too. I stand up and rub my eyes as I turn around. Did I sleep? Another snap of a branch brings me out of it. I back up against the leaning tree and look around.

“S-Sweetie Belle?” A frightened whisper echoes from the forest.

I step out from under the tree and try to find her. “Scootaloo?” I spot a bit of orange in the dark and hurry towards her. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing out here?!” She looks around at the trees and the shadowy branches, rambling nervously. “I don't like this, Sweetie Belle, we're not supposed to be out here. I heard you leave and tried to follow. I think I would have been lost if not for your hoof prints in the mud. Are you alright?”

I don't really know. I don't know why I went out here. I just know I'm glad to see her, so I give her a hug. “I'm sorry. Let's go back … I think I can still find the way.”

She returns the hug and sniffs. “Yeah … I really want to be back in my bed.”

I let go of her and cast a last glance back at the lonely grave before following her back along the overgrown path through the forest. For a brief second I think I catch a flicker of green and the ghost of a young pony sitting under the tree.

* * *

We pass by the old house on our way back. The windows are still dark, and nothing moves there. My eyes linger on it until it is just an outline behind us. I lower my gaze sadly, walking a bit behind Scootaloo.

We haven't gone far before a voice pipes up.

“There they are, Miss Cheerilee! I told you they were out walking in the forest.”

I look up at the evil little faces of Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon, radiating fake innocence next to Cheerilee. Silver Spoon shoots me a wicked look, clearly miming the spiteful words, “You two are in so much trouble now.”

Act 4. In Memoriam Mandragora

“My Dearest Diary,

“Today we discovered that Scootaloo was right; there are rats the size of ponies in this town. The size of two mean little fillies, to be exact. Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon ratted us out, like the sniveling little vermin they are. Cheerilee was furious at us for sneaking out of town at night, and now Scoots and I have to spend all day in our hotel room 'to think about what we did' while the others have fun.

“It's so unfair! Apple Bloom promised to bring us back something nice when she gets back tonight, but it's just not the same.

“Anyway, more importantly, have I ever told you that Scootaloo has a really hot flank?”

I stop writing and look at the last sentence. I can't believe I just wrote that. I glance up and sneak another peek at my friend in the window. She's standing with her back to me, hooves in the windowsill, while staring out at the city. I can't blame her that she looks bored out of her mind. Her tail flicks idly now and then, which I think is utterly adorable. I stifle a giggle and swiftly look down as she turns her head and gives me a questioning look.

“What?”

“Just, um, thinking of a really funny rhyme,” I say evasively and try to suppress the blush on my cheeks. I hope she's not going to ask to hear it, because the only rhymes in my head right now are ones that sound like 'flank'.

I needn't worry, of course. It's a rare day when Scootaloo is interested in wordplays. “Oh,” she merely says and turns back to the window. But I can forgive her that failing, because …

“Well, she does. I wish I had that sort of body, but I'm all flat and shapeless. Scootaloo is perfect balance and grace, with the most adorable tail and shapely rear, and her smile is to die for with those little dimples and the way her eyes seem to sparkle. She is so adorable and pretty.” I continue my thoughts on paper and glance up at the subject of my attention and affection. I hold a hoof up to cover my smile as I let the little book know my biggest secret. “I can’t deny it; I'm falling for Scootaloo.”

“She's always been my best friend, even before we met Apple Bloom. She's always there for me, and I just feel safe when she's there. I feel like I could tell her anything, and she'd understand. In her warm embrace at night I feel like I belong. Is it wrong that I look at her like this without her knowing? I think it is, but I'm not sure how to tell her. I hope she feels something too, when I am in her hooves or when she looks at me. Does she look at me too, like I look at her? Does she think I'm pretty?”

With a sigh, Scootaloo pulls me out of my thoughts. I glance up from my writing as the pegasus drops down on her pretty haunches. “I'm bored,” she complains to her own little world at large and stretches her limbs tiredly.

I watch in fascination as she ruffles her wing with her muzzle and takes a single long feather in her mouth, dragging it slowly between her teeth. She looks like she could do it in her sleep. I've seen Scootaloo preen her feathers before when we've spent nights together—at sleepovers and school trips—but I haven't watched many other pegasi doing it.

I watch her pick out another feather with practiced skill, and I realize my mouth is hanging open. Before I know it I'm blurting out my thoughts. “I'd love to try that, if you want.” I clap my hooves over my mouth in astonished horror at myself.

Scootaloo lets go of the feather she was grasping in her teeth and gives me a curious glance. “What, seriously?” She looks between me and her wing as if wondering why I'd want to do that.

“Um, if you want, that is,” I repeat. I relax a little and tell myself that Scootaloo is pretty cool and will probably not mind. “I've never tried it, but I think they offer it at the spa back in Ponyville.” I close my diary and jump off the bed. “Like, um, a hooficure for your wings.”

“So, you're saying you could get, like a cutie mark for preening?” Scootaloo looks back at the window and scooches over to give me room. “I've been preening my wings all my life, I'm pretty good at it, but I don't have a wing or anything on my flank.”

I giggle and sit down behind her with my hooves on either side of her, in easy reach of her wings. “I think you'd have to preen other ponies' wings to get one like that,” I explain and lift her right wing. The feathers are so amazingly soft, they're like silk or something against my hoof. “And maybe do other things too, like massaging and such.”

Scootaloo turns her head uncertainly at me. “You're not going to do that too, are you?”

“I could if you like me to!” I say excitedly and pick out a feather, gingerly holding it in my teeth.

“Nah,” she says and looks down at the wing I'm grasping. “Don't bite the feather, and don't pull. Yeah, like that.” She looks back out the window. “Just let them glide slowly between your teeth and lips.”

I glance up at her with one of her feathers in my mouth. “Mhmm.” I'm getting the hang of this, I think. It's not all that difficult, and it's kinda neat. I like being close to her like this and just relaxing together. I wonder if she likes it too. I let go of the feather and look up at her as I pick out the next one. “What do you think?”

She shrugs a little, but it looks more like a reflex. I think she really likes it. “It's kinda nice,” she admits. She's silent for a time before letting out a little sigh again to break the silence and boredom. “I wish we could be outside with the others. It's so boring sitting inside all day.” She looks down. “Stupid Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon.”

I let go of the first wing and wrap my hooves around her waist and pull her back into a friendly hug. I just want her to feel better, and she's just so cuddly and warm. “We could play a game,” I suggest.

Scootaloo groans a little at the hug but doesn't protest too much. I know she likes it and just doesn't want to show it all the time. “What kind of game?”

“What about …” I let go and lift her second wing, considering all the games I know. Many of them require more than two players, or can't really be played indoors very well. “Um … Truth or Dare?”

“Oh, um …” Scootaloo taps her chin and looks up. “Dare me.”

She always picks dare if she has the chance. Apple Bloom almost always picks the opposite of what she last picked. They are both very predictable. I continue the slow preening as I think of a good dare. “I dare you to … open that window up wide, then dance and sing a silly song about lickin' a chicken. And you have to sing it really loud so everypony outside can hear it.” I finish the second wing and brush my hooves through its soft feathers.

“Oh, it's chicken season again, is it?” Scootaloo turns her head and sticks out her tongue at me. “Okay, watch me!” She jumps up and throws the window wide open before jumping onto the windowsill. I can't help but giggle as she begins to dance and sing, strutting around in the window and shaking her wings and tail like some kind of freaky chicken.

Heeeere chick chick chick,
she likes 'em chicks, gives 'em a quick lick
Or long and slick. Yeah, lickin' that chicken
Is just what Sweetie Belle does. It's pretty sick,
Lickin' a chicken, a frickin' chicken.
You better Belle'eive, I ain't kiddin',
When I say she licks 'em chicks right clean.
Day'n night, it's the grossest thing I ever seen!
B-bwraaaack!

She does a little pirouette in the window and bows at me with a flourish and a grin. Her poetry skills are atrocious, and her singing skills even worse, but her moves are so graceful and … sexy, even when she's being silly. I clap my hooves and stick out my tongue at her. “So funny.”

Scootaloo jumps off the window, bows again, and plops back down on her haunches. “You should learn to be more specific,” she grins and gives my nose a bop. “Now it's your turn. Truth … or Dare?” she asks dramatically, staring into my eyes.

“Truth,” I say and stare right back into her piercing eyes of purple.

“Tell me truthfully …” Scootaloo begins, dragging out the question dramatically while maintaining eye contact. “What was the last embarrassing secret you wrote in your diary?”

I stare at her widening grin and feel a bright blush come to my cheeks. She can't possibly have seen what I wrote, could she? I glance at the window and wonder if maybe the glass worked like a mirror. Or maybe she noticed me looking at her flank. But that means she knows, and …

“You have to tell me,” she says and leans so close that our muzzles are almost touching, making it impossible for me to avoid her gaze without turning away entirely. She's clearly seen my reluctance.

Stupid me. I should have chosen dare. I look down and sink to get the dryness out of my mouth. “I, um, I think you have a r-really nice f-flank.” I can not believe I just said it to her face like that. Oh Celestia, she's silent. Give me anything but silence.

I look back up into Scootaloo's surprised eyes. She didn't know, but there's no going back now. I chose truth and I have to let her know. Before I know it, I've closed my eyes and pressed my lips against hers. I want to show her what I really feel.

She … she's not returning it …

I fall on my back as she pushes me off. “Whoa … Whoa! I'm not cool with that!”

I can see disgust in her eyes. I can't look at it. “I … I just …” I just want to run away and hide.

“Thought I was a fillyfooler?” She drags a hoof across her mouth with a look of … something, but it's not a blush. “I can't believe my best friend … kissed me.”

I gasp and look up at her. I thought she would understand. How could I have been so blind? How can she be so blind? I stand up with a sniff and glare at her. “I … I thought you were cool!” I cry. “But n-now you're just a mean bully or what?”

“Hey, I'm way cool!” Scootaloo glares back, looking hurt, but I don't care. I want to hurt her back for what she called me. “Kissing fillies is not cool, Sweetie Belle. It's wrong,” she says like she's trying to help me or something. But she's the one who's wrong!

“Rainbow Dash does it!” I practically scream. Oh, I know that truth is gonna hurt.

Scootaloo gasps and bumps her head against mine, glaring death at me. “You take that back! Rainbow Dash is not a fillyfooler!”

“She totally is! I've seen her smooching all over one of the weather mares after work! Rarity says she's always flirting with her friends, too!” There! I hope I've ruined her perfect little dream forever! I hope she cries herself to sleep over it. I spin around and jump over the bed, galloping across the room to slam the bathroom door shut behind me.

I skid across the floor and collapse in the shower, ignoring her yells from the other room as I roll up and cry. I just want to be alone. How could she say those things? How could she believe those things?

* * *

There's a look in her eyes. Ever since that tea party it's been there. Every time she looks my way at school or in the street, I fear I'm going to soil myself in front of everypony. I almost did once. I spent that day locked in the bathroom at school, trying to wash myself clean, but her touch never washes off. I'm a total wreck, and all she has to do is smile at me.

There's something in her eyes. They've changed. I don't know what it is, but she looks at me different now. I think she's sad. And I know … I know she's going to do something to me. Because I tried to poison her.

I can't take it. I just can't take the way she teases me and how she touches me when we're alone. She barely has to do a thing. A single glance or brief touch and I'm trembling at her hooves and letting her do … anything. She never hurts me when I let her do what she wants; she's so gentle and sweet it frightens me, the way I can't resist her. I don't want her to hurt me.

She's going to hurt me now. I know.

I have to end it. I have to tell somepony everything.

There's a single candle sitting in the upper window, burning softly. I look up at the little house by the woods. Mandrake is the only pony I can talk to, the only friend who will understand. She'll know what to do about Midnight.

I look at the window with the candle and take a deep breath. I can see her silhouette behind the glass, sitting at her desk. She's so close, just behind that glass. I can do this. I can tell her.

I spread my wings and rise towards the window. I need to tell her. There's no other way to end this.

“Hello Dreamy. Not flying off, are you?”

I freeze in mid-flight and look around at the bright smiling eyes trotting towards me, so casual and relaxed. “H-hello Midnight,” I whisper, my throat tightening around the words. “I was just …” I trail off, choking on the sounds.

She skips along the last bit of road between us and comes to a halt, tilting her head back at the city in the direction of her home. “I was going to invite you to tea. Wanna go?” Her teeth show as she smiles, a little more than usual. I feel like breaking down and crying. I am crying!

“T-tea?” My body is shaking uncontrollably. There's something playing in her eyes, deep, deep inside. Behind that smile hides a monster, and it is sad. She is sad, but why?

“Yeah. My mom baked these sweet delicious scones for us. I just had to share them with my best friend.” She turns around and wraps a hoof around my back, caressing my shoulder as she leads me back along the road. “Come on. Don't wanna stand out here in the cold, Dreamy.”

As we leave, I look back up at the window behind me, at the silhouette of the only pony who could help me. I want to pull myself free and rush up to scream and beg for help.

I didn't.

* * *

“Sweetie Belle?”

I look up, eyes heavy from weeping and slumber. I look around confused for a moment before remembering where I am, still lying curled up in the shower of the hotel room. I sniff and wipe my eyes.

There's a cautious knock at the door, and Scootaloo's voice sounds again. “Sweetie?” She sounds like she's been crying too. I don't know if that makes me happy. “C-can we talk?”

I pull myself up into a sitting position and lean my head against the cold wall.

“Sweetie? Are you … are you alright? You aren’t hurt, are you?” She sounds worried now, and I can see her shadow under the door, trying to peek inside. I close my eyes and concentrate hard on the light switch on the wall. It flips off and the light goes out, flooding the room in total darkness. Scootaloo must have noticed it. “I'm sorry I said those things, you know.”

She stands back up, and I hear her slide down the door, slumped down with her back to it. “I'm sorry I called you a fillyfooler. I'm sorry I said it was wrong,” she says through the door. “I just want to be your friend again, Sweetie Belle. I don't mind if you like fillies. I don't think it's wrong.”

“You just think that because Rainbow Dash likes mares,” I say, my voice hoarse and a little pained. “Suddenly it's cool because she's like that? But what about me? It wasn't enough that one of your best friends likes fillies? It had to be Rainbow Dash to change your mind.”

She's silent but then says, “I'm really sorry, Sweetie Belle.” I can hear her sniffing sadly. “I was wrong, and I'm an idiot. When you kissed me I just … I freaked out and I didn't think.” She's silent again, but I just let her speak. I don't want to talk to her right now.

“I had no idea, Sweetie. And … I guess I don't understand it. I … I'm kinda flattered that you like me like that, and um, thanks for the compliment. I just don't, um …” She scrapes the floor with a hoof uncertainly. “I'm not into fillies, I guess. That's how I feel and I don't think I can change that.”

“I-I do think you're really pretty, and I bet you'll find lots of fillies who would want to be with you, but kissing a filly just kinda squicks me out. Um, anyway, you're the best friend I could imagine. You're a great pony and I really like you, but … only as a friend, okay? I don't want you to be hurt or lose you just 'cause I'm a big dumb idiot.”

I hear her turn around to face the door. “Can you forgive me? It's m-my turn, so i-if I say 'dare', does that help? I-I could tell Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon that I think they're pretty hot or something, if you like?”

I stumble back up and open the door a crack, peeking my head outside. “You'd really do that? They'd tease you for years about it. The whole school would know.”

Scootaloo stands up and nods. She's really been crying; I guess I hurt her pretty bad too. “Mhmm, right to their faces if it makes you feel better. I'll also defend you if anypony calls you anything nasty.”

I open the door fully and look down a little. “Y-you're not even a little curious about fillies?”

She shakes her head a little and rubs her leg. “I'm sorry.”

“If I dared you to give it a chance, would you kiss me?”

She looks up at me. I can see that she really don't want to do it. I also know that she would take the dare anyway. I could make her do things she really don't want to do, not just silly things that don't really mean anything. Memories of my dreams return, bringing images of a sad and frightened little pegasus with them. “D-do you?” she asks.

I'm not a monster. I hold out a hoof to her and sniff. “No. But can I just hug you?”

She accepts the hoof and leans over, hugging me tightly. “Sure. Always.”

“Will you … will you still hold me at night?” I ask as I rest my head against her neck. “I had another nightmare out in the shower. I don't want to be alone.”

“I … I guess I'm cool with that,” she says.

I smile and wipe my eyes. “You're a great friend, Scoots. I'm sorry you won't be more than friends, and … I'm sorry I told you about Rainbow Dash.”

“It … it was true, right?”

I nod.

She's silent for a second before grinning. “Hey, do you know who she was making out with? I totally want to hear everything about that.”

“Oh no, it's your turn first. I'll tell you all the juicy details, but first I dare you …” I give her an evil little smile. “… to buy me ice cream tomorrow. I want the biggest one they have around here.”

Scootaloo lifts a hoof and grins. “It's a deal.”

I return the grin and bump the hoof.

* * *

“Are you sure you should dig in this, Sweetie Belle? Isn't it better to leave all this ghost stuff alone after what happened the other night? What about these awful nightmares that you told us about? They sound really bad.” Scootaloo looks at me worriedly. “I'm not super thrilled to go back there, myself.”

Apple Bloom gives a nod of agreement and looks back at me as we trot down the street. “Yeah, and Cheerilee is still furious at you two for runnin’ into the woods. You know I had to promise I would keep an eye on you. I don't know if she'll be happy if she finds us near the forest again.”

“It's not leaving town. We're not going into the forest again.” I throw one end of my scarf around my back and point to the hats we're each wearing. I had lots of time yesterday to finish them. “And we're supposed to be detectives, remember? Digging in mysteries and uncovering old crimes and secrets is what we're meant to be doing.”

“Can't we find some other mystery?” Apple Bloom sighs. “I don't like this one.”

I stop and look at my two friends. “I-I can't leave this. I need to find out everything I can about this ghost. It's really important to me, but you two don't have to come with me. I understand if you don't want to come, but I have to do this, and I hope you'll go with me because it really scares me too.”

“I'm not going to let you go alone,” Scootaloo says with a hoof on my shoulder. “No matter how freaky and scary that thing was. You can count on me.”

I look at Apple Bloom. I can see she's not happy about this, but finally she gives up. “Alright, but I'm not lettin’ you go into the forest! It's the house and no further.”

I give her a hug. “We won't go into the forest,” I promise her.

* * *

I'm really glad we're doing this during the day, while the sun is still up and it's bright outside. I'm also glad I have my two friends with me, because even in daylight the house looks a little creepy now. I remember it from my last dream as the house of Daffodil's friend. It looked different then. It looked nice, before it became abandoned. It must have been long ago.

I lead the way and push the door open. The living room and hallway look like they did last time. I glance nervously into each room as we pass them and make sure to close all the doors behind us so that nothing can sneak up on us from behind. I still can't help but glance over my shoulder constantly. I stop at the bottom of the stairs and look up at the door at the top. It's still open a crack from our last visit.

“Still wanna do this?” Scootaloo inquires behind me.

I nod and sink my fear, taking a careful step up the stairs. The other two follow close behind as we ascend together. I push open the door and peek inside. The window is still open. The door to the next room is closed. I slowly step inside the room and walk towards the closed door.

It's her old room. Daffodil's friend. I know it must be before I've opened the door.

The door binds but eventually opens with a low creak. I stare at the large, open room beyond. White sheets cover everything under layers of dust. At the other end is a window and door to the balcony. The room takes up more than half of this floor. She must have been a lucky filly to have such a big room all to herself.

I look down at something on the floor just inside the door. I step through the doorway and pick it up, sitting down with the the object held between my hooves. It must be what we heard falling the other night.

Scootaloo is right beside me, looking at it curiously. “What's that?”

“Looks like a bone,” Apple Bloom adds her own observation ominously.

I nod vaguely at her suggestion. “Looks like a hoof,” I say and turn the small bone in my hooves. I blink as I turn it upside down. “With a key stuck in it.” I show the other two the small iron key hidden in a groove carved into the bottom of the hoof-bone.

“What kind of pony keeps a hoof-bone in their room and use it to hide keys?” Apple Bloom shudders.

I struggle a bit to get the key loose. It's stuck pretty good in there, but eventually it falls into my hoof. I stare at the bone and decide to put it in my saddlebag for now. I pick up the key in my mouth and stand, looking around the room. “It must be important. Maybe it fits somewhere here.”

“Not a normal pony,” Apple Bloom answers her last thought herself. “A scary pony. That's the kind of pony who keeps a hoof-bone in their room, it is.”

I walk up to a sheet-covered cabinet. “Let's look around.”

“Yeah, let's get this over with.” Scootaloo moves across the room with purpose in her step.

“The kind of pony who would rise from the dead, too,” Apple Bloom continues in a monotone. “And take your bones. Maybe she wants a body again? Ghosts do that, you know.” Somehow Apple Bloom is now the resident expert on ghosts, I muse and ignore her.

I pull a sheet off in a cloud of dust and look at the wooden cabinet underneath, holding back a sneeze. It looks antique, and it doesn't have any locks. One by one I pull out the drawers and open the doors. It's full of dust and dirt and boxes and cans full of more dust and dirt. Some have dry leaves or strange little bits of bark and roots in them. I guess most of it rotted away long ago.

The boxes and cans have labels, but they are pretty difficult to read. I pick one up and study it. I think it says bitterroot or something. I sigh and look up at the other two. Apple Bloom is rummaging around under an old bed, her tail sticking out from under the old blanket covering even that. Scootaloo is studying a large build-in closet full of boxes.

“Found anything yet?” I ask. They both mutter something that doesn't sound too encouraging.

There's a heavy old desk by the balcony window. It must be where she sat on that night Daffodil watched her through the window. I feel a sense of melancholy as I approach it and carefully lift the sheet off. The first thing I notice are the skulls, empty eye sockets staring blankly at the room, perhaps for the first time in ages since the house became abandoned.

I quickly realize that they are not pony skulls, however. Most of them are way too small, and many of them have beaks. They also have pencils and quills in their eye sockets. One of them, some kind of large rodent I think, has been used to prop up a stack of books. I open one of them. It's full of drawings of animals and their insides. The others are full of plants and flowers.

There's a loud sneeze from under the bed, and Scootaloo is still stuck in the closet looking through boxes. I don't think any of them contain any skeletons. I turn back to the table, and my eyes fall upon a small golden box with a little watch in it which has long since stopped. I reach out carefully and open the lid of the box.

A soft melody flows from within the box, causing a startled cry from my two friends. “Sorry, just a music box,” I mutter and stare in wonder at the little metal bird within, sitting in a nest surrounded by a painted landscape. I've never seen anything as sad and beautiful at the same time. I sit down and listen to the melody play for several minutes before it slowly winds down.

“Wow. That was really beautiful,” Apple Bloom says quietly next to me. I just nod in reply.

This box alone looks worth as much as some of my sister's more expensive dresses. It looks way more expensive than most of the stuff here. I wonder why all these things are still here. Doesn't anypony own this house? Did they all just leave it here?

I want to take the box with me. It must have been sitting here for ages. It doesn't seem right that something so beautiful should be stuffed in an old loft under a sheet.

“Hey girls, I think I found something,” Scootaloo speaks up. She's given up on the closet and is now looking over a bookcase. I can guess what most of the books are about already. The book she's holding isn't a normal book, however. Normal books don't have locks. “It's a diary, I think.”

I practically snatch it out of her hooves and sit down, staring at it. The initials “M. M.” are etched in a large script on the front cover.

Apple Bloom peeks over my shoulder at it. “Does the key fit?”

I find the key and insert it in the small lock on the book. It turns with a little click.

* * *

As Scootaloo goes to take a bath, and Apple Bloom is resting on her bed, I settle down in the window back at the hotel and glance out at the reddening sky outside. The house is barely visible in the growing darkness, its windows all dark now. I open the diary and look down at the yellowed pages of the book in my hooves.

The first page reads, “Mandrake Meadows, Dappleshore.”

* * *

“1650, July 25
“Found this note on my desk today. It must have been left there by a mathematical pigeon. Absolutely fascinating. I shall have to hunt down said bird; it's genius could change the world of science forever and make me famous as its discoverer.

'Verily 2 is greater then 1 and 3 is surly greater then 2. A unicorn has but 1 horn while a pegasis is blesed with 2 wings. Princes Celestia has 1 horn and 2 wing witch is 3. It is therfor true that Pegasis > Unicorn. QED!'

“Oh Daffodil. I am truly defeated.

“— MM”

*

“1650, August 15
“Our class has a new unicorn this year. That makes two of us now, which means I am no longer going to be the lone target. I don't know whether to feel relief or jealousy. I can only imagine this will make poor Daffodil's head explode trying to decide who to tease … once she stops playing sick at home.

“The new filly's name is Midnight Spindle. I've seen her around town before but never talked to her. She seems really nice, and she seemed to get along well with the class already.

“I think dad got a bit creative tonight. I have no idea what was on my plate, but it tasted okay. Socks got most of mom's though. Poor dog thinks he's starved.

“— MM”

*

“1650, August 16
“I told Daffodil about the new unicorn. She was suddenly no longer sick. Amazing! If this can be replicated it will revolutionize our understanding of medicine. Daffodil is a constant source of wonder.

“In any case, she actually baked Midnight a cake for school today, or perhaps it was her mom who did most of the baking, but the message written on the finished product was undeniably Daffodillian. I am reproducing it here for posterity.

'My kondolenses on the horible mutation on your forhead.'

“She never baked me a cake when I began at school, although she did use that joke on me too one time. Midnight was quite speechless; poor girl did her best to smile at it. She'll get used to Daffodil, and it was a delicious cake. I snuck two pieces while nopony was looking. Mwahaha!

“— MM”

*

“1650, September 24
“We got our tests back today. Midnight got a D, the poor filly. It's strange because she seems to study really hard. She tried to smile at it, but I don't think she was very happy. It's never easy to tell with her, because she's always trying to smile.

“Daffodil got a B+ on hers; she must have misspelled some of the answers.

“— MM”

*

“1650, September 25
“Midnight didn't say a word all day. She just sat at her table smiling blankly into her book. She was wearing a new dress, it was very pretty. I think she makes them herself. I wonder why she doesn't have her cutie mark yet.

“I spotted an unusual warbler on a roof on my way home, but it flew away before I could get a good look. I have tried to draw what I remember below. I don't think I've seen that coloration before. Could there be a new species out there? I hope I see it again.

“— MM”

*

“1650, September 26
“I tried to talk to Midnight today. We ended up laughing a bit at all of Daffodil's jokes, then talked about science and magic. I think it helped her to talk, and she's really interested in what I do. I offered to help her on her report next week, but she declined. I think she wants to prove that she can do it herself. She's a little bit stubborn.

“I went hunting for my mystery warbler this evening, but didn't find anything. A shame.

“— MM”

*

“1650, November 11
“Daffodil declared today to be International Unicorn Sympathy Day and hoofed out fake horns at school. Midnight even accepted one and spent all day with two horns. It looked pretty silly. I think she's warming up; she doesn't try so hard to smile anymore. She looks more relaxed.

“My cousin is visiting this weekend. I can't wait to see him.

“— MM”

*

“1650, December 13
“The Hearths Warming Eve school play was a total disaster.

“Midnight had worked really hard on the costumes and done an amazing job. Daffodil made some kind of joke about it, but I didn't hear it. If I were to guess, maybe something about how she was happy to see a unicorn who knew her place as a manual laborer. Maybe that's when it started going wrong, because I don't think this play has ever had such an authentic and passionate argument between Princess Platinum and Commander Hurricane.

“Daffodil accidentally tore her costume in the cave scene. I know she was really sorry about it, but after that it just went to Tartarus, with the two of them screaming at each other on stage. Daffodil ran off crying, and I don't know what happened after that, but it certainly was freezing as I ran to catch up with her. Some of those windigo howls sounded very realistic.

“What a way to end before the winter break.

“— MM”

*

“1650, December 14
“Daffodil continues to prove that beneath her racist remarks and prankster facade beats a heart of pure gold. She may wholeheartedly believe that pegasi truly are superior—others may doubt her sincerity, but I don't—and she may have been deeply hurt by Midnight's words yesterday, but she still gets right back up the next day and, in the spirit of the season, takes it upon herself to make everything good again.

“I think I would have punched Midnight in the face and sworn never to speak to her again. But Daffodil isn't like that. Instead she just went out and bought Midnight a gift. That's why Daffodil is my best friend, even when she calls me a lowly unicorn who should be proud that she serves a pegasus. I am proud to call her my friend.

“— MM”

*

“1650, December 25
“Socks ran off and mom slipped on the ice and broke her front leg. I had to hunt that stupid dog for an hour while she was at the doctor's. At least Daffodil helped me out, but what a way to end the year.

“— MM”

*

“1651, January 7
“Another year, and we're back to school. Midnight is pretty quiet and sticks to herself. Daffodil is her usual self, trying to make life a little less serious. All in all, nothing much has changed.

“Dad made my favorite pasta tonight. I was just in the mood for that. Mmm.

“— MM”

*

“1651, June 6
“I'm so happy, because today was my birthday and I got to spend it with my best friend and all of my family at my uncle's house. It was the best birthday party ever! Daffodil got me a wonderful scarf, I just love it! I'm wearing it right now, even though it's kinda hot inside.

“I love all my friends and family. Except my cousin, he's such a jerk, heh.

“— MM”

*

“1651, August 21
“And then summer raced right past us and it's back to school. Maybe Daffodil is rubbing off on me, because I just wanted to stay home today and pretend to be sick. I didn't, of course.

“Daffodil and Midnight have been rubbing each other the wrong way again, it seems. I wish they could just be friends. It's not for a lack of trying from Daffodil, that's for certain.

“— MM”

*

“1651, August 29
“Evidently Mrs. Creek thinks those two need to work out their differences too, because she just paired them up for the big group project. At least I'm fairly sure she rigged that so they ended up together, it seems too perfect to be random. I can only hope it works.

“This is the first time Daffodil and I won't be working on a project together. I'll be working with Penny Whistle instead. That should be interesting.

“— MM”

*

“1651, September 9
“The project is over. I think Penny and I did pretty well on ours. Apparently Daffodil and Midnight did as well. At least Mrs. Creek was very happy with their work, and they seem to have become better friends too. I can only hope it lasts.

“Midnight got her cutie mark too. It's a spider, strangely enough, but I suppose it kinda fits her. She is pretty good with clothes and fabrics.

“— MM”

*

“1651, September 16
“I don't know what is going on, but Daffodil is hiding something. Ever since the project, she and Midnight have become real good friends. At least Midnight seems happy, but Daffodil … I don't know what is wrong with her, but she's not quite herself. She seems shifty and nervous, and every time I ask her she avoids me.

“I wish she would speak to me.

“— MM”

*

“1651, October 1
“I swear, Daffodil hasn't done any real pranking in weeks. Not that I've seen, at least. There's something seriously wrong with that. She and Midnight continue to be best pals on the outside, but I know something is up. Daffodil is not happy. She may fool everypony else, but I know her too well.

“— MM”

*

“1651, November 1
“Daffodil was at my house tonight, but she didn't come in. I saw her leave with Midnight. Why didn't she at least say hi? I caught a glimpse of her face through the window. She looked really awful, like she was begging me to help her.

“I galloped over to her house to find her, but she wasn't there, and no one answered at Midnight's house. I'm really worried for her.

“I'm going to have a talk with her tomorrow, away from Midnight. That unicorn has some strange power over my friend. She just hasn't been herself since that blasted project.

“— MM”

*

“1651, November 2
“Daffodil was not at school today. I went by her house again, and her father said she hadn't been home at all since last night. It's past midnight and still no word of her. I can't sleep for worry of her. She's been gone for more than a day.

“I should have talked to her earlier. I should have tried harder to make her speak.

“Please return to us safe, Daffodil. I miss you.

“— MM”

* * *

“You going to sleep?”

I look up at Scootaloo. “Oh, um …” I glance at the book, then close it and nod. “Yeah.”

Scootaloo nods and crawls into bed. I glance out the window at the house in the distance. Its windows are still dark. I put the book down and crawl into bed next to Scootaloo. I'm glad that she's here tonight, even if it doesn't feel the same.

Author's Note

Mandrake Meadows got a tiny reference way back in chapter 7 of Fillystata, and she returned along with Daffodil Dreams in chapter 16 of Mare in the Mirror when Midnight tells the story (in brief) to Scootaloo from her own perspective.

I don't think I gave much thought to the character of Mandrake when I dropped her name in Fillystata, or if I did I've certainly forgotten. In MitM I never really thought deeply about her and Daffodil either, they were just generic bullies in Midnight's story, more or less. As I write this story I find myself getting a much deeper look into their lives and personalities, as well as Midnight's relationship with them.

I feel like an explorer as I write this, and it's kinda experimental, but it's also very cool.

Act 5. Living the Dream

Midnight turns off the road, trotting down a small track between houses. The path is flanked on both sides by high hedges, and I can't help but notice that it would be hard for anypony to see us walk in here. I follow close behind her, unease sitting like a stone in my stomach. The houses disappear behind us, giving way to the fields and marshes around Dappleshore. The forest lies ahead as a thin line in the growing mist.

“W-where are we going?” I ask in a low voice. “It's getting a bit late,” I add weakly, and in my conflicted heart I wonder if she heard it and whether I really want her to.

“I know a place; it's great for picnics,” she says without looking around. “It's not far, and it has a perfect view. You'll love it. I know you will.”

“I—” I struggle with myself. I glance back at the disappearing village and the lit windows behind us. Ahead of us lies the forest. We are at the edge now. Something within me fights back, and I stop, feeling the words choking out between my lips. “I c-can't go. I-I have to get home,” I say and feel my hooves wanting to turn around, but instead I only shift a bit from one to the other.

Midnight turns around. The forest looms behind her. I am briefly confused when she doesn't smile, meeting my gaze instead with concern. She holds out a hoof to put on my shoulder. I back away from her. “What's the matter, Daffodil? What's wrong?”

“I …”

“You can tell me,” she says and closes the distance between us. “You can tell me anything, Daffodil.”

I remember staring at the ground. I remember the words strangling me, like a choke collar pulled by unseen hooves. The words won't leave me, and I remember shaking. I remember her hoof around my shoulders, leading me gently forward into the forest.

“Don't worry, I'm here,” she says by my side.

*

I'm trotting up a hill by her side. We are out in the open again, looking out over the forest below. I don't remember walking through the forest to get here, but it's all around us now. The light of the city is visible to the east. How did we get here? Did I walk? I must have walked.

She turns and smiles at me. “What do you think? Is the view great up here or what?”

I can only nod.

She slips out of her saddlebags and pulls out a pair of cups, tea leaves, and a bottle of water. I watch blankly as she sets it up and heats the water with her magic. As she douses the leaves in the water, she looks up and gestures. “Well, sit down, silly.”

I take a step forward, but it turns instead into a step back. My wings unfold, and again something within me fights back.

“Daffodil?” Midnight remains seated with the two cups of tea in front of her, her eyes questioning me.

“N-no!” I squeak and begin to panic. My heart is racing as I spit out the words before they can get choked again. “I-I won't drink it! You can't make me!”

The smile returns. That knowing smile. “You really think I would give you poisoned tea, Dreamy?” And there it is; she knew what I did. I watch as she takes a sip from each cup. “I'm not like that,” she says and sets the cups down daintily. “You hurt me, Daffodil.”

I point a shaking hoof at the cups. “Y-you're immune or something! You drank it. You drank the poison. I saw you drink it all!”

“I 'magicked' it away, silly. It tasted awful. I couldn't have drunk it even if I wanted to,” she winks and pats the ground next to her. “Come on, sit down with me. I promise, I would never kill you with poison. That's not like me at all.”

I should fly away.

I should turn my back on her, and she can't stop me.

I fold my wings and sit down next to her without meeting her eyes. She levitates one of the cups over to me. I pick it up and hold it, staring into the murky surface.

She hoofs me a scone and smiles at me. “I still care about you, Daffodil. I'm not mad at you for the poison thing. I love you, I really do.”

I take the scone, but I still don't meet her eyes. “I l-love you too,” I say, but my voice and heart are empty as I voice the words. I know what she wants to hear, but I can't say it the way I think she wishes I could.

*

I feel uncomfortably warm, like my veins are full of hot water. I breathe harder and feel a sudden need to stand up, to move around, lest I lose track of myself. I must move! I stumble to my hooves, and I can't breathe. Midnight looks up at me. I think she's asking me something, but the words arrive from so far away they're only a distant echo.

I lift a hoof to my head and stumble. I hit the ground and clutch a lavender hoof. “M-mid…”

Where am I?

What is happening to me?

“H-help me …”

*

“Daffodil? Can you hear me?”

I try to cry for help, but something blocks my voice. I struggle, but something is holding me, tied up and stretched out. I twist and fight against it, but it only hurts, cutting into my legs and body. The stars and forest slowly come into focus around me. I turn my head and stare into Midnight's moonlit face.

She smiles a brief smile, replaced soon by sorrow. “I know you may not believe me, Daffodil,” she says and brushes my mane out of my eyes. She kisses the corner of my mouth and closes her eyes while nuzzling my face. “But you have no idea how much it pains me. I never wanted this.”

I look down at the gag silencing me and the ropes twisting around my limbs. I look around the deep forest surrounding us, and all I can see is her. We are alone out here. I don't think anypony would hear me even if I could scream for help.

“I admire you, Daffodil. I respect your convictions. In your heart you know that I am but a lowly unicorn, fit only to serve a noble and majestic pegasus like yourself,” she smiles sadly and traces her eyes and hoof along my barrel. I become aware of just how exposed I am, stretched out and gagged between trees. “I guess I was disappointed,” she says quietly.

“I expected …” she continues slowly to herself and stops. Her hoof settles between my hind legs, but only for a moment. I close my eyes and feel my heart pounding as she walks around me, her eyes examining my body from every angle. I try to focus on the beat in my chest, blocking out everything else, but her voice and touch cut through it like a knife. “Why did you never make me yours?” she almost whispers. “Like you dreamed?”

I gasp as something cold touches my skin and pricks the inside of my hind leg. “You could have made me your slave, Daffodil. I could have been the lowly unicorn slave of your wildest fantasies.” The metal traces down my leg and settles on my heaving stomach just above the two small nipples. “But you never had the guts to live out your dreams, did you?”

She stops behind me and kisses my hoof. Her lips touch my leg as she travels downwards, licking the inside of my leg, following the trail left by the metal tool. The long, slow strokes of her tongue wet my fur and send jolts through my lower body. I weep and close my eyes tighter, but she won't go away.

I try to hum as I cry to myself. I try to remember the songs I used to sing. Above them all plays the soft sounds of her gentle licks. It is all the sound she makes as she suckles me.

Something hard and smooth settles at the base of my tail and slides upwards a little. I cry and bite hard on the gag as she pushes it; biting until I can taste my blood mixing with the tears. She slides it in deeper, and the pain between my legs takes me away. I dream of flying free and laughing in the skies. I dream of tomorrow, and all the days I will never see. I cry as I think of my friends that I will never see.

I don't know how long she's been silent.

I only realize that she has stopped when I feel the metal prick at my neck.

“You believe it, don't you?” She whispers in my ear and strokes my wing. “So why didn't you live it? You should always live your dreams. Whatever it takes.” She brushes my tear-soaked mane and cheek. “You and I, we were never the most blessed of ponies. Look at your friend, Mandrake. She's so much smarter than us. She's got it all from birth. Natural intelligence and a talent for studying. She could make it far, no doubt about it. But you know as well as I that it doesn't matter. Not as long as we work harder; not as long as we're never afraid to do whatever it takes!”

“She could have been your little slave too. You already had her in your hollow hoof, you know. Why didn't you ever take advantage of that? Don't you think she should be your slave? Don't you think you deserve her?” I feel her moving around me slowly.

“I don't think Mandrake believes in anything,” she continues. “Not like you and I. She studies, but what for? What are her dreams? You, Daffodil, you have dreams and beliefs, unlike so many ponies who just live their lives day to day. That is why you are so precious to me, even when you drive me crazy with the way you never do anything except dream! And it's why it pains me that you never saw what you could have had. What we could have had together.”

The forest falls silent around me. I open my eyes.

Midnight is looking back at me. Something levitates in the air in front of me. I stare at the wooden handle with the long metal point. Without a word she lowers it again. I shake my head and cry through the gag as I feel the sharp metal point push against my shoulder.

“I would give you a last chance,” she whispers. “If I let you live, will you show your friend Mandrake where she belongs? Will you make her your slave and fulfill your fantasies with her?” The metal digs deep into my shoulder. The pain is blinding. “Just nod if you wish to live.”

I nod as hard as I can. My neck feels stiff and every limb hurts. I just want her to let me go.

She leans her face closer to mine and gives the awl a twist. “Will you make her do whatever you desire?”

I scream into the gag and nod again.

I feel her heavy breath against my coat. “Will you follow your dream and your beliefs, whatever it takes? Will you kill her too, if you have to? Will you kill your best friend to live?”

I nod, and her teeth gleam in the moonlight as she smiles. “I may even believe you,” she says. “You tried to kill me, Daffodil. You actually tried to do what you knew you had to do. I am proud, but …” She pulls the awl out and places the bloody tip against the underside of my chin. “Now I must to do what I have to do. You see, I want to live too, and I can no longer afford to trust you.”

I scream. Sudden searing pain stabs through my jaw and tongue.

“I dream too.” Her voice drips with desire. I gasp through pain and tears as she lifts the bloody awl. “Daffodil,” her voice trembles, and something lights up her eyes, a sinister smile as she licks the blood off her hoof. “I wish we could have dreamed together.”

I stare helplessly down the length of her body as she forces my head down. I feel the needle against my face, pressing against the soft skin. The gag lifts, and I scream. I beg as she watches my face …

She leans down closer. “You're my first,” she whispers … and stabs.

The taste of metal and blood fills my mouth and fills my eyes. I can see her chest, streaked in red as she pulls back. I sob and plead for her to stop … She only smiles and breathes harder with each stab and stitch of the needle.

* * *

I scream and kick out wildly, trying to tear myself from the ropes binding me. I feel the warmth of blood and the pain of each stitch before I collapse, drained and sobbing into Scootaloo's waiting hooves and comforting wings.

I cry into her soft mane, powerless to do anything more. Her wings embrace me, and I hear Apple Bloom's concerned voice behind me. I know what they're saying, but it was real. It really happened.

For how long we sit there, I don't know. I lose myself in Scootaloo's hooves and just let go of myself. Even now she's there for me, even when I couldn't have her, she's still my best friend. Why must I want her so? Why must I love what I can't have? I rub my face and sit up. I look up and see Apple Bloom holding out something. I feel something pushed into my hooves and look down at my doll, Stitch, with her button eyes and linen face.

She reminds me of Daffodil.

It's like staring into a woven and stitched mirror.

I hug the doll and cry.

* * *

I lift my face from the café table just enough to look up at the waitress as she sets down the cup and smiles at me. It takes me a moment to remember where I've seen her before; she's the mother of Fern and Skyline, the two fillies who told me about the house by the woods. I didn't know she worked here, but I guess that's no surprise.

I give her a not entirely convincing smile and nudge the coin on the table with a hoof towards her. “Thank you,” I say and drop my head back down.

“Are you alright, Miss?” she asks and drops the coin in the front pocket of her uniform. “You look like you could use some cheering up.”

“Mhmm,” I murmur and sit up. “I'm just tired. It's nothing, but thanks for asking,” I say in a flat voice.

She looks at me for a few seconds, then rubs her hoof on her cloth and nods with a smile. “You're welcome. Let me know if there is anything else I can get you,” she says. I nod, and she walks off to serve somepony else.

I stare into the cup of tea before me. The tea looks dark and uninviting. I reach out and poke the spoon as I debate whether to drink it. Why did I order this again? I should order hot cocoa instead. Hot cocoa might cheer me up. With whipped cream.

“The tea helps with the nightmares. It'll make you feel better afterwards.”

I look across the table. The early sunlight dances in her eyes as she smiles back at me. I lower my hoof back on the table and wonder when she got here. “Are you real?” I don't expect that I sound like I care much, really.

She spreads her hooves wide and smiles. “I am a dreamer, and the dream.”

“She told Daffodil about dreams,” I mutter.

She folds her hooves again and her face turns more serious. “A dream must be lived. That's what makes something real.” She nods at the tea. “Cocoa is good too, if it's real cocoa and not just sugar. But the tea is better. It's up to you.”

I look up at her. She smiles and shrugs. I watch her image flit away like an emerald shadow in the sunlight. I look down at the tea and pull the cup closer. I lean down and take a breath from the cup. It does smell better than it looks, I have to give it that.

I lean over and pull the diary out of the saddlebag next to the table. I put it down on the table next to the tea and stare at it. After a moment, I flip it open and pick up the cup, taking a sip as I read.

* * *

“1651, November 5
“It's been four days since I last saw Daffodil. Four days since she went with Midnight and disappeared. Everypony has been out looking for her, but I don't think they'll find her. Some still have hope, but I know she isn't coming back. I've been crying for days. I can barely feel anything anymore.

“Midnight is laying it on thick, acting all broken and grieving. I can't believe anypony believes that lying snake instead of opening their eyes to see what she’s done. She killed Daffodil! I know she did, but they don't believe me. They tell me not to accuse 'poor' Midnight of something like that, like she's the only one who's lost a friend. As if she lost a friend at all.

“If only I could prove what she did.

“Daffodil never hurt anypony. She was always so happy and full of life, always trying to lighten up everypony's lives. She did her best to be nice to Midnight. I know she really wanted to be Midnight's friend. How could Midnight do this to her? I've tried to understand, but I just can't. Daffodil didn't deserve this.

“— MM”

*

“1651, November 10
“Midnight will pay for what she's done. I swear I'll make her pay one day.

“Everypony treats her like she's such a poor little filly. She's got tons of friends now, even ponies who never really spoke much to her before. I've never seen her happier, but I swear it's like they're all blind. It's like they don't even look at her eyes and how they gleam.

“— MM”

*

“1651, November 12
“I found Daffodil. The bastard just left her out there in the woods. The animals had already been there. There was almost nothing left but bones, but I know it was Daffodil. I couldn't stop crying. I wish I could have given her one last hug or something. The bastard tied her between trees and left her dead in the woods! Was she still alive when the animals found her? I have no idea. I don't know what kind of monster Midnight is, but I swear she's not a pony. No pony could do something so monstrous!

“I made a fire and burned her remains where I found them. I made her a grave with a stone too, but I didn't bury her there. Daffodil wouldn't want to be stuck in the cold dark ground; she would want to fly free, as she did all her life. She never liked the dark, it always frightened her. But I wanted her to have a memory in this world, something more meaningful than the hollow grave they're going to give her in Dappleshore.

“I spread her ashes and bones over the forest. I kept a piece of her, however; it's sitting on my table as I write this. One day I'm going to set her spirit free. And one day Midnight will regret what she did.

“— MM”

*

“1651, December 15
“I've been staring at the moon through my window for the last hour or more. The face of the Mare seems to understand my pain, at least. I'm so tired, I can barely keep my eyes open, but I can't stop thinking.

“Hearth's Warming has been quiet. I don't think we'll find much to celebrate this year. Even Socks seems to have lost his spirit and spends most of his time whining by the door. Does he miss Daffodil too? She always liked to play with him when she came over to visit.

“— MM”

*

“1652, January 1
“The years roll around, another taking the place of the last. If there is any justice in this world, this will be Midnight's last year, but I don't have much hope. They still won't listen to me. They tell me to leave Midnight alone, but I know the truth, and I can tell she knows I'm not being fooled by her fake tears. Every time she glances my way, her eyes laugh at me.

“Laugh at me now, Midnight … I'll laugh last, if I have any laughter left in me then.

“— MM”

*

“1652, January 28
“I swear it's like everypony wants to make it their business to ask me if I'm doing okay or need anypony to talk to. I keep telling them I'm fine. And I have Socks, who doesn't bother me with stupid questions when I'm sad. And I have the night sky, which is a great listener too.

“No pony would listen to me about Midnight, so why should I bother? They're all too blind.

“— MM”

*

“1652, February 1
“I was in Baltimare visiting my cousin this weekend. They have some interesting little shops there, and a much larger library than here in Dappleshore, where we don't really have any library, to tell the truth.

“I found an interesting pair of old tomes on spirits and the dead, as well as a stack of assorted works to sort through. I gathered everything I could find while I was there. With school and everypony being so bloody concerned for me all the time, I fear it's going to be hard to find time to properly focus on these studies, but I have to give it my all for my friend Daffodil.

“— MM”

*

“1652, February 11
“I think it was wise of me to keep some of Daffodil's remains. As sad as they make me, I feel they shall be the key to my goal.

“Midnight continues to make friends. She's spending a lot of time with these three fillies from school, what's their names? Anyway, I think she's lost interest in me entirely, she barely even looks at me anymore. I guess I should be thankful for that, but I won't feel too safe. She can be surprisingly clever and determined.

“— MM”

*

“1652, February 17
“Visited Daffodil's parents today. They're planning on moving away from Dappleshore. I can't blame them, but I'll miss them a lot when they're gone too.

“My studies are going slow, but every time I feel stuck I just have to look out at the moon. She's always there with me, waiting for the day.

“— MM”

*

“1652, March 26
“I got some more books from Baltimare. It's so tedious having to get everything from the city, perhaps it would be easier if I didn't live in this tiny backwater town of small minds. But I know I could never really leave Dappleshore behind. Not until my task is done.

“I don't know why our teacher is complaining. I still get perfect grades, so what does it matter if I don't listen in class? Or if I take the opportunity to sleep a bit while she's just talking stuff I already know anyway? Just means I can sleep less at night and spend that time on my own studies.

“— MM”

*

“1652, April 29
“It's been awhile since I wrote in this journal. I keep forgetting about it, but I don't have much to report anyway. It's the same, really, but one day I'm bound to make a breakthrough.

“Until then …

“— MM”

*

“1652, June 5
“ 'From the ashes of the dead, properly prepared, may be called up the forms of their spirits.' I keep returning to this one sentence in all my studies of these books, but there's something missing from all of it. I must dig deeper to find the way.

“I saw a shooting star tonight while I was staring at the moon again. I made a wish … I get the feeling that She is listening, or perhaps I'm deluding myself. Doesn't matter. She gives me comfort, even if she can't hear me or answer me.

“— MM”

*

“1652, July 1
“From the ashes of the dead … There it is again.

“The spirit needs blood to stay in this world, but the blood can not sustain it for long, so it must have more. I don't like where that is going. This is a dark road, but truth and justice is surely never found in the light. It hides in the shadows. I must walk carefully, lest I become a monster myself.

“There has to be a way without the blood.

“— MM”

*

“1652, August 12
“ 'Never call forth that which you can not put down again, lest it should command you.'

“Why was that hidden in a tiny and obscure footnote in the back of an old book on a largely irrelevant topic? I swear it's like no pony ever stopped to look any closer than the surface. It's a recurring theme. No pony ever looks beyond the cover or under the mask. If they did they'd all see Midnight as she really is, but instead she gets away with everything.

“Sometimes I think the whole world is broken.

“— MM”

*

“1652, August 29
“A body can sustain a spirit. A body with a beating heart and continuous supply of blood. It's so obvious, isn't it? How did I miss it?

“— MM”

*

“1652, August 31
“So what if you wanted it to command you? Seems straightforward, but I've come too far and gotten too close to leap to conclusions. There is no room for wrong steps on this road.

“— MM”

*

“1652, September 12
“Nemesis. Nemesis is the name, but for the life of me I can't find the proper invocations. Why don't I ever have the references I need when I need them? I suppose I shall have to visit that shop in Baltimare again. I swear the owner creeps me out, but it's rarely a wasted trip.

“— MM”

*

“1652, October 16
“It is almost a year since I last saw Daffodil. One year since that night when she stood outside my window. I still think of that night. I still see her haunted face in my dreams, begging me to help her.

“This will be my last entry here. I have found my path, and I must now walk it, but not as the owner of this book whose name is Mandrake Meadows.

“Daffodil, you were my friend, and I remain your faithful unicorn. It is fitting that I offer myself to you as your humble servant and vessel, to give you freedom and revenge, not for me but for you.

“I give myself to you, that you may have your freedom and dream again.

“— MM”

* * *

“Huh?” I look up and blink to adjust my eyes after having had my muzzle buried in the diary for a while. I am met by Mandrake's face looking at me.

“Come,” she says and holds out a hoof in invitation.

I take the hoof. “Where are we going?”

“To witness.”

“Witness what?”

I feel a sudden shake and blink as I stare into Apple Bloom's concerned eyes.

“You alright, Sweetie?”

I rub my head and look around the café where I've been sitting. I glance up at the clock tower to see that I've been reading for about two hours. My cup is empty, as are the rest of the pages in the diary. The sound as I close it feels like a heavy lid on my heart, like a coffin closing forever. I mutter something about lack of sleep and stuff the book in my saddlebag before standing up.

Apple Bloom places a steadying hoof on my back as if I might stumble and fall. “Cheerilee says to get ready for leavin’. Are you sure you're alright? I'm sure she'd let you stay here if you're ill or somethin’.”

“I must see,” I mutter and shake my head.

“See what?” Apple Bloom stops and looks me in the eyes. “Sweetie Belle, you're actin’ strange. We're really worried about you, you know. Look, I'll stay here with you too so you don't have to be alone. I’m sure Scootaloo will too.”

I shake my head again and smile, although it feels flat. “I'm fine. Really,” I assure her. “You don't have to worry about me. Come on, let's get ready.” I adjust the straps of my saddlebags and trot along the road back to the hotel.

Apple Bloom follows, but her eyes never leave me for long.

* * *

“Listen up, everypony!” Cheerilee turns and looks at us. “We are going into the swamp. Mr. Peat here will lead the way and keep us on the safe paths. You are to stay close to him and me at all times, and I want you to keep an eye on each other too so that we are sure no pony falls behind or wanders off the path.”

Mr. Peat from the museum tips his hat in a nod. “Aye, the swamp is no joking matter. It is a very dangerous place if you stray off the path and get yourself lost, but as long as you follow the path and stay together you will be safe.”

“Exactly,” Cheerilee agrees. “Now, are there any questions? Have everypony remembered everything?”

Apple Bloom is still watching me like I might run off or turn into some kind of changeling or something. I try to not be bothered by it and focus on the trip ahead. The sun is low in the sky, but it's still a while before it sets. It just seems darker because there are so many clouds. It's probably going to rain soon. The pegasi make it rain all the time here, but right now it's just cold and misty.

I walk near the front of the group with Apple Bloom, and Scootaloo is trotting along behind me. Peat is leading the way, talking about lots of things, but I don't really listen. Cheerilee is walking in the back to keep an eye on everypony.

We trot for about an hour through the swamps, making stops now and then to look at something or listen to Peat or Cheerilee explain stuff. It's starting to rain, and I'm happy to find that Apple Bloom hasn't been watching me quite so intensely for a while now. I don't want her to be so concerned for me.

I gaze out over the seemingly endless reaches of marshland. Somewhere to the east a thin blue line suggests the sea. Behind us to the north-west is Dappleshore and the forest, but it's invisible in the growing mist. I think I can just make out the silhouettes of mountains to the west, where the Badlands stretch out for miles and miles.

“Sweetie?”

I tear myself from the surroundings to look at Apple Bloom. Scootaloo looks around at me as well. It's getting very foggy. Some of those in the back are looking a little obscured by the haze. “Hmm?”

“Cheerilee says we have to stay very close,” Scootaloo says.

“'Cause of the mist,” Apple Bloom adds. “Are you alright?”

I nod and trot along, staying close behind the two. “I was just thinking about stuff,” I assure them and stare absently into the mist ahead as we continue. The fog rolls in from the sea and mixes with the rain to make the world look like a white and gray blanket.

“Where she dreams, I must follow.”

It's lonely out here in the grayness and cold of the marsh. I shiver and wrap my scarf around myself another time, sighing to myself. My breath comes out in clouds to join with the mist. I'm glad I have my scarf, it keeps me safe and reminds me of her. It is almost like she's still embracing me when I keep its soft fabric close to me.

It's easy to hear voices out here in the misty marshes, but I know they can't hurt me. I ignore the calls of ghosts behind me and follow my path, follow her …

“Keep dreaming.”

Act 6. Six Hooves Under

I am her unicorn. She dreams within me, and I live it out.

I called her forth from ashes. I gave her a body with a heart and passion to dream, to live, to seek revenge for her death. She does not command. She does not have to. I submit and follow her willingly.

I am her unicorn, and I will not rest until the day when Midnight rots forever in her grave.

That day is now, on the anniversary of the deed, and the swamp will be her grave. I am here to make sure of this. May she never be found and her memory die along with her.

My teeth dig into the handle I'm holding. I can taste the old wood and see the dull metal of the sharpened blade. The metal has been covered in soot so it won't catch the moon's light by accident. I am covered in mud and grasses from head to tail. It is cold and uncomfortable, but I am almost convinced she could walk right past me without seeing me if I stood perfectly still in the deep shadows.

I am taking no chances. She will not see me or hear me coming.

I lift a hoof and take a step forward, eyes on the ground and my surroundings. Her hoofprints are still visible in the soft mud of the swamp. My hoof lingers over the ground for a moment. I look around and move it a little to the side before stepping down on a tuft of solid ground. I must be careful where I step. If I get my hoof stuck in the mud, it'll make a sound when I pull it out.

Thank the Mare and her silvery moon that I know these marshes so well. She is looking down at me from her prison high above the world, and I know she is with me. It brings me strength and comfort.

I have been following Midnight all day through the swamp. I am tired, my limbs ache, and my eyes long for rest, but I am so close now. I can see her up ahead, silhouetted against the swamp as she digs, filling up the hole in front of her. I creep closer, hiding behind shrubs as I inch forward, using the sounds of her digging to conceal any unintentional noise of my approach.

She stops and wipes the sweat from her brow. She sticks the shovel in the ground and sits down next to the grave she's covered. I am right behind her, almost within reach. I can hear her breathing, long heavy breaths. I can see the drops of sweat in her lavender coat and smell the scent of wet earth clinging to her.

I ready my blade and study her back and spine as she leans over, lowering her head. I can clearly make out the spinal column. I know exactly where to strike to paralyze. It will be swift and leave her helpless for me to do whatever I like with her. I haven't decided what I'm going to do to her.

My eyes move between her neck and her hooves as I hold my breath and take the last step, positioning myself perfectly behind her, blade poised to strike.

Midnight lifts a hoof to her face and rubs a tired eye, oblivious to my presence. She lowers her head, and a quiet sob escapes her. I freeze a fraction of a second away from striking. She remains unaware of me. I see a few tears glitter on her hoof as she lets it fall back down.

Thinking herself alone with the dead, far from civilization in the middle of the vast swamp, Midnight lets out another heavy sob and closes her eyes as the tears escape her. There is no restraint in her grief, and no trace of the falseness she treats everypony else to.

I hesitate and reach out an uncertain hoof towards her. Her ears twitch, and I hesitate no longer as I remember what she did … to me, to us, to the pony in the grave before us.

I strike!

There's a flash of bright indigo. My eyes widen, and I feel my heart leap at her cry of pain and warm blood spattered across my face.

The world resounds like a crack of thunder and the darkness fills my head with pain as I collapse.

* * *

Through the shattering pain I see her stumble and clutch her neck as she turns at me. I see the shovel in time to duck it this time. I scramble to get up, but my legs are all confused and refuse to work together. I collapse in a heap once more in the bubbling marsh, half of my face submerged in the water. I cry as I feel her hooves kick me in the ribs.

She kicks again, her hooves sinking into my soft belly, and I lose all my air. I try to get up. I desperately cry for air, but all I get is water and mud as she forces my head down. I struggle and kick, but it's no use.

My lungs scream in burning, flooded agony. I twitch and fight, but her hooves keep me down, pressing my head deeper and deeper into the swamp with terrible anger.

I kick out and feel my leg connect with her, but it is a feeble kick. She pushes down harder.

I try to focus my mind on a spell, but nothing happens. The darkness of the cold grave surrounds me as I join the souls of the swamp in their eternal sleep. I close my eyes to the world, and I dream.

I am her unicorn, and I will never stop dreaming, not until the day Midnight rots in her grave forever.

* * *

I gasp for breath and collapse in the deep mud of the swamp. I lift an aching, trembling hoof to wipe the mud and water out of my eyes as I look up at the big, dirty lump of rock in my other hoof.

It is not a rock. A small horn extends from the mud and grime, and it has a small crack down the middle. Two large holes beneath the horn peer back at me, and a large crack runs along the side of the skull where once a shovel struck it. The lower jaw has broken off long ago. I find it buried in the mud beneath me, along with the rest of her body under the mud and weeds of ages.

I pull myself back up on my legs, clutching the skull close to my chest as I stagger through the darkness, trying to find my way. It is dark all around me. I don't remember how I got here or where 'here' is. I have no idea how long it's been or where the others are.

All around me I see nothing but the swamp and the darkness.

“Cheerilee?”

I stumble forward on three legs, sniffing and blinking away tears and mud. My mane clings to my face and my tail drags along in the dirt behind me.

“S-Scootaloo? Apple B-Bloom?”

I cry and lean my head against the old trunk of a tree. I'm tired, so tired. I sit down under the dead crown of the tree and sob in my loneliness. “I-I don't want to be alone,” I sniff and hug the skull.

A pair of beady black eyes at the end of a long, gray beak look down at me. The large black bird spreads its wings and lets out a hollow screech. I stare up at it, afraid to look away as I back up against the tree. The bird folds its wings and tilts its head, its evil eyes studying me closely.

I roll up, hugging myself and the skull, trying to drive out the cold.

Please, somepony … anypony.

* * *

The birds won't leave me alone. There are more of them now, and their black soulless eyes follow me around everywhere I go. I think the sun is rising at last. The dull red light gleams in their eyes, reflecting their evil. Perhaps the sun will drive them away.

I pick up a rock—It tastes of rot and decay in my mouth—and throw it at them. “Leave me alone!” They just flutter and screech and settle back down with vengeful eyes.

I weep and look up at the endless stretch of swamp ahead of me. I'm tired and hungry. My mouth tastes of filth. I just want to go home. I just want to see my friends again.

My legs shiver, and I fall. I hit the ground for the hundredth time. I don't have the power to get up again. I'll just lie here for a while. I'll just … close my eyes for a moment.

* * *

The rain has been pouring down all day. I tried to drink some of it as it fell. It helped me go on a little longer.

I'm cold and soaked all through. I've been coughing for the last few hours, and my stomach feels like it's eating itself. I've been calling for help so much that I don't think I could utter another word.

I think I'm walking in the wrong direction.

The sun is setting.

* * *

I'm not going to make it.

I can't go on. I wish I could tell my friends that I miss them, and my sister, and mom and dad. I miss them all. I'd give anything to see them again. Even Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon.

It's dark now. The moon shines down at me through the clouds. I wonder if she would listen if I wished. I don't have any voice left.

I close my eyes and hug myself and the skull. In a hundred years, somepony will find my bones and think I had two heads. The thought makes me laugh. I don't know why it's funny or why I'm laughing.

* * *

“Don't give up, Sweetie Belle.”

I look up into the gentle cyan eyes of the Night. She smiles back at me, an inner strength radiating off her face.

“You must stay strong,” her voice whispers, and with a wing she lifts my head. “Open your eyes for me. Open them, and let me see.”

I cough, and the dream fades as I look up at the star-lit sky for a moment. Then I collapse again and forget everything as I close my eyes.

* * *

“Sweetie Belle!”

I can feel the texture of the rotten earth and the stale water around me as I sink, hooves pushing me down. I can taste the death and decay in my mouth, filling my throat. I'm too weak to fight it.

“Over here! She's over here! Sweetie Belle, can you hear me? Wake up, Sweetie Belle!”

The world is hushed and empty. I clutch her skull in my hooves like a lifebuoy.

“AB! Quick! Send up the flare!”

A snake of fire runs through the darkness, coiled at the center like a sun. I am lifted out of the water by strong hooves that smell of school.

* * *

The soft curtains cast dancing shadows on the white blanket of the bed as a breeze from the open window plays through my mane. On the nightstand beside the bed, Mandrake's hollow eyes watch the wall in deathly silence. Somepony washed the skull for me. I am in the hospital, back in Dappleshore. Outside the early morning sun warms the streets. I watch my hooves as I smooth the blanket over my chest and let the seconds and minutes drift by on the wind outside.

Minutes pass, and I look up to see Scootaloo as the door opens. She hurries over and gives me a hug without saying a word. I'm really glad to see her too. “How are you feeling?” she finally says as she lets go and settles down on the bed next to me.

“I don't know,” I say honestly, brushing the sheet with a hoof as I look down.

“It's going to be okay,” she says. “We're going back to Ponyville today. Cheerilee says the ship sails before dinner. I already packed all your things for you back at the hotel, so you don't have to worry about that.” She looks down at her hooves too, then up at the skull. “Mr. Peat from the museum said you could keep the skull too, if you wanted. I don't know why you'd keep a thing like that, but you were hugging it so tightly when we found you. I thought you'd wanna know.”

I look up at her. “I wish I could kiss you, Scootaloo.” She blushes and looks a bit uneasy, glancing at the door and me. I smile at her. “Don't worry, Scoots, you know I would never do that. But thanks. I really mean it.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” She scratches the back of her neck. “I'm just happy to be leaving this place soon. I can't wait to get back to Ponyville. I really don't want a cutie mark for being a detective anymore. I think some things are better left undetected, or something.”

I look at the white blanket, which is no longer smooth after Scootaloo's hug. “Me neither,” I say as I smooth it out again. “I miss my sister, and Ponyville. I just want to go home.”

Scootaloo seems to like hearing me say that. She smiles and hugs me again, ruining my work on the blanket. I don't complain at all, however. Instead I hug her back and make sure she knows I don't want her to let go. I sneak a little nuzzle of her neck. She startles a little at the touch, and I quickly stop.

There's a knock on the door frame, and I hear Apple Bloom cough. “Uh, you two don't mind if I come in, right?” she asks as she steps into the room.

Scootaloo is first to let go. I reluctantly release her as well, and we both sit up in bed. Apple Bloom smiles and hugs me briefly too. “I brought you some of your things,” she says and lets go.

Apple Bloom digs through her saddlebag and pulls out the old scarf I bought in Baltimare, and my favorite doll, Stitch. “I got the scarf cleaned for you,” she says and drops it on the bed before holding out the doll to me. “And I thought you'd want this back, too. I think I can go one night without a doll.”

I nuzzle the soft fabric of the familiar scarf before picking up the doll, looking at its button eyes and stitched face. I hold the doll tight and sniff as I close my eyes.

We can dream on together, Daffodil.

* * *

I look back at the village sadly and trot to the front of the ship where I can watch as it slowly leaves the harbor and sets sail for open water. Far across the bay but still out of sight lies Baltimare, and beyond that Ponyville, waiting for our return. I hold Stitch close and wrap the scarf a little tighter around me as I stare ahead.

As we leave Dappleshore after six nights, I know that something remains behind me, unfinished. For I am her unicorn, and where she dreams, I must one day follow.

Author's Note

It is probably possible to stop reading the story here and consider it finished. Chapter 7 will explore the events of Fillystata from Sweetie Belle's point of view, as well as her final fate.

Act 7. Fillystata

I watch from among the trees as Twilight Sparkle stops within the circle and turns around. Grim old stones like teeth rise out of the earth around her. She turns around, counting each stone under her breath. Her horn casts lengthening shadows behind each stone as her calculating eyes pass them by.

One of the shadows reach out to touch me for a second before it retreats back into its rock. Twilight Sparkle stops and steps towards one of the stones. She circles around the old stone, and its shadow flees before her until she stops at where it points to the center of the glade. She places a long, ornate knife carefully on the ground beside her.

I step closer to watch as flames of lavender fire burn around Twilight’s slender horn. The flames surround her in a circle upon the ground, turning plants to ash and licking the old stone. Something stirs within the earth with a lust for the fire of her soul.

Twilight kneels and lowers her head to the ground. She lies down on her side in the midst of the flames. I hold my hooves to my mouth as her mane and coat are consumed in the flames, becoming a whisp of ash and smoke carried away on the wind. I want to cry out and stop her, but something holds me back in the shade of the trees.

Her deep purple eyes look straight ahead in a resigned stare, and she doesn’t even flinch. The flames surround the knife and lift it off the ground. She leans her head backwards, exposing her throat for the sacrifice. The sharp blade presses against her neck and pulls upwards in one fatal arc of red. Her eyes widen, and she lets out an almost inaudible gasp.

I am unable to look away as her blood spills forth in deep red streams to feed the ground. Her eyes lose their luster and become distant as her life seeps away and fuels the fire. The now dark indigo flames flare up with lust as they consume her body and soul. The earth stirs and cracks open around her, and as the flames slowly flicker and die, nothing remains of Twilight but ashes.

In her stead rises a shade.

And it looks like Twilight Sparkle.

I close my eyes tight and cry for it to go away.

*

I shudder and cry as I open my eyes again. The forest is gone. Instead I look up at a portrait above an old fireplace. Through the dust and grime of ages I see the face of a pony.

And she looks like Twilight Sparkle.

Dust falls from the painting as the pony turns to stare at me.

I scream and close my eyes.

* * *

I open my eyes and sit up in bed, hugging Stitch close to my heart as I look around my room. Everything is calm. Outside my window I can see the red glow of the sun as it rises. Spring is nearly here, and that means Winter Wrap-up and Spring Break.

Mandrake’s skull sits on my nightstand beside her old music box, the diary and Daffodil’s hoof bone. I brought them back with me to remember. No pony understands, but these are the most precious things I own.

I reach out to open the box and pick up the hoof. I close my eyes and hold the smooth bone against my cheek as I let the soft melody play. It’s been almost six months since we left Dappleshore. It still makes me cry to remember.

Mandrake and Daffodil; I know they are both listening.

No pony else does.

“She’s coming back,” I say, and I know it’s not a question.

They know it too.

No pony else does.

They all say it was my imagination, that what I found was just the fantasies of a young pony from long ago. I told Twilight, but she doesn’t believe in ghosts either. How can somepony so smart and with so much magic not believe me?

They all want me to think about something else. They say it’s not good for me, that I need to move on and forget what happened. I can’t even talk to Apple Bloom and Scootaloo about it, or they get in trouble for ‘encouraging me’. It’s not fair.

No pony believed Mandrake either.

But we know it’s true.

I look across the room at the ghost of a filly leaning in the window, looking at the sky and herself in the glass. She longs to fly free and laugh. Her face and body are scarred from the stitches, but she is still beautiful to me. No pony else knows that she is there, but she is always close to me. All I wish is to reach out and touch her and hold her close.

I hug Stitch a little tighter and kiss the hoof before putting it back down.

“Sweetie Belle? It’s time to get up!” Dad’s voice calls from below.

* * *

The clock ticks away endlessly slow, each second slower than the last. Up by the blackboard, Cheerilee is going back over everything we have been over the last week, summarizing the most relevant points; risks and diseases, the importance of protection and how to use it, the importance of saying no and how to resist pressure, that it is okay to wait and also to experiment, that it is natural to be curious but important to be safe and not go along with anything you’re not sure about.

We’ve had classes on stuff like this before, but the school has decided that since we’re reaching a certain age and spring break is close, this is the perfect time to refresh and bring up some more practical and relevant advice.

I look down at the leaflets and two small packets on my table. The school is offering them to every student. I took two, but only so that no pony will know I’m not into colts. I turn my head and glance at Scootaloo. She’s staring blankly ahead with her head on the table, resting upon a small pile of them. I can’t decide if she really expects to see that much action.

I guess the school couldn’t have chosen a better time. Practically everypony at school is hooking up with somepony, it seems. Scootaloo has been seeing Rumble a lot. I guess they are kinda cute together, but I can’t help but feel a sting of jealousy whenever I see them.

Diamond Tiara is sitting to my left, writing another letter to that colt she claims to have met in Canterlot. Some snooty little elite, I bet. Who writes a lot.

Silver Spoon … I don’t know about Silver Spoon. She’s always so aloof and never says anything, at least not to me or when I’m near. She took two of the condoms, just like me. Everypony else is hooking up, except me … and Apple Bloom. I look around at my friend behind me. She didn’t take any. I don’t think she’s even interested in colts … or fillies. I don’t know.

“Sweetie Belle, pay attention please,” Cheerilee interrupts me.

I turn around again. “Sorry, Miss Cheerilee.”

I glance at the clock. Ten minutes to Spring Break.

* * *

“You aren’t really gonna use all those, are you?” Apple Bloom looks askance at Scootaloo and her bag full of protection.

Scootaloo turns around on her scooter, driving backwards so she can look at us as she talks. “You gotta be prepared, right?” she grins and blushes. “And you know, me and Rumble, we’ve kinda been … talking a lot.” Her blush brightens, and she quickly seems to want to deflect attention. “At least I took some. Better too many than too few.”

“I don’t think I’ll need any,” Apple Bloom says certainly. “But I saw you took so many, so I figured I could always just ask Sweetie Belle for hers. You certainly shouldn’t need any more, and Sweetie Belle ain’t gonna use hers I reckon’.”

Scootaloo rolls her eyes. “They’re not a limited resource, AB.”

I look around, but no pony is nearby or looking. I dig through my bag and hoof Apple Bloom the two packets. “So do you two want to do some crusading today?” I ask half-heartedly to change the topic. “Or how about we go to the swimming hole?”

Scootaloo looks at me with apologetic eyes. “Sorry, Sweetie Belle. I promised to see Rumble after school. But we’ve got two whole weeks to see each other right?”

I look at Apple Bloom. Her eyes immediately tell me the answer. “Sorry. Granny Smith made me promise to help her with the early newborn piglets. But we’ll see each other tonight perhaps?”

“Oh, okay. I’ll see you later, then.” I wave at my two friends as they head in different directions, leaving me alone on the road.

I look around and sigh. Everypony else has someplace to be and somepony to be with. I turn around and trudge down the road towards home.

* * *

The air coming through my open window is a bit cold, but the sun is shining and the birds returning from the south are chirping in the trees. And yet I am lying on my bed, staring out at the clear blue sky. If I am very quiet I can hear somepony laughing and playing far away.

Somewhere out there, Scootaloo and Rumble are having fun together. I wonder what they are doing. Was she serious? I guess I’m happy for her, and I know she can take care of herself.

I pick up Stitch and turn around on my back, staring up into her button eyes. It’s only me and her now. I don’t see Mandrake very much anymore, but I know she’s still there somewhere deep inside me. But Daffodil is always here with me.

With Scootaloo gone, I’ve spent a lot of time with Daffodil. I’ve come to love her. I know it’s a little odd, since she’s a ghost, but she’s always there with me.

I know she loves me too.

I close my eyes and sigh as I hold the doll close to my heart. I wish we could be together for real. I wish I could feel the touch of her body and the warmth of her heart. I wish I could feel those scars and tell her, she’s still beautiful.

I concentrate, and I can feel the texture of the curtains through my magic as I pull them closed. It’s a strange sensation to use magic, but I’m getting better at it. I leave the window open to feel the gentle cold against my skin and hear the soft rustling of the wind outside.

I feel a little warm as I think of Daffodil and imagine her touch against the inside of my leg. Stitch feels warm against my chest in the cold wind. I kiss her and let my hoof move down over my softly heaving belly to where my fantasy is playing out.

I feel the soft fur as I stroke it, imagining the touch of her tender lips and breath. I let go of Stitch and use my other hoof as well, feeling the sensitive fur and soft dampness between my legs. I keep my eyes closed as I caress myself, thinking of Daffodil. It is not hard, because I know she’s here with me.

I hear myself give a little sigh of pleasure. I try to keep it quiet; the thought that somepony might hear me is a little scary but also strangely hot. I pause and try to focus on and feel the smooth texture of the long feather I keep in my nightstand. I open my eyes to better see as I levitate it towards me.

I look up into Daffodil’s beautiful face above me. I smile and hold the feather up in the air so that it floats as part of her outstretched, ghostly wing. It is almost perfectly white, almost like her coat. Almost like our coat.

Daffodil looks at the feather, and we move it together.

The faintest touch of the feather sends jolts and shivers through my body. I gasp and bite my lip as it plays along my coat, brushing my lips and ears. It touches my neck and cheek, tickling and teasing me with the softest of touches. All the while I stare up into her playful eyes and imagine that I am helpless against the loving touch of her wings and lips.

I wish we could play together, experiment together, learn together. I wish this could all be real.

“We could try something,” she whispers in my mind, and she sounds a little nervous, like she’s afraid to ask it. “But you have to trust me.”

I look into her eyes and reach out a hoof to her face. “What do you … what do you mean?”

My hoof drops and is pressed gently against the mattress. I stare at it, then back up at Daffodil and the feather which is dangling above my horn, held in my own magic but no longer following my thoughts. “Is that … you doing that?”

She nods. “We can play this way,” she says and smiles. “But only if you trust me, and only if you want me to.”

I let out a squeal of delight and quickly slap my other hoof over my mouth, blushing as I glance at the window. The thought of giving myself over to her completely is a little scary, but somehow I know when I look deep into her eyes that I can trust her completely.

I smile and nod up at her.

And then I feel myself losing control. She’s doing it slowly, and I’m glad she does that. I’m helpless beneath her, and she can do anything.

“I have dreamed of this for a hundred years and more,” she whispers, and I can almost feel her ghostly lips against mine as she kisses me. “Do you think you can be quiet, Sweetie? You know how I don’t like it when the window is closed.”

I feel a hoof run down my leg. I know it is my own, but oh Daffodil, it doesn’t feel like it. I close my eyes and gasp. I don’t think I can be quiet. I don’t think I want to.

I’m her unicorn, and her plaything.

* * *

“Do you have to go?”

Rarity turns at me with an exasperated look. “Yes, Sweetie Belle. Honestly.” She trots past me to rummage through her drawers. “It is one weekend, and it is not like you will be alone. Your two friends will be here, and mother and father, and lots of other ponies you know.”

“But—” I stop myself and stomp the ground. I know what she’ll say. She’ll say I’m making up stories again, and then she’ll talk to mom and dad, and they’ll threaten to take away the diary and the skull because they think they are bad for me.

“What is the matter with you?” Rarity says and looks at me like I’m some mysterious creature from the Everfree Forest. She sighs and rubs her eye as she picks up a dress. “It is only a common fair, Sweetie Belle, and we will all be there together. We most certainly shall not be going into any swamps or icky old places, so you have nothing to worry about.”

She folds the dress and puts it aside before turning back around. “I know it is still hard for you, and I know that you worry, but you can’t let it affect your life forever.”

I stare at her as if my gaze alone could make her listen to me. If only I could make them all see that I am not making things up.

Rarity sighs and kneels down beside me, placing a hoof on my shoulder. “I promise we will be careful. I promise we’re not going into the swamps or anything like that. Okay?”

I sniff as she wipes a tear from my eyes. I push her aside and gallop out of the boutique. Why won’t anypony just listen to me?

* * *

“Please, Twilight?”

Twilight Sparkle looks down at me, and I give her my most irresistible eyes. “I wish I could help you, Sweetie Belle, but the fair is tomorrow, and I promised all my friends I would go with them. Our train leaves tonight, and I have a report I need to write to the princess before I leave, but I’ll be back again monday.”

“But I really need your help,” I plead with her. It has to work. “It’s a really big project about magic and, and science. There’s no pony else in all of Ponyville who knows as much about that as you, Twilight.”

Twilight blushes but doesn’t look like she’s bending. “I’m very sorry, Sweetie. I’d love to see what you’re working on, and it’s wonderful to see you spend your spring break on something like this. But I really can’t help you right now, and there will still be time on monday.”

She picks up a book and puts it back on its shelf before turning back around. “Tell you what, when I get back, we’ll spend a whole day on your project to make up for it. I think you’ll be surprised how much work can be done when you sit down and really focus even for a short time. Does that sound good?”

“Nevermind,” I say and spin around.

“Sweetie Belle—” I hear her call behind me as I run, trying not to cry.

* * *

Three days, and they have been some of the longest of my life.

I gaze out at the stars. They should be on the train back home by now. I try to imagine them on the train after three days of fun and festivities at the fair. I try to imagine them laughing and returning home happy and safe. Rarity promised that they would.

But deep down I can feel that something is wrong, and it isn’t just fear.

Daffodil wraps her ghostly hooves around my waist and rests her head on my shoulder as we gaze up at the sky together.

* * *

The train from Baltimare comes to a halt, and the doors open in a puff of steam. I don’t know what to expect, but I know it will be bad. I feel tense as I watch the doors and the ponies as they come out one by one.

Pinkie is first out, and she spins around and chatters on and on about something. Fluttershy is out next, followed by Rainbow Dash who is immediately tackled by Scootaloo. Applejack and my sister step out, and Spike comes last. Apple Bloom hugs her sister.

I watch the group of friends getting off the train, and I know what’s wrong. “Where’s Twilight?”

“I’m happy to see you too, dear sister,” Rarity says in a sarcastic tone and stops in front of me. She waits for a few meaningful second before asking, “How was your weekend?”

I look up at her. “Where’s Twilight?”

Rarity sighs and turns around with Spike and her luggage trailing behind her. “She is fine, dear. She had some business back in Dappleshore and decided to stay. She will be back once she is done, which I am certain will not be long.”

I remain behind on the platform, staring at the train as if merely wishing could make Twilight suddenly trot out and yell “surprise!”

* * *

I wake up, and all I remember of the dream is the digging, the sound of the shovel and the scent of the grave as soft earth is turned and something uncovered.

I can feel Daffodil. She is uneasy, and we both know why.

* * *

Two more pictures adorn the front page of the news this morning. Their happy faces stare out at me as I pick up the paper and read the latest report. Two more fillies disappeared outside Dodge City. The disappearances are getting closer to Ponyville.

I know who it is, but no pony would believe me or even listen to me if I told them.

The bell above the door of the boutique chimes. “Sweetie Belle?” I look up as Rarity walks into the room. “There you are,” she says. “I just returned from Town Hall, and the mayor says there’s going to be a curfew until the culprit of these disappearances has been caught.”

They won’t catch her. How will they catch somepony they don’t believe in?

Rarity sits down next to me. “No filly or colt is allowed outside after the sun has set without a guardian, and you are not to open the door or window for anyone. If they don’t have the key, they don’t get in.” She reaches out a hoof to lift my gaze from the paper. “Okay?”

I nod. “Mhmm.”

She looks directly at me, and I know she is simply worried. “I mean it, Sweetie Belle. If I find you outside after dark, or that you let anypony in, even if it’s just one of your friends, I will make sure mother and father take away all your privileges for a year! We almost lost you once. We don’t want it to happen again.”

“I know,” I say.

“Promise me you’ll behave?”

“I promise.”

She searches my eyes before pulling me into a hug. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll find this … this monster soon.”

“Will Twilight Sparkle come back?” I mutter as I return the hug.

“She is … very busy with very important work,” she says, and I can hear that she worries too. I wonder if she believes it. “But I am sure our letters will convince her that it is time to put it aside and come back to her friends. I am sure she misses us all too.”

* * *

It is dark outside, and Midnight is out there. I don’t know how, but she never really died, not like she should have, and I know she is behind the disappearances. I can feel it, in my own heart and in Daffodil whose soul is more restless than ever.

I wonder if I will lose Daffodil, or if she can stay with me once Midnight is gone for good. I don’t think she knows what will happen either. I don’t want to lose her, but I know she wants to be free. I could never ask her to give up her freedom for me.

Midnight is close. I can feel her, it’s like … a wrongness. I stand up with my front hooves against the glass, staring out at the dark. I know I promised my sister, but Mandrake made a promise to Daffodil, and that promise is now mine.

It can not go on forever. I must kill Midnight.

I quietly unlock the window and open it up to the night outside. I stand for a moment before crawling out, climbing carefully down the side of the house. I jump the last distance and land in the soft grass. I look around quickly before hurrying down the street, making sure to say within the shadows.

The wrongness is getting stronger. She’s on the hunt and needs to feed. Mandrake knew about this magic, she was the one who studied it and wrote about it in her journal. I don’t hear much from her, but I know she’s with me. Did Midnight learn about it too?

The village is quiet. Everypony is staying inside because of the disappearances. I round a corner and hurry down a small alley. I stop as I hear a voice and the sound of hooves. I turn around and move back a bit to peek down another street.

I am not the only young pony who is out when they shouldn’t be. I recognize Dinky from school, I think she’s in a class below us. She’s looking frightened as she calls out for her dog. I feel my heart sink at the scene. It is too perfect to be a coincidence.

I can almost taste the wrongness now. We are not alone.

“What is the matter child?”

Dinky spins around and stares at the stranger coming down the street towards her. I wonder if she can feel the wrongness too. “W-who are you? H-have you seen Scruffles?”

The stranger kneels down on one front leg. She’s wearing a heavy black cloak, concealing her face and body. “Don’t worry, child. I won’t hurt you. Where are your parents?”

Dinky sniffs but takes a step away from the stranger. “I-I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“You shouldn’t be out at night either,” the stranger says and holds out a hoof. A glow in her eyes seem to beckon the filly towards her. “Come on, I’ll get you back home. Your parents must be worried.”

Dinky hesitates before approaching the stranger. “But what about Scruffles?”

“Is he your pet?” The stranger stands up and places a hoof on Dinky’s shoulder. “I am sure your parents can help you find him.”

I have to do something.

I step out into the street and concentrate. “Dinky! Run!” I yell. I feel the rough fabric of the stranger’s cloak through my magic and pull as hard as I can through my horn. I feel it more than see it as the cloak is ripped off the stranger’s back.

She looks so much like Twilight Sparkle, but her face is dead, and I can see right through her body as she spins around and stares at me.

Dinky screams, and I wish she would run instead, but I can’t worry about that now. I let go of the cloak and get ready to bolt. “Come and get me, Midnight!”

I can see the surprise in her eyes at the name. I knew that’d get her attention. I spin around and set into a gallop as she takes the bait. I need to keep her away from everypony else.

My heart is in my throat, pounding hard as I round corners as fast as I can. I steer towards the edge of town and the deep forest. There are no young fillies who live in the forest. If I can get her lost in there and hide, maybe she’ll be too weak to survive. Maybe I can keep her running long enough to make her weak.

I only hope I can make it.

I can see the forest ahead.

I look behind me. She isn’t there.

I stop and spin around, looking around for any signs of where she went. I can’t lose her.

“Looking for me, little fly?”

I scream and try to run.

A shadow falls over me, and I fall.

* * *

I wake to the darkness and pain. I am lying on my back on hard stone. My legs are tied with rope, and it hurts. I can smell copper. It is overwhelming and makes me feel sick.

I can feel her presence too, the wrongness that seems to shroud her and linger anywhere she has been. I try to keep calm and imagine the ropes. It hurts my head when I try to focus my magic. I try to ignore the pain and push through, but it only gets worse. All I can feel is the pain instead of the rope. I give up with a sigh.

A door opens, and a dim purple light fills the room. I turn my head to see.

The floor is littered with ashes and bones. I see the little skulls with their little horns in front of me. How many has she killed?

“Thirty three.” The door closes, and Midnight picks up a skull as she turns to me. “Thirty three in the last thirteen days.” She sets the skull down next to me on the stone. “A bit more than I need to sustain myself, but I like to … indulge.”

I turn away and close my eyes.

“You know, it took a lot of time to lure that dog out of the house so I could get at the kid.” I can feel her right next to me, circling around me. “I expect now they’ll lock it up, and then I probably won’t have a second chance at your little friend.” She leans down above me. “Was it worth it?”

I don’t answer. I try to turn away from where she is.

“Who are you?” she asks, and I can feel her probing stare like she is trying to read the answer from my face. “How did you know about me? What is it about you that feels so …” Her presence is so close to my face, I am sure if I looked I would see nothing but her eyes. “Strange.”

Daffodil is hiding deep inside. I can tell she is afraid.

Midnight remains silent for a long time before she pulls away a little. I dare to open my eyes again. She is watching me, and I am surprised to find sadness in her eyes.

I remember the vision in the swamp. I remember a younger Midnight crying by the grave she had been digging. When she doesn’t say anything, I dare a question. “Why did you cry out there in the swamp? Who was in the grave?”

Her mouth opens a little, and her brow furrows as she looks at me. “There is only one pony who ever saw me do that or knew about it,” she says. She is hesitating. “I should have expected you would find another unicorn. I can only imagine you will continue to haunt me, one innocent and hapless little filly unicorn after another.”

She looks away. All I can do is wait and hope for a chance of some kind.

“I still bear the scar you gave me. It caused me pain all my life, did you know that? I couldn’t turn my head properly after it healed.” She hasn’t moved but simply stands there looking at me and the room. “You almost had me. Had you acted a fraction of a second sooner, or had I been just a tiny bit slower to react, I would have been dead as you wished.”

“Tragic how it’s ended,” she continues. “You had a great chance, and you lost it. And instead of just ending there, you are now taking an innocent unicorn down with you. And there will be more, won’t there? There’s no way you can stop me now, you do realize that? You will always be a little filly, and we will both keep on coming back.”

“And you didn’t even need to have resorted to this necromancy to get back at me. You could have simply stabbed me in the back and called it a day. What was the point? Some silly wish for it to be Daffodil’s metaphorical hoof that struck the fatal blow from beyond the grave? Poetic justice?”

She finally turns and walks slowly around the stone where I lie. “I don’t know whether to be proud that you did so well and thank you for all the research you did. I never would have gotten where I am without that research. Or should I be ashamed that you never could do it right? That you came so close, and did everything wrong after all?”

Midnight stops and looks at the ashes behind her. “Or perhaps I should feel sad and jealous that I wanted to be your unicorn all along, and now it will haunt me forever.”

I watch her stand there silently, lost in some distant memories. “Who did you bury?”

“You,” she says without looking at me. “Your diary, every copy I made of it, the … dress I made for you. Everything I had that reminded me of you and our time together.”

I am amazed to hear her voice break. She sits down with her eyes averted from me. “I couldn’t bear to look at them. I didn’t want to have to kill you. I almost didn’t. I almost told myself if I got down on my knees and begged forgiveness, everything could have been different. That you would love me like you did in your diary.”

She looks down and closes her eyes. “I was such a foal. I was young, what can I say? I thought you would like the reversal and see it as a chance to fight me and win me, to make me yours by force and right. You weren’t meant to hate me, but you did, I guess. And in the end it was you or me, and I chose me. I had no choice but to kill you. I almost didn’t.”

“Why did you continue?”

“I did what I had to do all my life. If there’s one thing I’ve learned above all else, it’s that you do what you must and never hesitate or regret. I don’t regret any of the others, not for a second.” She opens her eyes and looks up. “And I enjoyed it.” Her eyes turn to me. “I loved watching you die, Daffodil, make no mistake. Your screams and that look in your eyes, it drove me wild with lust even as it hurt me deeply.”

“I had fun with you long after the light and warmth had left you. Not as much fun as watching the moment when your eyes finally stopped seeing, but I couldn’t just let go. It is the ultimate control, you know, to hold another’s life in your hoof. And once they are dead, their body is yours to do with whatever you like.”

She makes me sick, but I can’t stop listening.

“I loved you, Daffodil. I loved you like I’ve never loved before or after. I’ve had others in my life. I’ve killed countless too. I’ve tortured them, amused myself with them in every way while they screamed and begged. I’ve played with their corpses, burned them, and raised them from the ashes again to continue their torment. And I regret none of it, and it has afforded me a wealth of knowledge and magic which could not have been gained in any other way.”

She looks back down. “My only regret in life was making you hate me and having to kill you. I regret that I will now have to repeat that painful memory over and over with you.”

I see my chance, and I only pray it works. “You don’t have to,” I say and feel my heart hesitate at what I am saying. “You could let me go.”

“Oh really? And then what?”

“You could … return to the grave and have peace.”

Midnight looks at the bones and ashes around her. “You are right, I could do that. Would you forgive me if I did?”

Do what you must and never hesitate. How does it work? I look at her as best I can. “I would forgive you, Midnight.”

“We could both be free,” I hear myself speak, and I feel the hope of Daffodil as she rises from within my heart. “All I want is to be free to dream again,” she speaks.

Midnight looks at the floor for a while before smiling sadly. “Free, but never again together.” She stands up and turns around to face Daffodil and me, the smile giving way to sadness. “I’m sorry, Daffodil. I’m sorry for everything I did to you.”

“I can forgive you, if you let me be free,” Daffodil speaks.

Midnight sighs deeply. “I am sorry, Daffodil. I shall look forward to our next meeting instead. May it hurt as much as this one, so that I never forget my one regret.”

“Please, Midnight,” I beg as she steps towards me. “You don’t have to do this.”

Her horn lights up, and I watch the knife gleam in the purple glow. “I have done too much to seek forgiveness, but for you, Daffodil, I shall make it quick this one time.”

I close my eyes and cry. I feel Daffodil within me, trying to hold me, and she makes me happy. I love you, Daffodil. I will miss my friends. Scootaloo and Apple Bloom. My sister. Mom and dad. Everypony in Ponyville.

I will always love you.

“I’m sorry.”

The sharp blade presses against my neck and pulls upwards in one fatal arc of red.

I gasp and open my eyes, but no air fills me. For a few seconds I feel the rush and panic in my heart, but then the purple glow dies and all the world fades and takes away the pain and worry.

My last thoughts are of my friends and family that I shall never see again. Then I feel Daffodil’s hooves around me, and I know that she will never leave me. I cry and hold her tight.

I am her unicorn, and together we will dream, forever.

Author's Note

This turned out very different than I planned.

Stitch began as a poem about an evil pony whose soul was trapped in a doll, which Rarity then bought for Sweetie Belle. The doll went on to possess Sweetie Belle in order to make her kill and sew Rarity into some freaky Frankenstein's monster so the doll could have a real body again.

At some point it turned into a prequel to Fillystata instead. Originally the spirit of Mandrake/Daffodil which possessed Sweetie Belle was supposed to be more evil, completely taking over Sweetie Belle's body much like Midnight took over Twilight's body. As the story went on, I guess they became less evil and just sort of tragic.

I never planned on there being much romance either. The doomed Scootabelle wasn't planned, nor was the love between Sweetie and Daffodil. I might have explored both earlier otherwise.

Daffodil's racism, claustrophobia and terrible spelling was also a surprise addition. All in all, I don't think I had any clue what I was writing when I began, even though I outlined all seven chapters in detail first :P I guess it was a learning experience.