Esquestria: The House of the Sun - A pony cultist experience

[Maer]

To Struggle and Climb

---

You are Ashen Weaver, and you have started to realize something.

There are certain truths about the world as it is. Truths that belong to Honesty. After all, The nature of Light is to reveal, to make things known. It is Honest, True, a Lantern Light in the mist; and sadly, it so rarely has the chance to be Kind. But that doesn't matter. What matters… is that you have figured out a few important Truths.

Light is Honest, revealing and merciless. The Kindness of ponies filters Honest truth in Generous sweetness. It makes things more palatable. Loyalty ensures Honesty remains, while Kind Generosity brings out the best of the Light and Laughter helps soothe the harsher truths. The odd man out in the cute little five-man band of Harmony is Magic, which… it feels like there is a better name for Magic, as Magic itself seems like more a byproduct than the purpose and aspect mixed in.

But the fact of the matter is… you cannot lie to yourself. To burn the brightest you can, to share light and help it grow, you cannot remove that most fundamental and foundational key. Honesty remains the back on which everything else grows and can form, everything else is a Filter for it. You cannot lie and expect any kindness, generosity, or laughter to be true. Loyalty, by its nature, IS Honest. To be loyal, how can you lie to a friend?

Thus, your issue.

The nightmares have not stopped. The wolves prowl through your dreams, haunt your nightmares, and rest atop you in those rare days when your chest is heavy with paralysis before you can fully wake up. The creature chuffing in amusement and baring fangs in a hollow, aching smile of promised pain… promised Agony.

No, you cannot spread the light while lying to yourself anymore. You tried, for a month, and it failed. So… you stepped into a dream. You found some arcane secret kept intentionally or accidentally hidden from ponykind, and now you were in the thick of things. You could not play the blind fool any longer, and you refused to be another tragedy. So… how could you bring the light back? Well… Honesty was knowledge. Generosity and Kindness, even Laughter and Magic required knowledge. Every aspect of the elements spoken of so frequently in mythology surrounding the Sisters had knowledge within it. It was not an element, but something somehow even more foundational.

So, you needed knowledge. You knew of no one who had explored this place, nor anyone who could tell you the Honest truths you needed so badly. So… what else to do, but start actively exploring yourself? If nothing else, when you inevitably told others, you would at least know what pitfalls they could avoid.

As you climbed up to your apartment after a long day of physical labor, backbreaking for any other less physically gifted race, you considered your options and slowly nodded to yourself. You were determined to explore this 'Mansus' place, to face the wolf again.

This time, you knew what to expect. You settled into place properly, relaxed your breathing, cautiously clipping a section of your mane and settling in. You looked at the calendar as you settled in to rest. Hearthswarming would be soon… you needed to speak to your neighbors about how to start some event for the city… to spite the tragedy if nothing else. To mourn those lost, and celebrate those who survived. To show that they were not broken or made lesser by those monsters…

But those were thoughts for another time. Sucking in a breath, you lay down, looking at your empty bed and pondering on the odd feeling of Love that had hovered in your chest ever since the wedding. You… you wanted it. Somepony special to share your heart with, to build a life with. To be together with in this nightmare…

But you were alone. More than ever since the tragedy of not long ago…

Those lingering sorrows followed you down into what should have been a nightmare, and instead… you opened your eyes. Before you was a crossroads, a mess of winding paths… a place you had been before. You started walking, remembering the small trickle of secrets from the pamphlet. To be lost is to find your way. To know nothing, is to know everything. To be blind, is to see.

All idiotic rambling of somepony trying to be philosophical, but the main points, the meaning behind it… Well. That was something you grasped. Chaos, secrets, uncertainty. The world is full of wonder and horror, full of impossible truths and painfully realistic lies. The only way to tell them apart is to seek. To chase after that most precious and wonderous of things… the Light.

The very essence of the secrets in that pamphlet had all been surrounding the seeking of Light. Of something more pure and foundational to creation than anything else you could imagine or think of. Which made sense for a 'principle' called 'Moth'. It felt… right, as well. To chase the Light, like you had all your life.

So, you looked up. There was… the wasteland made seeing much beyond the heat and glare difficult, but there was… a Beacon. A Light. It was important, guiding, revealing the path, the way, the course that needed to be set. So you fixed your gaze on the Light, and started walking. You felt the path turn and twist under you, but ignored where your hooves took you, as long as your gaze remained fixed. And… and you yelped when you felt the burn of the Ash under your hooves.

It… you'd made it. To the ashen, sandy wastes. It… in truth, there was never any sand here, naught but ash, and the feeling of loss. It ached alongside the tragedy of what had been lost in the waking world, the truth reflected in this twisted dream. Still, whatever the case may have been in the past, you were here now, in a horrid wasteland of loss, ash, and laughing Wolves.

Every step was painful, a sharp, stabbing pain reminding you not to tarry. You felt, in some corner of your being, that you should try to fix this- to undo the tragedy, soothe the pain, and cool the heat. To make some fresh growth form out of this ashen nightmare. But you… you didn't know how. You were uncertain how to even keep yourself safe rigt now, much less how to heal this wound. Sadly, you were not talented in the healing of lands.

But… you may not have been specialized for repairing the lost ecosystem of this place, nor were you even sure how to start, but one thing you COULD do, was pave the path. Lead the way for others who knew more than yourself. You would become an expert in this place, learn its secrets, and share them with those that could help.

You pressed on, eyes fixed on the Beacon. You didn't know what you didn't know, but you DID know that you needed to reach that Light. Of course, the shift of Ash in front of you had you pause, and you slowly lowered your gaze. There, in the ash, sitting as though it had been there all along, was a wolf. A wolf already looking up at you with malice and gleeful cruelty.

You held back your shivers and fear, knowing it could still tell, but unwilling to grant it the satisfaction of seeing how badly it frightened you. Instead, you frowned, keeping your gaze on it. It bared its teeth in what could have been a grin, or a snarl- it was so hard to tell with its maw so cruel and full of sharp teeth… so harshly and hatefully eager to tear flesh from bone. The Pale fur and Yellow eyes haunting his mind as the Bloody teeth remained exposed.

"I see you finally came back… what took you so long? I've been wanting to say hello again for ever-so long…~" You found yourself shuddering as the mere sound of it left you aching inside, like your ears had been assaulted by some kind of torment- sandpaper layered in salt and glass shards, delicately avoiding the fragile parts and running roughshod across the less easily broken parts.

You swallowed, dearly wishing to step back, but… then it would sense weakness and chase. Instead, you refused to dignify it with a response. You walked past, giving it a Generous berth and doing it the Kindness of leaving it in peace. It flinched slightly at that, barely an ear twitch, but… you noticed. How could you not? It growled louder as you slowly moved to leave it behind, remaining fixed on the beacon. Though… you had to turn and leave your back turned if you wanted to continue. Could you make it…?

You turned and ran in the moment between one heartbeat and the next, hearing a howl the instant your gaze left the creature, and you could FEEL the ash shift under you, every step suddenly harder giving less power than expected. You were slower than you should be, and losing distance with every hoofstep of your gallop. The beast seemed able to glide across the ash, and the very ashen soil beneath your hooves clung to and dragged at you.

You heaved in air, air gushing out with each exhale as you pushed your innate Earth Pony strength into your legs and powered through the sheer awful burning, cloying ache of the ash as it dug into your hooves. Glancing up revealed the Beacon still in the distance…

And now far to the left. The very ground beneath you seemed to shift, guiding you further from your destination, and in some other direction. You gritted your teeth, already struggling to stay ahead of what felt like the beast snapping at your rear hooves- you couldn't even look back, too busy fighting to move forward.

You knew that wherever the beast was taking you would be horrendous, an awful experience, but you had to go through with it. To face this danger so you could prepare yourself and others to face it again in the future more safely. As it hounded your steps, you saw the temple you'd visited and fled last time in the distance, the awful thing full of horrendous and bloody knowledge you had refused to act on.

You knew… awful things because of that place. But it wasn't your destination, as you curved yourself away, and it vanished from view between one eye blink and the next. Just as rapidly, you could feel exhaustion beginning to fill your limbs, but you pressed on. You were asleep, it wasn't real exhaustion. You ignored it, and it faded as you pressed on. Though you suspected that you'd be paying for it later somehow.

Of course, when you eventually did find the place it was leading you, you dearly wished you hadn't. Here, a faint mist of ruddy, Brackish Fluid filled the air in a fine mist that seared with every touch against your fur. As you pressed on, bearing the agony with force of will, you saw the source. A massive and growing pool of Horrid Red that gushed from high above and fell below.

You had no idea how this had formed, or why a waterfall of horrendously Agonizing Blood would be falling from the sky, but it didn't matter. You were out of places to go. So you pressed on, then dove to the side just before the pool, whipping around and sending Ash flaring into the air in a faint dusty cloud around you as you turned and saw… nothing.

It wasn't there. It hadn't followed you. It- You screamed as pain FLARED in your rear left hoof, rearing and kicking your hind legs as you smacked into something with far too satisfying a CRACK. Turning again, now limping, you saw the wolf licking its chops as it slowly got up, your own blood leaking from the creature's maw as it slowly grinned, chuckling and chuffing, its eyes shining with malice.

"The first lesson of Heart, is that it never ceases to Beat. Through Agony, Suffering, and even when on the very verge of Death, it continues, forcing life to stay and attend it until every shuddering breath has been stolen away, every thought formed and faded, every Light dimmed and every Flame flickered out. And then, when all has been done and said, passed and withered and crumbled around you, it continues to Beat and Dance, to spite and howl against the dying of the light, and the Ending that all things must inevitably face. It is never ending, and it would deny all things their final rest, with no care for the pithy longings of those who Suffer in Agony. Do you understand…?"

The horrible thing was… you did. You could feel it, the knowledge beyond simple words burned into your mind. The agony of knowing you would live through this suffering… it wasn't escapable. You would live, and you would suffer, and nothing would EVER stop that… until the Heart no longer Beat in your chest. But… why. Why was it teaching you?

It grinned wider. "The first lesson of Winter is that all things end. Because all things MUST end. No matter the Agony, it will be relieved. No matter the joy, it will die. No matter the bliss, it will fade. Until everything is cold, and dead, and dark. Nothing can stop this, because Endings are inevitable. No Beating Heart can stave off Death forever, no pony, no thing, no idea is truly permanent, Aside from Glory. But Winter will remember all and hold you close in it's bitterly cold embrace, and beckon you sweetly into it's dark, endless eternity of Silence and Beauty. Oh, to End, to Finish and Cease... to Die. Is it not the most beautiful of gifts? So cruelly denied to those of us in Agony...~"

The pain of the teaching hurt worse than the bite had, and left you shaken, your mind struggling under the weight of it, each word digging deeper now, clawing at your insides. It left ragged, jagged wounds in your soul, and you weren't certain you could handle more. Another lesson would cause something to be horribly, irreversibly damaged you could tell. There was nothing you could do, either. It was too much, too quickly, and skipping over the baseline needed to know it existed, much less to have a level of understanding in it.

"The first lesson in Edge is-" You roared and lunged forward, spinning and kicking the creature again, it's pained yelping bark escaping it as it was rammed back, looking up in time to see you lashing out and throwing a hoof into its face, searing pain lancing through your hoof as you saw Wolven blood splatter across your hoof. Yet it was cackling and laughing, even as you turned and ran, certain you had not killed it and uncertain if you even could. It was so cruel and heartless, so cold…

You ran on your injured limb, your hoof sending Agony through every step as ash burned its way inside and bloody mist attacked the open wound. Seeking the Paths into your body, through the door exposed by your wound. It was… it was agony. Winter soothed the pain in your mind, while Heart soothed the agony in your leg, the suffering teaching a valuable lesson that itself sent your mind spinning with aches and pains. It was too much… you'd have to think this over for weeks or months…

But beyond everything else, you had to know… why. Why was the Wolf trying to teach you??? Why was it trying to kill you??? How did those overlap…? They couldn't, could they? What kind of horror was it spreading to you? Was there even a way to escape? It was so much, your mind spun and dove with the knowledge, the shifts in perspective, the sudden dives and dips in knowledge leaving you with no outlet for the buzzing in your brain…

You tripped before getting too far, tumbling and screaming as your wounded leg was buried in the ash. Looking back, there was the wolf. Sitting where you'd been running, and grin on its terrible face as you stared. It winked, then lunged with jaws spread and… and you sat up gasping for breath as you shook in your bed, the apartment dark and cold, but your body feeling rested… albeit, injured given the blood on your rear leg. Pulling it out from under the blanket exposed a bite weakly gushing blood, the pattern of your heartbeat strong and steady as you whimpered.

You stood, limping to your bathroom and beginning to bandage your leg, wrapping it in fabric you kept there for emergencies. After the tragedy, it had seemed like such a good idea, and it was paying off, but… but more importantly, there were secrets you had learned. Principles besides Moth. Winter, Heart, and you'd heard enough to know that Edge must be a principle as well, you had also felt something about your Wound, and how it… worked. You'd need to think about it for a while before risking another lesson with that Monster… or another encounter. It hadn't only taught, after all…

But still. You'd managed it. You'd visited that wretched place, survived, and… come back ultimately stronger. You'd fought the monsters, bloodied the unkillable, and stolen knowledge from the mouth of a biting Wolf. All while surviving. That was rare in stories, and difficult. You weren't sure it hadn't simply allowed you to escape.

But whatever the reason or cause, you were here. You were now. You had lived. And… and you would do this again. Whatever reason it had for taking you there, you were certain it had been important for more than just that reason, and you were curious. Still… you had a mission. One you'd already started on. It was a darker start than you'd hoped, but you HAD started. It was… something, at least…

---

You have learned the secret existence of the principles of Winter, Edge, Heart, and Knock Something about Wounds and Paths.
You must study a Knock and Edge lore object or book to gain a scrap for them.
You have gained 1 scrap of Winter, and 1 Scrap of Heart. You learned both in such quick succession, and from such an agonizing source, that you much spend an action each studying them to internalize the lesson and actually make use of them. Beware the Wolf.
You can FEEL the pattern forming in your mind. Edge leading to Winter, leading to Heart, leading… somewhere, before Moth. Knock at the center of it all. You're missing pieces you can tell, but you have not discovered what they are yet. Best of luck, Neophyte…~

---

So, this feels a touch rushed to me, but I'm fairly proud of it. Why is Ash teaching Lore to some random Pony?
Good question.

Anyways, if you notice points where it could be improved, please let me know! And if I made any major mistakes... also let me know.
Happy Holidays!

 

[AuthorTransient]

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In Which (S) Collide: Kosmic Conclusion

The ritual circle is a little smushed, especially the smallest circle for misdirection and obscuration. This dirt isn't exactly the best place to carve a circle, even without the shocks of the battle occurring outside. You grimace, but you should at least give it a try.

You had explained the ritual to Comet Feet as much as you could during the preparations. Now the both of you are as blindfolded as you had been able to scrounge up and tinker on such short notice.

Ideally, this ritual should take place on the eve of a battle and not during it. Luckily, the rules of this ritual allow for certain modifications or alternatives. You hope this will work.

Slowly, you breathe out. "Let's start."

Before you were seven of Comet Feet's knives. You pick up one and immediately cut yourself on accident. Buck.

This is fine. This works. After all, the entity you are trying to summon will not heed your call if blood is not split.

You need to open a path for him, after all.

You pick up the next knife and stab yourself, just enough for your blood to exit your body and cover the tip of the blade. Then you repeat for the next knife, and the next, going clockwise.

Though you know you are not alone, you feel as if you are being watched.

You don't let that stop you, because you cannot hesitate. Your daughter's life is on the line.

When you finish the seventh, you pick up the first knife again and throw it over your shoulder. Shink. It should land within a very particular triangle-shaped sigil in the outer reach of the third circle – which is also the sharpest circle of this ritual.

This, you know and had explained, was a very old game – or at least, that was one of the terms you had used to describe it. Truth was that you could only approximate as much as you could to its meaning with similar words, because there wasn't really a word that could correctly encompass all of its meaning in the modern lexicon.

Like a competition, or a bet, that could be done for fun but has also been done to determine the outcome of blood oaths and life-bets.

And you don't actually know how the winner is determined, but for the purposes of this ritual, you and Comet Feet really only need to merely land all of the knives within the empty space of that triangle.

While blindfolded. And throwing it at a spot behind your back. Without being able to actually see the result, and knowing that there can't be any restarts. And especially, that you cannot hesitate, because it is against the rules.

No. Fucking. Pressure.

And eventually, somehow, while panicking and fearing and disassociating, you pick up your seventh knife and throw it.

Nothing happens. In other rituals, there at least was a sign, or a feeling – your heart lurches -

Comet Feet's own knife goes whizzing through the air and doesn't touch the ground.

Spoiler: Summoning Rolls

Moth: 58 + 13 (Magic) + 40 (Moth Level 4) - 20 (Rushed) = 91

Knock: 16 59 + 13 (Magic) + 40 (Knock Level 4) - 20 (Rushed) = 92

Edge: 27 35 85 (Comet Feet) + 13 (Magic) + 40 (Edge Level 4) - 20 (Rushed) = 118

All summoning rolls passed.

-!!!-​

And still you cannot feel... No, what you feel is that nothing had happened.

There is no pressure in the air, no sensation of the world being opened, or cut, or that a new presence has descended upon the world.
Your face crumples.

You take off your blindfold and turn. "I think we're going to have to - "

But Comet Feet is looking at a very old stallion.

At the stallion outside of the ritual circle, who is very calmly and deliberately looking at the knives in that triangle. He has no wings, he has no horns, and he is wearing a cap and very old uniform that looks so battered and worn that it feels... soft, like folded paper.

And he is looking at the knives like an arbiter, or a judge, deciding the results of a competition or trial.

You can't help but cringe a little as you realize one of your knives had landed exactly on the edge of that sigil.

"Interesting..." he says, and finally looks up. "And you are my employer?"

Your heart freezes, because he is talking to Comet Feet. Despite the fact that he does not look at all or feel at all like he was in the Mansus, like an undeniable force of nature, as impartial as a storm or a natural disaster, or a cold impersonal wall built long ago that a pegasus had just pancaked into – you're rambling. What you mean is that he looks kind. Like a grandfather looking at his children.

But your own experience with the paternal side of your family was not kind at all.

But more importantly, your mind is going on this tangent, because you are sure that Comet Feet hates you. He hates you for knowing Fluttershy, he hates you for interrupting his ritual, he hates you for barging into his life and turning him... softer.

And this weapon you had summoned is now in the hands of that other.

You dread the result of this conversation, yet somehow - ! You can't speak up. Because somehow -! You cannot influence Comet Feet's decision.

And Comet Feet says, "no."

You blink and feel like your eyelids had just scraped against the edge of a scythe.

The Name of Edge nods, as if this had always been a foregone conclusion. Then he turns to you and speaks. "Then I am Biedde, soldier of the Colonel, at your service. I will be your employee until our contract is finished." He gives a short bow which you mirror back. " And what will you have me do, employer?"

You find your voice and, unhestitantly, give an order. "Kill her."

He smiles leadingly, the smoke of his cigar trailing up towards the red sky. "Pardon?"

And what an order you give this Edge's Name! An order that seems to have been inevitable from the beginning, ever since you met him standing before the Worm Museum. "I said, KILL HER!"

Your hoof comes down and it feels like a gavel. "DESTROY HER! MAREINETTE HAS BECOME MY ENEMY! CRUSH HER! STRIKE HER DOWN! REDUCE HER TO DUST!"

Biedde's lips quirk. His eyes suddenly glint with immortal madness. He chuckles, then breaks into laughter. "WELL SAID, MY EMPLOYER! THIS SERVANT...." He savors the words as he speaks them, "shall carry out your order."

With those words, you return to the battlefield in time to see Selene get bowled over by a fleeing Mareinette, screaming Celestia in tow. "GET BACK HERE YOU COWARD!"

A terrified whinney escapes the centuries-old horror as she charges and stumbles over the next hill, at which point a superpowered beam of white light smashes in front of her and sends her tumbling ass backwards and into a leftover still-smoking crater.

Celestia peers at her from above. "AND STAY DOWN!"

Mareinette uncoils and springs up as if in defiant answer and -

You try to understand what she had just witnessed. Did time slow down, or even stop?

The answer is quite simple – it is simply inevitable. Because what She wants, She gets.


Plink, plink, plonk, plink, plink!


What had happened was -- slowly, deliberately, the titanic shape of Mareinette had gingerly rose up, each of her five heads closing like ebony piano keys, snapping shut like spring traps to swallow the sun. Then you blink, you flinch backwards, your body finally understands what is happening – no, what was happening – no, what had happened.

A whine rises in pitch and the respective head explodes into a bloody deflating mess, but the distraction is enough – Selene falters in front of her bulk and unhinged maws – hay – in the second time in not as many minutes, a blazing comet smashes into Mareinette and sends her skidding backwards, digging deep trenches the size of wheelbarrows in the dirt.

The Mane 6 are here.

Wait, how?!

Twilight Sparkle stands radiant at the forefront, multicolored light forming a splendid horn, and if you think it silently then no one can know the way your heart clenches at the sight. Fluttershy is there despite your worries, and Rarity is there, and together with Applejack, Rainbow Dash, and Pinkie Pie, they are the Bearers of Harmony.

It means that, despite everything, Esquestria is still alive.

With two, no, you correct yourself as Selene repositions, three cardinal directions of escape cut off, Mareinette gyrates her heads around, searching for an exit. Her hindlegs tense.

In that moment, it's like you somehow manage to peer into the guts and wires of this great horror, somehow traversing space to see a fleshy chamber where a heart made out of clockwork and sinew reverberates like a great drum. Lub-dub, lub-dub.

And as you watch on, transfixed and powerless to move, its movement abruptly accelerates, cogs spinning and great arcs of lightning lashing out as the Heart That Fed goes into overdrive.

Then you are back in your body again, eyes so wide it hurts, with a deep and terrible feeling that if Mareinette is not stopped now, a disaster will occur. Rivers of blood will run across the streets of Ponyville.

Mareinette blurs.

...a knife is unsheathed. It is not a very large knife, but its edge is in fact quite sharp. Gingerly, an old stallion grips its handle between his teeth. And though this blade is not at all extremely extraordinary, it is currently being wielded with purpose and intent to be quite a fair bit lethal. The touch of a master's hoof turns it into a transcendental weapon.

And somehow, though there were many paths that Mareinette could have chosen, she chose the one path where she charges headlong towards this blade. Almost as if drawn to it, almost as if a force had pulled her towards it, a force she did not resist, or perhaps just a force she did not notice.

And so... inevitably, conflict erupts. And as it most often does, it erupts quite spectacularly in an orgy of savagery and is over immediately after, as quickly as it had begun.

Here it comes. Death.

You can see it now. She is coming closer, closer, closing in at your position, a mad rage in her eyes...

The edge of her charge is reaching, is meeting, meets - !

- it meets the Edge of Biedde's blade!

Moonlight glints off of it and the moonlight itself i / s / c

/​

u / t on that terrible, terrible Edge.​

It shatters Mareinette's charge. Mareinette shatters, tumbling backwards, pieces of her face falling off as if she was a mortal again and had ran into a woodchipper, bits flaking off. Her head snaps back into place jerkily and it is filled with pockmarks and all kinds of other wounds, like flays or whips or claws or drills or just a particularly sharp knife, shaving off a piece here and another layer there, so sharp that it is only now noticing that a wound is there, so sharp that even the fluid now weeping from it seems to disintegrate wholly by itself.

Her frame shudders.

The circle closes in. There is nowhere to go.

Mareinette tries to clamber back out, she tries to escape, but each time her attempts are parried and riposted, and each time she tries to open an avenue her distractions are dispelled. She is repeatedly returned to the (ever-growing) crater like a particularly obese homing pigeon.


Until finally, she stops.

And then just like that, it's over.


It's over.


So why doesn't it feel like it's over?

You can't move your hooves, but you can still see. And what you see is that everypony else has stopped moving as well.

Your breaths are coming in harried bursts. What is happening?

What...


⌈

!!!

THE THIRD BIRTH COMETH

!!!​

⌋​

This entire time, Mareinette has always been just that. A puppet.

And now, the puppeteer is showing its hand.

Because it is a hand, and not a hoof. You know this because Spike has hands, and that is definitely a giant five-digit limb sticking out of the wrinkle in space-time. Stretching it open, an omen of despair sneers at you.

Spoiler: BEEG PICTURE

File:Douglas-Scottish FFT(1901)-p162-Nuckalavee-illustr-J Torrance.jpg - Wikipedia

en.wikipedia.org

What is this thing?!! It's as if someone had grafted a monster atop a pony's back, but in all of its eyes only a sadistic maleficence gleams. It is more than double the size of Mareinette at her peak. In its open mouth you can see both canine teeth and molars as it pants its rancid breath.

And worst of all, it has no skin, only bleeding sinew, a towering skyscraper leaking warm hot blood that sizzles upon contact with the cool night air.

⌈

KNUCKLELAVEE
Evil Manifest​

⌋​

Then it shrieks. Your mane is thrown back at the force of it, your eyes squeezing shut. All around you is the sound of the foliage breaking apart, leaves and even branches tearing off at the sheer force of its scream.

Your ears ring. When you open your eyes, Celestia is yelling something, but you can't hear what. Her attacks are bouncing off its skin. Biedde rears forward and stabs the thing in its fingers, and it dents the knife.

Your only saving grace is that its still struggling with its entrance. You whirl your head over to the Bearers of Harmony and yell something you can't hear. Pinkie Pie is screaming too.

The light around them intensifies.

A concentrated beam of sunfire splashes over the side of the thing's head, causing it to to flail. On the other side, a storm of stars crash like hail on its bare midriff. But despite all of their efforts, it manages to awkwardly stick a cloven hoof out from the opening and descend it towards the ground. It shrieks again, and you feel a warm fluid leak out from your ears.

Then it falters, as a splendid beam of multicolored light blasts into its chest. Groaning, it tries to resist, but it is pushed further and further out. It is a light brighter than what you had felt manifesting during Nightmare Moon's appearance. Harmony itself is rejecting this Outsider.

With a final scream, its fingers slip back out through the portal and the fabric of reality reasserts itself, mending the wound in the world entirely. The beam goes a bit further forward before it too fades out into nothing.

In the heavy silence that follows, you take a deep breath. "I can explain."

Spoiler: Alternate Ending

Because it is a hand, and not a hoof. You know this because Spike has hands, and that is definitely a four-digit limb sticking out of the wrinkle in space-time.

Someone who has always been pulling at the strings. You can't sit idly, you can't move at all. You curse the name, the one behind it all!!!!!

DISCORD!!!!

He immediately gets hit by a Harmony Beam and is resealed. Good riddance.

"Phew, thank goodness that wasn't our history, right? Though it was interesting to see. Ah, but I've rambled enough. Tap here to go back to your proper history."

---

Spoiler: Author's Notes

Okay, I managed to finish this before the end of the year. Because I couldn't figure out how to resolve Overflow, I just didn't note down the combat rolls. If it helps, Selene rolled a natural 1 on the first round, which was immediately followed up the next round by Celestia rolling a 2.

The c / u / t is of course, credited to Reaper Man. GNU Terry Pratchett.

Also, congratulations on reaching 300 pages!

I'M FREE!!!!!!!!!!

1 2 3 4 J R 5 S 6 K​

 

[spiderhellian]

A Thing You Don't Know

It is the thing you don't know that kills you.

Sometimes Biedde is amazed his summoner has lived this long. Not least because she's been climbing the Mansus while only a too-hard breeze away from death's door, as so recently was made quite clear to her.

She simply doesn't know so much.

She doesn't know why the world is so askew. She barely even knows how it is askew. And she definitely has no idea how to fix it, besides the obvious.

Still, that's more of a subtle knife, creeping in ever so slowly. There are much more obvious deficits in her knowledge, which are about to have much more obvious consequences.

For example, her lack of knowledge about just how much one wolf-thing's request would cost her. And how that, when coupled with a few other "necessary" expenditures in the course of another favour, would leave her stockpile of funds sadly diminished. To the point that she could not quite afford a train ticket to Equestria's outer reaches, or a myriad of well-made baits, or the solid oak and springy willow necessary for effective traps.

That is, she could not afford to fund his monster-hunting expedition.

That was a slight disappointment. The taste of a winter storm had whetted his appetite, but since then, it had remained sadly unfulfilled. Mortal guards? Soft earth and a corpse? Not the best the Wake has to offer, he knows. Not the kind of thing his Master accepts as propitiation.

On the other hoof, spending time on his religious affairs most certainly is. Since his employer could not quite abide his departure, that is what she has given him leave to carry out. Despite the fact that she does not know what it entails.

Delightful. This time, it will not be the thing that kills her. No, not her.

As he sets out from Ponyville, Biedde looks to the horizon. Yes, it is warped. But that's not the worst thing wrong with the world, he thinks.

It doesn't have enough scars.

His employer is a rare exception. But so many dance and twirl and laugh through this world, and never face the cut turned need to truly grow.

What wounds occur are papered over or covered up — again, he thinks of his employer — and not allowed to heal into a thin grey line imbued with memory.

Consider, even, the enraged Demi-goddess at the centre of this realm. How many blows did it endure? How many cuts adorned its limbs? And how often did it just choose to proceed along unfeeling, making a pretence of seamlessness, to avoid its subjects ever seeing a body in any way marred?

So many lessons, left unlearned. So much ignorance, embraced. With, yes, the obvious consequences.

Biedde knows the estate's wolf-pony has been offering her patron's answer to this tension at the world's core.

His knives are sharp. His stride is unyielding. His orders are clear.

It is time for him to do the same.

Spoiler: AN

Pondering Biedde, a little. And the link between scars and lessons, lessons and ignorance, and ignorance and… well, the obvious.

I think the only thing worse than giving him time for his religious observances would be not extending his summon. So let's best be confident we have the bits.

 

[spiderhellian]

The Same Day, A Different Mare

You wake up in the morning. Looking back, you'll realize today is a very important day, but in the moment you do not. Your mind is focused on the project you've been working on, turning over the words your mentor mentioned last night. She was worried you were a little too focused, that you should reach out to other people more. Oh — oh! Of course! You had been drawing directly from Starswirl's notes, but of course that was misguided! He was a genius, but he had contemporaries, antecedents, pupils! It was ridiculous to just pull your sources from one author, it would be like exploring with but one hypothesis! Time for another trip to the library, this time with a cart!

As soon as you stopped outside, however, you realized something was off. The whole town was abuzz with the latest news, and it would be no exaggeration to say that literal festivities were popping all around at the drop of a horseshoe, parades forming spontaneously on the streets as ecstatic ponies brought out their instruments and joined each other in songs. Food was practically being distributed for free by merchants and bakers, and everywhere one went the repeated cheers could reach even the ears of the most inattentive creature.

"A princess! A new princess has appeared! A pegasus became an alicorn! Hail princess Cadance!"

A new… a new princess?

A Pegasus, become an Alicorn?

Become. An Alicorn?

BECOME. AN ALICORN?

But… but… she had said— she had warned you away— and all this time—

Had you done something wrong? Had you made a mistake? Had you erred fundamentally, fatally, and your mentor was just too kind or too cowardly to tell you?

No Sunset. Wait. A true scholar doesn't leap to conclusions with one shred of evidence. Gather more data, and then your life can fall to pieces.

The story spread like wildfire, and you couldn't help but to overhear bits and pieces of it, slowly forming the bigger picture. You paused in your journey to the library, and the ebbs of the crowd pushed you into a bar. A bar? Well, perhaps that was the equivalent to the royal archives when gathering this sort of information.

The barkeep looked at you askance, and was clearly about to tell you to leave, when another patron laughed. "C'mon, Lee, let the filly stay! Everyone gets to celebrate on a day like today!"

The earth pony behind the counter gave you a look, and then rolled his eyes. He stuck a glass in front of you, filled it with milk, and then dropped a few ounces of some creamy brown liquor in it. You took a sip. Wow, delicious! You took a deeper sip, before the barkeep grunted. "You get one, and then you're gone," he said, before turning to the mass of other customers that had quickly formed.

Okay, you could work with that. You weren't going to turn down the free drink!

Apparently, from what you heard from several ponies around you, a certain pegasus named Cadance had performed some deed. The details on what exactly were a bit confusing, something about a potion and whatnot. You needed information, and all you were getting was rumor! But the bottom line was that in the end she turned into an alicorn. Horn appearing in her head and magic coming to her like second nature.

She did it. You had studied. You had worked. You had begged and pleaded and barely made progress.

And she just did it? How many hours had she spent in the archives, staring at books until her eyes ached? How many nights had she spent practicing magic, until her horn throbbed? How many lessons had she earned from Celestia, and how many concerned looks had they earned her?

Nopony was really sure of the details. Some insisted that princess Celestia transformed her, while others said it must have been some sort of personal merit or magic. A merit you lacked? A magic you missed? You needed details!

All you got was an agreement: the most important part was that a new Princess had presented herself to help rule Equestria. A new all-powerful, immortal alicorn had come to watch over the land alongside the Princess of the Sun. And it wasn't you. It was never going to be you.

That's the thought that turned you away from the cacophony. You finished your drink, slamming it a little louder on the counter than intended, and turned to leave. You needed to think, and this wasn't the place for it.

You walked through crowded streets, your busier than any of the parties unfurling around you. Ignore their judgments. Focus on the facts. She was young. She hadn't trained, you'd have known if she'd trained. You were doing everything you could to earn that power, to be able to bear it responsibly, and she was not.

Was this even a good thing?

You were startled out of your drinking, and your innocent eavesdropping from the background chatter, by a mare sitting by your side. It took you a few moments to realize that she was talking directly to you, and not just to herself or the ambient in general.

… that was probably your self-pity talking, wasn't it. Princess Celestia was wonderful, you loved her. Why would another princess be a bad thing?

Okay, run with the hypothesis. You can argue a position you don't believe in.

Okay, how could it be something bad? Hm. Your first instinct had been wrong — Celestia would teach her and train her just as she had been teaching you. Heck, maybe that's all you'd been, the test run! And that's why— no. Stop. Don't get sucked in, consider alternative hypotheses.

What does it mean to have another princess. It's a change. Is that bad? Wait, is it a change at all? Another princess to help out your mentor. Less need for her to teach others, to teach the nation, to teach you. Easier to keep things the same. To keep Equestria the way it is. And, and— is Equestria itself the way it was supposed to be?

Uh. What do you mean by that, Sunset? That is a peculiar research question, elucidate!

Your thoughts were startled by a particularly loud group cheers as someone hailed the name "Cadance". You gulped, and turned down a somewhat quieter alley. You needed… you couldn't… you just couldn't be there right now,

With a little fresh air, you continued your thoughts, how ever peculiar they might be.

Why would Equestria be different than what it's supposed to be? Well, well…

Oh.

You couldn't hold it in any longer. You sat on the cobblestones, and slowly started to cry.

Because Equestria had been so full of mysteries, so filled with unexplainable things… and you thought you'd be allowed to answer them. That if you were thoughtful, and studied hard, and worked diligently, you could solve them. That the way you men— Celestia kept it could adjust to include you. Would adjust, like a puzzle piece sliding into place.

But whatever world that is, is the one where some stupid pink Pegasus becomes an Alicorn, and the Unicorn who has studied for exactly that all her life is left with nothing. And that just … that just can't be right. That can't be how things should be. The regular course of the world cannot involve Sunset Shimmer sobbing in a lonely street as the capital erupts in parties around her. It can't.

Okay, take that as axiomatic. This isn't the way the world is supposed to be. What does that imply. If this isn't truly the nature of the world, then… something is off. If something is off, and it has remained off, it must be kept like that through constant effort?

That… you didn't know what that meant. But you it resonated with something inside of you, all the same.

Your sobs grew deeper. Your thoughts grew more disjointed. They ran down bizarre courses, the straight line of your intellect become spirals and zig-zags. By the time you drifted off, you only knew one axiom for certain: something was in the wrong shape. Although you couldn't tell if it was the world, or yourself.

But either way, the consequence was the same.

If something was in the wrong shape, you had to get out of here.

And you had an idea of how you might do just that…

Spoiler: AN

I still know next to nothing about this pony. I sure do hope her name is Sunset Glimmer, I may have gotten it wrong.

But if the obvious parallel is to Twilight? I think there's a less obvious parallel to a much more important pony. And it was one I wanted to explore here. Credit to Bird for so many of the words I lifted!

…Wait a second. I wrote this. It was fun. But I don't think I really want to see her? Sigh. I'll write a post about why.

 

[OurLadyOfWires]

Dreams of Velvet speaking modern slang turned into ashes, just like the dreams of the Woods...

Click to shrink...

Spoiler: Winning Vote

[Y] What is this "cellphone" all the kids are talking about? Why do you have one? And what is this "Internet" thing?
[Y] They are young and impressionable. Thankfully, you are a responsible adult. (Hang out with Rarity and Fluttershy, your real-life confidantes)

-lean closer towards Rarity, under the excuse of giving her a better view of your cellphone, and you pretend to ignore how the young woman is absolutely beaming at that. Well, beaming, and also blushing.

"So, I just press here and that finishes my registration?" you ask.

"Y-yes, Professor Covers!" she answers, nearly trembling on her seat.

Meanwhile poor Fluttershy, who is sitting opposite to you, is trying her best to appear as small as possible. In fact, she is also crouching down on her seat as she has her lunch.

And you don't blame her. You really don't. This is probably the most attention she has ever received (or rather, that she ever realized she is receiving) in her entire life.

After all, you are well aware that just like in Ponyville, you have just monopolized and concentrated the three most beautiful mare-female humans in a single place.

Plus, you may or may not have orchestrated the extremely unusual event of having your lunch at the school cafeteria. On the table that is at the very center of the school cafeteria, even. Using the innocuous excuse that you forgot your lunch, and that it is important to check if the students are being given quality food, and that the lunch lady would never report you anyways.

So, here you are, sitting next to Rarity, opposite to Fluttershy, and currently being watched by probably a hundred wide-eyed teenagers.

Well, at least you had the decency of not putting your arm around Rarity. You also don't think she would have remembered how to keep breathing if you did that.

"Ah, thanks Rarity! And please, just call me Velvet. At least when we are outside classroom," you say, just loud enough for the nearby tables to hear.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly do that, Velvet," the young woman answers, twirling her long and smooth hair with a finger for some reason.

"I see, I see... Still, now that I'm registered, how can I join that conversation group you told me about?" you ask.

To which Rarity answers by almost freezing, and Fluttershy reacts by letting out a small gasp.

"T-the CanHigh chat room? I mean, i-it's an invitation only group, Professor. A-and besides, it's full of students! There isn't anything interesting going on there. N-nothing at all!"

An instant conversation group where all the students are present, she says? Well, now you are more interested in joining it. After all, you are here to look for someone, and you have not yet discarded the possibility that they may be students!

"If it's invitation only then you can let me in, no?" you say, watching Rarity bite her own lip as if she had just fumbled with her words. "Besides, what if I need to get in touch with someone from school? I'm sure there is nothing wrong with you putting me in this virtual room, no?"

"I... I refuse, I won't do it!" she says, suddenly sounding desperate. Almost as if she is hiding something.


"I'll do it Professor, I'll send you the invitation!"
"No, me! I'll do it! Give me your phone number and I'll add you there!"


But to Rarity's horror (and you really have no idea why she is so horrified) several students from the nearby tables begin to chime in.

And soon enough, a new profile has joined the CanHigh chatroom.

...

"Huh, this is... a lot of messages," you say, as you try to familiarize yourself to how this thing works.

Because this "group" has hundreds of students. And perhaps hundreds of thousands of messages. It feels like a fool's errant to read the whole archive, so you won't, and from what you gather the running culture is only to interact with whatever ongoing conversation is happening.

Still, you are happy to see that the latest conversations have all been about you. You cannot identify who is saying what, since everyone uses pseudonyms, but a few users like "PreciousDiamonds3" have already declared their undying love for you.

You wonder who this user is.

"But there's also a lot of words I just don't understand," you say, to a Rarity who has been deathly quiet since you started reading. "I mean.... cleavage... milf... hagmaxxing? Rarity dear, what does any of this means? Why are they using these words when they are talking about me?"

The young lady refuses to answer you, unfortunately, and you decide to be kind enough not push the issue.

Still, you learn quite a lot before the lunch period is over.

For example, you gleam that you will be able to attract even more attention if you undo the two top buttons of your shirt, so you do just that.

And you also take your first "selfie", to use as your profile picture, where you pull in Rarity and the two of you make cute little "V" signs with your fingers. Although unfortunately poor Fluttershy adamantly refused to join in for it.

Of course, you make sure to display the medallion you are wearing on your picture, on a place you know most of the students will be looking when they zoom in on this image.

Still, inevitably, the school bell rang, and you had to leave your students behind.

Well, you are sure you will bump into them at some point, as you give your classes.

Spoiler: Author's Note

Is it a gift, to allow one a peek? Is it agony, to know what opportunities were lost? Who knows. But for now, a glimpse.

 

[Sveta08]

Well. Call me selfish and foolish and dumb, but I had thoughts from this.
Thoughts on the nature of this space, on the consequences of this space, on the result that created and ran with it and so on...
I am curious. And hungry. And as is my want, I wrote about it.


In which There is a Hole

---

Normally it's easy to find where pieces fall.

You pick a piece up, you drop it, and there it is. You pick a path, weave that option in, and it is clearly attached. You grab the threads, shake them a bit, pick what one is laying on top, and it naturally is there.
Everything functions like that. Everything has functioned like that. All things that are are things that were, are, and have been.

You are... well, that's not really important at this juncture. Everyone has the same question, even if not the same focus.


Where did she go?


You can see her, obviously.
In the grand tapestry of the moment, it's very clear and very obvious. There to the left is the past. The grand illuminated strands of everything that has been, both real and imagined. All layered in on top of itself in a beautiful dimensioned portrait. Words as much as images as much as ideas flowing together to create a beautiful world that you could spin your hand, and visit any point that has been. Even with the cuts. The patches. And even now, a vast majority of it is swathed in darkness and uncertainty.

To the right, the unknowable options that might be. Every thread that could be presented as tools, as options. Every path those might take and lead, how they connect to innumerable threads both past and future, and where they all hinge. All the threads, all the words, all the potentialities that are, knowable and unknowable, are displayed there. An endless array of cobwebs of what might be. Normally it's difficult if not impossible to pluck one of those threads out before it arrives. But as of now...

Right in front of you, is the present. The exact moment every one of those potential paths become known histories. And there, she is. As always.

But she isn't.


There is a hole.
A hole she is in.



There had been discussion of what it would be beforehand. Whether it would be a trial, or an adventure, or a journey, or an impossible task. Dozens and dozens of possibilities that were what it could have been. One or two even guessed something like this. But a hole...

The threads continued on. Feeding, funneling on into the hole the same as before. Choices were argued over, calls made. Words had and decried the paths picked, mourning for the options that were left astray. And it all funneled back in. What needed be done was the same as it ever had been. But why...


But where is she? Where did she go?


It was a simple enough question to answer. There, obviously. But that's not what was asked.
She had flown to a place more distant than tomorrow's horizons. But she wasn't in the future. You'd be able to see that, it would be obvious. There would be a break from the past to the present, there would be speckling in the threads that were to become the future. There would be signs if this were the case.
In the same way, this wasn't simply another history. It wasn't a layer of backing on the canvas of the past, nor a pressing space that bubbled up in the shown thread that was the visible past. It didn't fit that way, and there were too many things that it wasn't and didn't to make that true. Not the least of which being, who helped bring her there.

So where did she go? What is this place?


The obvious answer... was a hole.
A space cut away to touch upon the fundamental backing that was true. But it wasn't just that. It was...
Murky. It was distorted. It was things that were true no matter how you looked at it, yes, but it wasn't... just that. It was full of things that weren't true, no matter how you looked at it.

A hole through the present. One that wasn't truth, nor was it wrong. And it wasn't attached, but was made of things that had been attatched.


Maybe.



The obvious question came to mind. Did that matter though? Did it matter where, or when, or what it was?
Of course! But... did it really?

Maybe. Too many unknowns flitted around it. But maybe it did. Maybe... it was real. Maybe it was something that was true. Maybe.

In the end, however, it did matter. Not because knowing the truth of it mattered... but because how people would react to the truth.
The simplest question was why it mattered.


Do the actions here have consequences?


Here? In the Hole? Of course! Directly.
Outside? That... was a bit tricky. And that's what people wanted to know. The question that was fought about... even if that wasn't what was fought about. The truth behind words unsaid.

If things here changed the world outside.

If it did, there was weight. There was consequence. There was chances to do the impossible outside that were possible here. It excited people. Thrilled them. Terrified some. And frustrated others.
If it didn't, then what was the consequence? Take what need be, claim what was wanted, take what was needed, grasp what power could be and run.

If it mattered, it mattered. If it didn't, it didn't. But no one knew which was true.





But maybe.
Just maybe.
That's... not quite how it works.

Things here don't reflect, that much is obvious. There is space that is real, and space that isn't. Space filled with ideas and space filled with things.

And that's where the idea started. Where the question grew.
What if it wasn't a hole? Or maybe it wasn't always a hole.

There were threads in the hole. Words that seemed to echo, parts of the world that echoed in different ways. In different words. The world there... it had space that was real. Space that reflected things that were true through a murky lens. But... But the lens wasn't murky? Or maybe it was murky, but that is not why the rest of it was what it was. Because there... the world was two made of two things.

Real things. And Context.

Context didn't exist. It wasn't real. It was made of the stuff of dreams and nightmares and was nothing more than-
A Hole.


It was a hole. It was a hole full of holes. But the holes didn't matter. The holes just proved that something burrowed through them. Something made this not space. That this was




KNOCK




... an idea.

What if this place hadn't existed once? True of all places yes, but in the context of this... time. This history. This potential histories. In the lot of it.
What if this hole... was a hole?

A space. An idea that had been so burnt. So cut away. So embodied by




KNOCK




that the ideas of it still corroded? That the reflection that it was was still reflecting truth because Reflections show Truth. And when it tried to reflect upon the holes it had to reflect back truth, but you can't see a hole. All you can see is Context.
But Mirrors had to reflect. They had to be true. But there were holes.
And on a mirror, that's fog. That's cloudy. That's murky. Inside, that's




KNOCK




which was already true! And the things inside that she was looking for were-! They would be able to do that. They would be-! So of course actions would have consequence! Of course it would reflect back, because it was the reflections which was being touched!
But how? How to prove this wasn't simply an idea, and might be true? How to look for the evidence that said it might be? What could be...

A reflection. True. Undeniable. And one that was absent.



So you formed a question. Asked a damnation. One that would lead to the right questions. Form the right ideas. Align the right notions.

"I wonder if Spike is dead here too."

 

[Flaregamer82253]

Probably the core of my beliefs on Pony Twilight is just that I don't believe things are ever going to improve because there is no one left who Twilight would let in.

Let's go down the list of all those who remain:

Starting with the Mane 6, Twilight's friends, the problem is that they aren't actually friends. The world got interrupted 4 months from the day that Nightmare Moon returned. A friendship has to be maintained, and for whatever really happened beyond our vision, regardless of why or who, Twilight's burgeoning friendships didn't survive. Twilight wasn't ever inclined towards friends in the first place, so I wonder how she must look back on that night with Nightmare Moon. Probably only with depersonalization.

Celestia next. I'm going to put aside any and all consideration of how the Daybreaker situation will resolve. I'll also put aside most of the changeling situation too. The real question here is "Why would what Celestia says matter to Twilight?"

Consider Twilight's perspective here. When Celestia left to find Luna, what happened to their relationship?

"But…" you hear her say, almost in a whimper. And you can't help but raise an eyebrow as Twilight…

You can't help but feel a slight jab on your heart as Twilight Sparkle says something, with a voice that makes her sound a lot younger than she actually is.

"But Princess Celestia… she is not here to teach me… she doesn't answer my letters and I…"

You see her curl up slightly at that, her eyes leaving your own and going towards the floor as the unspoken words that "she doesn't know what to do" hang in the air around her.

Ah… you should have realized it.

Rarity didn't mention she was this close to the Princess. Maybe because she didn't know.

But from what you have seen, and from what you have heard, she must really be close to Princess Celestia. Extremely close, that is. And it makes sense that her current state couldn't have been caused just by… her rather unfortunate research, after the two of you parted ways.

Click to shrink...

Celestia never responded to Twilight, not sparing her a thought. This is critical for two reasons. First, Celestia has a clear priority to her sister even at the cost of all other personal relationships. Second, it is the initial indication to Twilight that she isn't worthy of even a moment of Celestia's attention.

In itself, this isn't all that much, but Twilight is a smart cookie: she can recognize a pattern. We saw a bit of that in another history.

"Velvet…" she says, and you can hear that her voice is trembling, "do you know where we are right now? Do you know what they call this place?"

You feel a knot inside your chest growing tighter and tighter as you see her mane fluttering slightly. As you see her whole body shaking as she asks that question.

You don't have it in you to answer her, so you just shake your head, even though she can't see it.

"This place," she says, and you can hear her swallowing something dry, "is called the Apprentice's Tower. And I know that sounds obvious… I know it's something everypony knows… but still, I only found out that is what it's called today."

She says that, and then she turns around to face you.

"Isn't that funny?" she asks with a smile.

Click to shrink...

"For the longest time… for years, even. I thought of this place as my home, I thought this place was called Twilight's Tower, or something like that. After all, this place was all mine, and I spent every… I was here all the time. I only ever left when I had something more interesting to learn somewhere else."

Her tone is so low that she might as well be talking in whispers. But still, you don't dare get any closer to her.

And that is because… her eyes are so hollow and her smile so faint that you think she will crumble into dust if you take even a single step towards her.

"Princess Celestia said it herself, even. That this place was all mine to do anything I wanted. That is, to study anything I wanted," she continued, turning her gaze towards the surrounding bookshelves. "And I remember how happy I was… this place was a like an amusement park, like twenty different libraries mashed together in a single place. And I thought Princess Celestia had prepared all of this for me, Velvet…"

Twilight lets out a dry cough, her chest shuddering so much with the motion that you have no doubt that it was actually painful for her.

It takes you a few moments to realize that was a chuckle.

"That's the thing, Velvet. I just realized that she didn't. This place… all of these books, on all of these subjects, and all of these tools… they are all leftovers. They are all the interests of her previous students, things that were left behind and that piled on top of each other as the years and decades passed. They were all left here for the next occupant of this place to pick up, because this is what this place is for. This is the Apprentice's Tower."

Click to shrink...

"But in the end… that's what I was the whole time. Exactly what Princess Luna said. My whole life, I was just a passing interest, one more student in a long line of ponies who caught Princess Celestia's eyes…"

A single tear comes out of her eyes, slowly making its way down the fur of her cheek as she says those words.

"And when she said I was her faithful student… I can see that she meant I was a faithful student. Not her faithful student, or the faithful student… Just another pastime she decided to take under her wing and…"

The young mare suddenly shivers, as if a cough or a hiccup came up to her, interrupting whatever she was going to say next.

And with that, her whole demeanor changes. As if she just realized where she was, as if she was suddenly afraid of what was happening, Twilight's eyes suddenly shoot wide open. Her breathing becomes ragged as she looks around herself, and her horn lights up as she starts walking backwards, away from you.

"Twilight, wait!" is all you can say, running towards her after the split second it takes you to realize what she is about to do.

But before you even finish speaking those words, the light of her horn flashes a brilliant light purple, and then she is gone with the soft puff of a teleportation spell.

Leaving you alone, with nothing to keep you company, but the memory of Twilight's frightened expression.

And no matter how much you think about it, you can't describe it in any other way but as the expression of a pony who can no longer recognize anything around her. Not even herself.

Click to shrink...

Twilight isn't special.

She knows that. It's something that has been proven to her multiple times throughout the course of this quest from multiple people, but really, the important part right now is that Twilight knows she's not special to Celestia. Furthermore, it's not as though Celestia has taken any action to disprove this. Daybreaker or not, Celestia hasn't reached out to Twilight, not even with a condolence for her losses, in 16 months now. And you know, Twilight didn't even have much faith in Celestia saying that she should get some friends at the beginning of the series. So really, I have to wonder why anything Celestia says to Twilight beyond the role of ruler and subject would make a difference when she hasn't been a mentor or a friend to her at all.

I have no faith in Celestia making a difference in the Twilight situation.


Alright, moving on to Shining Armor. Between the leash and the Lunar Bureau, I'd imagine we've had a good handle on what Shining Armor's doing on the Twilight situation:

"And that is why he wouldn't take the job with us. Vanhoover is too far away for a commute, and well… he just has to be there for her sister. Even if she only eats when he is out of the house, and even if they only speak through a closed door. She is still… all that he has…"

Shining says that, and for a short moment you can see how his gaze becomes unfocused.

More than just that, you can also tell that… you can also feel certain thoughts running through his mind. The idea that his words should mean something else to him personally. The impression that the story he is telling is… not only relatable, but also familiar. Coupled with the impression that he, too, should be doing… something about it. Just like the detective is.

But just before he can reach a conclusion, just before those disparate thoughts come together with his mind in a way that makes sense-

-you also feel the tug of the Leash he has in his mind. Stopping from taking that final step.​

And just like that, Shining Armor is looking at you once again. His expression focused and attentive as if nothing just happened.

Click to shrink...

In order to prevent Shining Armor from following up on Twilight, Velvet had to stop Shining Armor from thinking about Twilight up to the point where Shining got married, where I find it unlikely at best to say Shining followed up on Twilight afterwards in any way that she would be receptive to. As far as Twilight believes, Shining Armor doesn't believe her, and thus, she has a lack of faith in Shining. I can't see her being receptive while Shining thinks she's crazy, and us and Velvet would/will continue to ensure that Shining thinks Twilight is crazy as long as our survival depends on it. Shining Armor can't help Twilight.

Alright, lastly, Cadance. How did Cadance help Twilight before the Wedding?

However, not even the soft light of the moon could hide the fact that…

"She… Velvet, are you sure this is the place?"

"… yes. I have already been here before. It looked a lot better, months ago. And I mean a lot better. But…"

"I… oh no… I should have come here before, I should have thought about her before… but it was just so much that…!"

Click to shrink...

She didn't really do much in the 3 months between her rescue and wedding without us prompting her, even though Twilight also lost her parents and little brother and her horn/passion.

What about Cadance's perspective? She actually tried. We know very, very little about what came of this conversation, but I can't imagine it was positve.

She knew what she should do next. She knew what she had to do next. And yet, she hesitated. She hesitated because she was afraid. And she was afraid because she knew that… she knew, as she looked into that dark library, that…

… that there was no love inside that place.

And despite everything other ponies thought about her, despite everything she knew about herself, she still didn't know if she would be enough, even as she set hoof into that darkness.

Click to shrink...

"Cadance, I feel like I need to ask… how did that night go? How… how was Twilight?"

You ask that, and you watch as Cadance's eyes move here and there. You watch as she lies back on the chair she is sitting, as if thinking about what words she should use to answer you.

Still, she looks fine. In fact, she looks like you just asked her about the weather, or what time it is. Or as if you just asked her about something related to the wedding that she has already decided.

And not long after, she opens her mouth to speak.

Although what she tells you is… well, it's not the answer you are waiting for.

"Did I ever tell you about my family?" she asks.

Click to shrink...

"Well, not long after that day… several things happened, and I became a Princess."

Still, you can only watch as she completely dismisses the thought. You can only watch as her previous lost expression… changes back to normal. In fact, you can only watch as she once again begins to smile, of all things.

"And things were great after that. They really were! Shining's parents were lovely. And of course, Princess Celestia herself took me in. She really was like an aunt to me for the longest time. I don't really feel like I lacked anything, back when it was just me and dad. But I definitely gained something I didn't have, after Princess Celestia brought me to Canterlot."

She says that in a tone that almost sounds distracted. As if she is telling you one thing, but thinking about something else entirely. In fact, she is so deep in her thought that she doesn't even notice her magic is slipping away. What little concentration she was focusing on the magical drawing finally fades, and her long-gone cutie mark disappears right after.

However, despite her upbeat words, you think that… you think you know what she is truly talking about.

Despite her content and distracted expression, you think you know what she is truly thinking about.

After all, she is talking about Shining's parents. About Shining's mother, who introduced her to her current husband-to-be. About Shining's father, as she vaguely recalls the lessons on magic he taught her while she was still getting used to the horn on her head.

And of course, she also tells you about her… "Auntie" Celestia.

However, it is painfully obvious to you that none of those ponies are around anymore.

And she knows that.

Oh, she definitely knows that.

Click to shrink...

I can't help but notice that Twilight is very blatantly not spoken about here.

"Can you promise not to judge me?" she asks.

For a moment, you think about answering her with a joke of sorts. To try and alleviate the heaviness in the air, if nothing else. For a moment, you think about saying something like no promises, or trying to dismiss her concerns that you will judge her as silly. Because of course, you would never judge her, and you very much want to put a smile on her face.

But still, you also realize that what she needs right now is the serious, no-nonsense and honest answer.

"I won't," you say.

She doesn't look towards you. Instead, she keeps looking straight ahead, towards the center of the room, as if she could still see the disappeared drawing of her former cutie mark.

That is, until she lets out another, longer sigh.



"Promise you won't leave me?"

Click to shrink...

It's very clear to me that Twilight isn't going to let Cadance in, and I'm pretty sure Twilight cut ties with Cadance entirely.

Cadance knows this, even in her nightmares:

"You just what? You are going to blame me? You are going to blame somepony else? Swear up and down it is not your fault? The same way it wasn't your fault when you let the country fall apart, right when Celestia needed you most? The same way it wasn't your fault that the pony you claim to love the most lost his horn? The same way it wasn't your fault when you failed to save Twilight?!"

Click to shrink...

See, this is Cadance's nightmare, but it's important to understand where the distortion is here. Every event that happened is a fact, but Cadance's distortion is that she is at fault for them. I take this to mean pretty definitively that she failed in that conversation, and that she can't, or at least won't try further, to save Twilight in respect of her wishes.


So who's left? Twilight has no friends, no faith, no mentor, and no family that she would listen to. She said it herself after all.

"And ever since I moved here… ever since I met you, my life only got worse… it got worse… and worse… and worse… and now I have nothing left."

Click to shrink...

As far as I'm concerned, Twilight Sparkle is a closed system that has exactly two people who could make a reasonable difference.

Velvet Covers

and her Apostle.

You get up from where you are sitting, on the dark corner of the room.

You watch as the mare begins to quietly cry, as you approach her.

But you also know that she doesn't want you to go away. Because even though everything you just told her was painful, her entire life is pain right now. So, what you are saying at least make sense. And since it makes sense, it helps her at least ground herself. And since it helps her to ground herself, she wants you to tell her more.

You have no idea what you are doing.

But it is working, and for some reason it feels easy.

Almost natural.

So, when you reach her, you very carefully put your lips close to her ear, and you whisper to her. Almost as if you are sharing a secret.

You whisper to her a question. A proposal. An invitation.

And finally, the mare begins to… talk.

Things become much, much easier after that.

And your heart hammers inside your chest, with tension at the thought that you are making progress, and maybe just a hint of pride at the fact that following your guts worked.

But most of all, you feel glad because…

Because you are helping Mrs. Velvet.

And that is exactly what you will strive to do, from now on.

Because you owe her too much, and it's about time you start paying her back.

Click to shrink...

(After the Wedding)

And that is because Amor is currently staring at what is, or perhaps was, the town library. A treehouse, or a house that is literally built from a tree, that stands in one of the roads near the center of Ponyville.

Although, like anypony else, she can immediately tell that said library had seen better days.

After all, she can barely tell that the place is shaped like a tree. Because there are no leaves or flowers to speak of, and most of its branches have already rotted and fallen down.

Furthermore, to say that the structure is in disrepair is an understatement. The "natural" parts of the tree look rotten and sick, but the "pony-made" parts of the structure look no better. And everywhere she looks, she can spot a broken window, or a misaligned door, or some other sign that this place is in desperate need for the attention of a cutie-marked carpenter.

But most of all, this place is unique because of…

Most ponies prefer to just ignore this place. In fact, most ponies in Ponyville either pretend this place doesn't exist, and just avoid this road altogether.

However, Amor… doesn't. In fact, it is the opposite with her.

And just like every other week, she spends… more than just a few moments staring at the rotting tree-house. Just like every other week, she can feel the thing that is emanating from that place. Like a strange warmth that comes from an invisible bonfire, or a strong smell that sticks to the coat.

And just like every other week, she… slowly, cautiously makes her way towards the worn front door.

Amor makes her way towards the front door, noticing that the sign that used to hang over the door is no longer there. Although she was sure that it was there last week. Another sign of disrepair, no doubt. Another thing that was simply lost.

She reaches the front door, and she can almost taste the feelings that are covering this place.

And she knows that… she knows that it would be so simple. It would be as easy as picking up a ripe fruit, that is hanging from a low branch.

She could call whoever lives in that place right now, and she knows that pony would follow. All she needed to do was knock on that door. All she needed to do was extend a hoof, and the denizen of this catacomb would practically lunge to hold on to it.

Amor slowly raises her hoof, inching it closer and closer to the front door…



But like every other week, she stops.



She stops herself. She stops her hoof. And as painful as it might be, she wrangles herself away from that temptation.

Because there are rules to this. There are rules to their… gathering, that she knows she must obey.

In fact, she was the one who wrote them.

And just like every other week, she almost broke the very first rule that they all must follow.

Do not invite any newcomers, unless She was the one who called for them.

Yes… yes. She must follow the rules.

No matter how inviting this place seems to be.

No matter how obvious this option might look like.

The pony who dwells in this place has not yet been called by… her friend. Her one and only very best friend has not yet called for whoever lives in this place. She has not yet mentioned this place, or looked at it, or even thought about it. Which can only mean that something, perhaps the gathering, or perhaps the pony who lives here, is not ready yet.

Click to shrink...

Information control is something OurLadyOfWires maintains very well. If it isn't something we would become aware of or otherwise must need to know, we won't be directly told. Soft Sweeps has visited Twilight Sparkle and has set something in motion. Despair, the Wolf that devours thought. I am pretty sure, even if I can't confirm, that Twilight is rolling against something, perhaps Dread, every turn at this point. And I believe that at some point, Twilight will take any decisions out of our hands. I firmly believe that the moment she fails enough times, Twilight will become a critical member of Soft Sweeps cult, and I doubt anyone would be able to do anything to help her in the ways we would hope at that point.

What I'm trying to say is that regardless of what will happen, in a way similar to figuring out what the Master was up to, waiting for someone else to make a move for Twilight, or waiting for Velvet Covers to have an opportunity is a bad idea. Everyone is an actor with agency in this world, and I've seen no indication that people are making or are able to make a positive impact in Twilight's situation, and Twilight has a standing offer she's been sitting on for a while.

So I want to end this off by saying that if you don't believe that the method we have in front of us is one that can be abided by, then that's okay! I completely understand that some of us won't agree with each other on these decisions. My main purpose with this post is to stress that we have no guarantees that we will have another opportunity and that I don't ever see things changing without an action by Velvet Covers or Soft Sweeps, and the latter is the only one "active" with Twilight.

(That's enough effort for one day...)

 

[OurLadyOfWires]

Spoiler: Winning Vote

[Y] Return home, with Diary, Frangiclave, and something else besides. Or rather, someone. (End the dream, bringing Twilight Sparkle with you, and redistribute your remaining action points.)

The Velvet estate is home to many rumors and gossips.

Granted, maids and servants are as prone to whispering secrets to each other as they are to attending their actual duties. And everypony knows that, as a rule, noble households are already a nexus of gossiping to begin with.

However, over the last few months, the Velvet estate of Ponyville has certainly become… something else.

Its corridors, or at least the mind of its servants, have been filled with more intrigue than the average noble household. And it certainly has seen way more activity than it should have, considering how far it is from Canterlot and how unremarkable its Lady had been for so many years.

But rumors, just like fire, neither care nor discriminate, and they will spread as long as there is adequate fuel for them. Regardless of the past or pedigree of those they envelop.

And the recent guests of the Velvet estate, as well as the scandalous actions of the Lady herself, have been more than enough to spark many a controversy.



"You know, I have been thinking about our summoner these last few days. And I couldn't help but see a few parallels between her and the adepts of our time."



One of those rumors is about nopony other than good Baldomare.

Now, this isn't exactly a rumor per se. It is not a scandal, or a gossip, or even a peek into her elusive and tightly guarded past. This particular tidbit of conversation, that floats here and there among the servants, isn't really something that is either gleefully shared or jealously kept secret by whoever hears it.

In fact, it is more of an opinion than a rumor.

And that opinion is…

… that good Baldomare is actually a very bad conversation partner.



"[SECRET HISTORIES]?"

"Why I'm saying this? Wait, you haven't heard? Or perhaps it hasn't happened yet? What day is it… ah, but of course. Yes, yes, my apologies. I just happened to look ahead a little bit. You see, our summoner is coming back tonight, finally, and she will bring somepony back with her. A new guest, I suppose, to fill this house with."



Of course, good Baldomare is not without her fair share of fans and admirers. And those ponies will quickly jump to deny such slanderous claims.

However, the fact remains that, well, everypony agrees Baldomare knows everything.

And that makes her a great storyteller, for sure. A great storyteller, a wonderful advisor, and a very mischievous fortune teller for those who dare ask.

Still, wouldn't that make her a terrible conversation partner? After all, how can you have a proper conversation with somepony who already knows everything? Wouldn't that make it a lecture? A monologue? Or perhaps an exercise in futility?



"[FORGE]?"

"No, no, not that kind of guest. But you are right, in a sense. Or maybe you are coming from the right place? Well, it doesn't matter. Although I agree with you. Because maybe I shouldn't call that newcomer a guest…?"



Whatever the truth may be, the fact remains there are still ponies who are willing to engage good Baldomare in conversation.

Well, that's not exactly right. Baldomare is quite the approachable mare, and she is willing to talk to anypony. Even if, most of the time, she will be the one doing most of the talking.

So, it is better to say that there are still some ponies who are capable of engaging with her in a conversation. And despite the obvious gap in expertise and knowledge, there are still ponies who can sit down with Baldomare and have something to say, without the exchange slowly turning into a lecture of sorts.

There is old Biedde, who has on occasion had lengthy conversations with her about… well, about fantasy books that they both read, apparently. But that they appeared to be discussing as vigorously as if it was actual history.

Firefly Breeze, a relatively young and innocent maid, is spoken of as one of the few ponies who can make Baldomare change her mind after she made a decision. And Rusty Nail, a farmhoof who has worked on the estate since before the Lady arrived, is said to have gotten into a messy disagreement with Baldomare about the effect of sunlight on crops.

Maddeningly, young Silky Stream has supposedly already outwitted Baldomare, precisely once, in a subject nopony seems to agree on. Some of the servants insist it was on a topic the filly must have studied about in school, while others reason it must have been about something like the result of a game of chance or a coin toss.

And then, of course, there is…



"[MOTH]?"

"No, no, it's not that either. Our summoner and the guest are separate ponies. But as I was saying, I shouldn't call her a new guest. I should call her an… acquisition."



And then, of course, there is fair Mareinette.

Fair Mareinette, who so often invites good Baldomare for a drink or three in her humble room within the wine cellar.

Fair Mareinette who, in her great charity, convinced the Lady to let some of the farmhoofs keep their jobs even after they lost a hoof or a leg. Who took them in, even, as their favored and "dedicated" servants.

Fair Mareinette, who is beloved by all in the estate, and who can do no wrong, and who would be delighted to have you in her company.

Yes, that Mareinette. It only makes sense that a mare as grand as she would be deemed interesting company to good Baldomare.

So, as it happened several times before, it just happens that the two mares are currently engaged in conversation, as they stroll around the great farmlands of the estate.



"But again, the more time I spend here, the more I see our summoner reflecting the habits of our time. Maybe it was inevitable? Or maybe these are just the timeless habits of those who dabble on the Lores? Who knows. There probably isn't a difference."

"[SECRET HISTORIES]?"

"Oh, you know exactly what I mean by that… but fine, I'll indulge you."



The two mares walk through the long roads of beaten dirt that stretch across the farmlands. The ones that are used by the farmhoofs to go here and there, carrying their carts and their tools, and the ones that serve as lines that divide the different harvests.

Every now and then they stop, to look at a group of farmers at work. Every now and then a group of farmers stop, to gaze at the fair mares as they pass by. One pale and shadowless like an intriguing mirage, the other large and regal like a black-clad Princess.

Still, their presence in the farmlands is as magical as it is mundane. Like a cool breeze on a sweaty brow, or the sight of a beautiful bird flying overhead. Their passage is something that is welcome, perhaps even celebrated, but also something that everypony understands is beyond them.

And so it also happens that their words, deep and mysterious as they may be, are also being lost in the wind and forgotten by the breeze.



"I once read that words, or perhaps language itself, are nothing but a convention. An agreed-upon way that we use to understand each other. After all, even though secrets are precious, the ability to understand one another is both useful and important. In fact, it is so important that the means we use to nurture that ability are far more diverse than just the use of language. It extends to culture, to habits, and several other things besides. Why, I daresay our desire to understand each other is one of the reasons why we both wear this pony-like form. Because we wouldn't be able to do much if the first words out of our mouth always had to be be not afraid, no?"

"[HEART]."

"Sure, sure, semantics. The point that I'm trying to make is that our summoner… well, maybe she realizes it, or maybe she doesn't. But still, she stumbled upon a particular habit from our time."



The sun is still high in the sky. The irrigation-clouds that will be brought in near the end of the day are nowhere to be seen. And all around the two mare-things, everything is in peace.

Everything is where it should be. Everything is predictable. Everything is in its proper place.

Everything is under control.



"Because it is easy to ignore these conventions when you don't even know they are there. It is easy to let your legs guide you as you walk, and let your pace quicken or slow down as you please. But once you realize there is a tune? Once you realize there is actually a song on the background, that you have been dancing to all along? Well, once that happens you need to make a conscious effort to keep up with the pace."

"[LANTERN]."

"Exactly! After all, despite their disagreements, Lantern and Moth are still neighbors. And it is so easy to go from one to the other and… No, that's not right. It's easy to fall from Moth to Lantern. But there is no easy way back, once you do it."



All around them, farmhoofs and supervisors keep to their tasks as if it was natural. All around them, the world continues to spin as if that was the ordinary way of things.

An old farmer tips her straw hat at them while she pulls a cart, as she walks by the two pony-like creatures. A trio of farmers nervously consider approaching the two mares, for their advice or their blessings or just their presence, but fail to muster their courage before it is already too late. A group of foals, newcomers to the town, nervously gaze at them from their distant hiding spot, wondering if today was the day they would dare step a hoof into the property and trespass into the mysterious noblemare's land.

All around them, the world continues to spin as if everything that happens is utterly normal.

All around them, everypony continues living under the idea that everything around them is natural. And not that everything around them, from the seeds under the dirt to the clouds in the sky to the very sun and moon on the heavens, are not being moved by pony hoofs and pony will.



"It seems that our summoner realized that her life, or maybe everything, is a masquerade. It seems she finally realized that everything we do, from our habits to our thoughts to our very lives, are masks that we wear. That the very world, even, is nothing but the continuance of these conventions and habits and words that we jointly agree carry a particular meaning. And tonight, when she bring her new guest… when she brings back her latest acquisition, she will have taken an important step in accepting her place in all of this."

"[GRAIL]?"

"Oh, no. I wish that was the case, but it is much worse than that. Because she thinks of herself as a... the Hostess. And after tonight, after this latest decision of hers, our summoner will become obsessed with it. With keeping this masquerade running, with keeping this delightful party on rhythm with her music. With keeping the ignorant in ignorance, and the performers dancing. Of course, that is all well and good, and I think she will be a good host. After all, it was the hosts and hostesses of old that kept us all from killing each other back then, no? Somepony needs to keep the wheels spinning. And more importantly, somepony needs to keep everypony else from noticing there are wheels to begin with. Quite fitting, then, that she has the word covers on her name."



Mareinette stops, as she listens to those words. She stops, and she looks down at good Baldomare, and within the dark depth of her empty eye sockets she considers what the bright-mare just told her like a sommelier might consider a fine glass of wine.

She thinks, and she ponders, and good Baldomare inevitably begins to answer her unspoken question before it is even properly formed.



"I think you would approve of her, yes. I think this will be to your liking, in the end. Because just like the hosts and hostesses of our time, our summoner is not without her own habits and likings. In fact, I think you will come to the same conclusion when you see her. Our summoner does not care for her latest acquisition. At least, she doesn't care for her with the same fixation she does her family, and she will treat her like any other of her pawns. And yet, she made this decision all the same."

"…"

"Because this isn't about her latest acquisition. This isn't about the student herself. Oh no. This is about what she represented. Because the reflection of her acquisition, the one that will be whisked away by the snake in a few hours, was a failure. Worse than that, she was evidence of her failure. Living proof that our summoner couldn't protect somepony she took under her wings. She was… a crack on our summoner's mask. And that crack would only widen and grow, if left unattended, until it snapped her mask in half. And that simply wouldn't do for the Hostess of this masquerade, no? So… she did what every good hostess would do. She did what was necessary to continue the masquerade."



The wind stops blowing, as Baldomare says that. Not by design, and not due to any particular reason. This is, in truth, just a coincidence. Still, the wind stops blowing nonetheless, and the very world seems to hold its breath as Mareinette considers the implications of that.

She considers the implications of that… and how that might reframe her associate's previous actions… and how that might educate her decisions in the future… and also, and also…

…

Ah.

The wind begins to blow once again. Fiercer, this time, as if to make up for the short pause from a few moments ago.

The wind blows at Mareinette's regal cloak or red and black. And it pushes and presses against the nearby crops and fields. And it leaves Baldomare completely untouched and undisturbed as if the Lantern-Name was light itself.

The wind blows long and hard, and in its smooth gale it carries a new sound, that is now coming from the Grail-thing.



Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack



It should be impossible for a skull to smile. It should be impossible for a bone-dry corpse to feel mirth. It should be impossible for a thing that is oh so thirsty to feel sated.

And yet, if only for a moment, all of those things were happening.

Mareinette's delight makes itself known to the world, sounding at the same time like the laughter of a filly and the dissonant song of castanets.

And by the time the wind finally dies down, the two mares are gone. Both of them disappearing once they are satisfied with that conversation.





Mareinette is delighted by your recent decision, she has decided to reward you with [REDACTED]

Well, there is no reason to delve too deep into what could have happened, or what you might have gained. After all, this is just a Was Not now. Right?

Right?

Move along now, dear. Back to where you came from.

 

[Sveta08]

Red Winds Sing

---

It is a long winded sigh that brought you back.
The low, heavy sigh. Fullness of breath, deep in the chest when nothing else would do. Like the air was being driven out of the lungs more than just a sigh. Crushed.

Familiar, common even.

But such a sweet sound.
Longing.



He is not much to look at, but eyes are always deceitful. Thin in frame, but neither lean nor fatty in any right shape. Not with the muscle to make him worth attention, nor the build of something to be made from him. Too full of his own horn to keep track of the rest, just like most now.

But, eyes are always deceitful. Too quick to pass over things. Too blind to pick up on the better things. Rich and hungry yes, but hardly given to more than sampling. And so picky.

Laughter would not become it, but there is a smile as he sighs.
Not his smile.
Yours.



"Lord, she said it would be for a week at least. Come in from the balcony before you catch your death out there."
Warmer. Not the same warmth as his sigh, but the voice. Richer in tone. Heavier in body, with more depth. A broadness. Confidence one might even say. Or perhaps, experience even.

The chocolaty coat of Cantrip the maid. So gentle and kindly to her greater. Lesser. Better. Authority.
A troubled pair to be sure. Nothing between them save respect and position. Not in the ways it's been seen, no. But... in a gentler, easier way. Velvety even.
Never meant for this kind of world, either one. Too heavy in the heart to be who they were built to be. Too sharp in the mind to be what was wanted. A tragedy that never was.
Only a kindly, gentleness to savor instead.

"At least, Cantrip. At least a week she said. Not only, at least."
But what was here, was more than what wasn't. A prince in a tower, pining for a princess long gone. Or, long forlong this time.
Pride, pity the name, all but collapsed at the balcony edge. Hooves held in shambles as his eyes rose, almost pleadingly to the sky.

Beg the sun, the stars, the moon themselves. But she's not under those skies little one.



He had been like this ever since word came back. One of his servants trying to seek a meeting by proxy for him. A meal, a happenchance encounter. A word and a smile and a vain hope to see her face. That maybe the silver thread of a smile might be turned his way.
Word that she was to be unavailable. Velvet herself gone, and ever so Precious Ax to be.... indisposed.

Cruel fates. Neither kind nor just.
Had she been willing and helpful? Had she rendered unto their summoner aid?
Permitted a room, treated as family, and held not at arms length. But embraced. Welcomed. Joined united in purpose and aim.
With not but venom and scorn in her breath.

A Mother tends to the Wounded.
Not a rule or a law, but something near enough.
Cruel fate. Nothing more.



It was an attempt to be dignified. To save face, that Pride rose. Bottling up his emotions, letting them stew and grow richer all the while. When he returned from the balcony, back to his desk and to his work. Papers that held none of his mind but all of his hooves.
The sighs that slipped his lips carried along like the notes of the finest vintage.

... not quite the finest.
But enough to savor. To slack the thirst, if only in temptation.

A beautiful pair of opera glasses taken away. Eyeless sockets beneath as your gaze turned back to the house.
The house.
The house.

---

Three days.
How long a day now that it was undivided. How it struggled to partition. Not in Hours, but in moods now. Morning, Noon, Afternoon, Evening, Night. Dawn and Dusk no more fixed than ever, always twisting and turning.
The night at least, it danced in ways the day did not. The stars blinked and turned and danced anew an ancient song. But the day... was.

Three days since she left.
The house has been full of holes since. Ever and always when she leaves. But now they are different.
Not anchored, not distant. Not leading somewhere new or somewhere else. But holes all the same.
Small ones. Ones you wouldn't even remember or notice.
At least most wouldn't.

But you...

You will see when she returns. Not a moment before. Only hints in the taste of the space left behind of what was beyond the veil.
Not even enough to tempt.

So you've been busy.


It took no more than a word.
Not even from you. But a word by a guest, come to offer to you. A word of another.
A guest. One who hadn't come to you. One who hadn't come for you. Nor for Velvet sweet.
Not on his own at least.

It wasn't even a word. Just a nod. The rest handled itself.

Three days.
And on the lunch of the third day, you were a Guest in the Garden.
A meal to be had with the most recent of kindnesses your summoner had granted.

Family.

"Ah, and thank you for joining me today! They say every meal is sweeter with company, and that must be doubly true for you. Please! Lady Mareinette." Velvet Steppes made motion, standing to the side as he pulled out the best sofa they had from the table. "Have a seat if you would."

And oh.
Words like honey, rich like wine. Careful and gentle and gentlemanly! With the scent of more than just a taste of desire under his hooves. Not so lost to a dream as the younger Velvet, nor so Glory blind as the Summoner. Passionate, careful, and knows his way around the words... the lip of a bottle too... Not near red enough for your taste, but oh.



You like him.

---

Seven days.
Six Nights.

And the world is rent open.

The house bends. But does not break.
The world churns, but does not bend.
And all is lost in the empty quiet where all hunger suffers and all longing dies.

A hole has appeared inside the house. A hole that was always there, but no more could pretend to be something else.
From your abode, you cannot see it.
But you do not need to see it to know it.


It is a rhythm that is old as time. It is a song as mournful as they come. It is a pattern that has worn itself bare.

It is the sound of a child crying.
It is the wound of family left all alone.
It is the scar of a broken promise.
It is the hurt of a broken heart.

A heart full of holes.

There is nothing to do but wait. To protect what needs protecting and let the gap swallow itself whole.
Such is the way with snakes.









Only
It doesn't.

Not with a calamitous snap. Not with the reverberations of chains. Not with something sharp or violent or self consumptive.

The holes echo.
They rent.
They shake.
They tremble and cut away at the world.​

But they fade.

Bit by Bit.
Wound by Wound.
Till the living wound is no more here.

And.

And!

There it is...​

There are no lips to lick.
There is no flesh to strain.
There was no heart to quicken.

But it felt

"[HEART]!"

Old.

A new taste in the air.
The wind carrying something that hadn't been felt in a very, very long time.
A new taste. An old flavor.

There was only one word.


It was

"[GRAIL]!"​

Power

 

[ses]

You are Professor Velvet Covers.


Your fingers trace your right leg—smooth now, without a hint of the fifteen-year-old scars that had defined your physical reality. Perfect, unmarked skin that seemed to mock your previous limitations.


You'd spent years hiding your disability. Careful camera angles during school photos. Strategic clothing choices. Long skirts. Dark, loose-fitting pants. Always seated behind the desk during parent-teacher conferences. An affected fondness for a fancy umbrella regardless of weather. The leg had been your secret shame, a constant reminder of the car accident that had stolen your youth, your dreams, your sense of wholeness.


Now, impossibly, it was healed.


And a week. An entire week. Gone.


Twilight Sparkle was waiting after the final bell, something brittle in her posture that spoke of deeper wounds than simple teenage disappointment. The classroom was silent, fluorescent lights humming overhead, casting harsh shadows across the girl's face.


"You don't remember," Twilight said. Not a question.


You hesitated. "Remember what?"


The look Twilight gave you was devastating. Not anger. Not quite grief. Something more profound. The expression of someone who had been shown a glimpse of impossible liberation, only to have it snatched away without explanation.


"You looked at me," Twilight said, her voice low and intense. "Really looked at me. Not just another honors student waiting to graduate and disappear into some mid-tier university. You saw me."


You wanted to interrupt, to ask what she meant, but something in Twilight's tone stopped you.


"You promised me worlds," Twilight continued. "Spaces between the spaces we know. Ways out of this—" she gestured around the classroom, at the faded posters, the worn linoleum floor, the windows looking out on a small Canadian town that had been a cage for generations of ambitious kids— "this nothing."


The promise hung between them. A promise you had no memory of making.


"The way you talked to me," Twilight whispered. "The way you understood. It wasn't—" She caught herself, swallowed hard. "It wasn't you. But it was."


You felt the weight of a connection she didn't remember creating. The sense of something profound and impossible that had briefly touched her life and was now gone.


"I'm sorry," you say, knowing the words were inadequate.


Twilight's eyes were distant. Lost. "You showed me worlds," she repeated. "And now we're just... here."


Outside, the late afternoon light was turning golden. Another ordinary day in an ordinary town. But something had changed. Something fundamental had been altered, and neither of them knew how to name it.


You look down at your leg. Smooth. Whole. A miracle with no explanation.


Twilight gathered her backpack, a movement both defeated and somehow still hopeful. "You promised," she said one last time. Not an accusation. More like a prayer.


Then she was gone.

 

[AuthorTransient]

Spoiler: After the Fourth Regrettable Action

 

[ses]

 

[BritBiscuit]

Its been quite a while since I've picked up my digital art tablet so I thought I'd do some fanart.
In the style of a propaganda photo inspired by Ciaphas Cain but without shading or anything because I couldn't be bothered to turn my fun drawing into actual work...

Spoiler: Ciaphas Velvet Covers

And here is the image I took some inspiration from

Spoiler: Ciaphas Image

But wow is trying to figure out how to put clothing on ponies a nightmare, after trying so hard to get the hat to work with a horn and the ear I kinda gave up on the coat.

 

[OurLadyOfWires]

You are Selene, and right now-


"It's not fair. It just isn't! I mean, just LOOK at her!"


-right now, you are... trying to de-escalate a very delicate situation.

School is finally over for the day. The bell rung five, maybe six minutes ago, and half the foals of your class are still in the classroom doing this and that. Some of them are chatting, and deciding whose house they will go play in for the rest of the day. Some of them are looking out through the window to see if their parents have arrived to pick them up. And a few rare eggheads are even surrounding Miss Cheerilee as they ask some last-minute questions about today's homework.

However, you are not in the classroom. Usually by now you would be walking out of the front door with your sister, to meet up with Soft Sweeps (or more recently, uncle Steppes) so you could all go back home. But today was a little... different.

Because right now, you are outside of the classroom. Right now you are in the playground, hiding behind one of the larger trees, as you try your best to de-escalate this situation.

Right now, you are behind the large tree of the playground, hoping against hope that nopony hears all this yelling, and you are not alone.

Because there is a very, very angry Diamond Tiara here with you.

And this, really, is the short version of your problems.


"Prancing around all happy-go-lucky, practically RUBBING her flank on everypony's faces and-!"
"Can... can you at least yell a little less? Or maybe-"
"I. AM. NOT. YELLING!"


Today is the first day of school after your sister got her cutie mark.

This kind of thing has already happened before, and it's a rare but not unusual occurrence. Still, given everypony's age and the fact that maybe a third of your class doesn't have their cutie marks yet, it is not unusual for a filly or colt to come to class beaming with joy after getting their cutie mark. And it just makes sense. Everypony in the classroom is a foal, so it's normal for everypony to get excited over it, and Miss Cheerilee is more than enough experienced with this to keep the class under control and continue with the lessons, while giving the happy occurrence enough of a spotlight for everypony to be glad about it.

So, you thought the day would be just like that. You arrived in the classroom with Silky, your sister beaming with joy as she pranced in, everypony talked about it for several minutes until Miss Cheerilee got the class rolling, and then everypony swarmed your sister the moment recess started.

Everypony was happy about it. Everypony should be happy about it. It's like a shared ritual everypony knows about, like celebrating a classmate's birthday or greeting a new student who just joined the school.

But Diamond Tiara... wasn't.

Boy oh boy was she unhappy about it.

"Diamond, please... please hear me out," you plead to your friend.

"No, YOU hear me out. Are you even listening to me? Can't you friggin SEE?!"

More than just unhappy, she was angry. She was angry, and you swear you could almost feel something in her eyes the moment she saw your sister prance into the classroom.

She didn't talk to Silky for the whole day. She quite literally sulked on a corner of the classroom, forelegs crossed and all, while everypony else surrounded your sister.

And most worrying of all, the moment the bell rung, you saw Diamond Tiara get up from her seat and practically march towards your sister. Her eyes filled with a kind of anger that was just out of place in a filly's eyes. And you were sure, or rather you were sure, that Diamond was going to do something very mean and very thoughtless the moment she reached Silky's desk. Then and there. In the middle of a classroom full of foals, and a teacher, without any warning.

So, you did the first thing that came to your mind. You quite literally lifted the mutely irate Diamond Tiara on your back, and you jumped out of the window while carrying her.

A few of your classmates saw you, probably, and you heard a few giggles to the effect of "Selene being weird again". And most importantly, you don't think Miss Cheerilee noticed it, or she would be reprimanding the two of you right now.

Regardless, the fact remains that you are here... outside on the playground, trying to calm down one of your sister's best friends who for some reason is acting like the exact opposite of that.

"Am I going nuts?! Am I the only one who can see what's going one?!" Diamond Tiara continues. And for all that you wish she would yell a little lower, you are glad she only started yelling after you carried her out through the window.

But still, you are at a loss for words. Speaking was never really your forte. You are quite happy with letting your sister, or your mom, or anypony else really do the talking for you. So, it goes without saying that trying to calm down an angry filly is definitely outside of your area of expertise.

"I... you kinda are?" you say, cringing as you realize your words only made your little friend angrier.

Well, she is angry at you, now, which is good. You will gladly become the focus of Tiara's anger, if it means she isn't about to punch your little sister out of the blue after class. But still, you were hoping to dig yourself out of this hole rather than just swap places with your sister?

"I-I'm sorry, what I mean is that..." you stammer, grasping at straws as you try to figure out what you should say. "Well, why are you so angry at Silky? I mean, she just got her cutie mark. What did she do? W-why are you so angry?"

You say that, and for a moment you think you made the worst possible decision. For a moment, as Diamond absolutely glares at you, you think you are done for. And that the filly is either about to jump at you, or gallop back to the classroom to jump at your sister.

But as the filly looks at you, eyes wide in anger and lips pursed into a line, something happens. Something happens, she takes a deep and angry breath, and by some miracle she doesn't escalate the situation any further.

"Being the rich filly in school was my thing. My thing," she says, stomping a hoof at the ground for good measure. "Until a noble filly, that nopony even know existed, came along. Just like that, out of the blue."

You can practically feel the anger in her words, as she says that. No, really, you can actually feel it. Diamond Tiara is talking, or maybe growling, through clenched teeth. And you know in your heart of hearts, or perhaps from some other intuition, that if you say anything right now she will take it as a challenge, or as a reason to pick a fight with you.

So, you stay quiet. You stay quiet, and you stay as small as possible, and you even nod every now and then as she speaks.

"Having a fancy cutie mark was MY thing," she stomps her hoof on the ground again. "And then THIS happens."

You gulp something dry, and to be honest you are a little afraid. You are not afraid that Diamond Tiara might hurt you, of course. However, there is something deeply wrong about seeing a filly her age this angry. And that makes you feel...

"Making everypony listen to what you say WAS. MY. THING!" the dirt actually becomes marked with the shape of her horseshoe now. "So how is it fair that EVERYPONY IS PAYING ATTENTION TO HER?!"

Diamond Tiara says that, and then she takes in a sharp, sudden breath. Almost like a sob. And for a moment, you think her eyes were getting a little moist. But that only lasts for a moment.

Your friend blinks once, then twice, and then she shakes her head.

And just like that, Diamond looks... well, she looks less angry now. You still feel you can mess this up, if you say the wrong thing. And by the moon you know you are not good at this.

But still, Diamond Tiara looks less angry now, and maybe more sad than she was before. To the point that the silence between you is getting uncomfortably heavy. So, you take a deep breath, and hope you aren't about to put your hoof in your mouth.

"Diamond, I... you know it's not her fault. I mean, she doesn't do any of that on purpose?" you say, very carefully, hoping that the pink filly isn't about to regain her scowl and glare up at you. But still, even though Diamond Tiara is your friend, and you don't like seeing her like this, you are a little relieved to see that she is still looking down to the ground.

You hate seeing her sad and dejected like this. But this is definitely better than seeing her as angry as she was before.

"And c'mon, Diamond. Even if she was doing this on purpose, you know it wouldn't be because she was showing off or being mean about it. She can be a clutz sometimes, but you know it's just because she's happy about stuff."

There was definitely a better way to say that, you tell yourself as you mentally kick your own flank. There was definitely a more diplomatic way to express that. To remind her your sister likes to share, and not to show off. Maybe tell Tiara about one of the times where your sister's excitement got the better of her. You definitely are not a diplomat, and it is showing.

Still, Diamond lets out a cough. And you are surprised on the next moment when you realized that was actually a chuckle.

And when Diamond looks up at you, she has a small smile on her face. Although she is still not looking you in the eye.

"Yeah, Silky can be a bit of a clutz sometimes..." she says, letting out another chuckle through a weak smile.

You do your absolute best to hide how relieved you are by this. Because by the stars, how are you supposed to be a Princess if you can't even placate a filly? Still, you think Diamond you managed to calm Diamond Tiara down. But you are still not exactly sure of what to do next.

Although, apparently the correct answer was that you should have "waited". And thankfully, your awkward and panicked silence gave your friend a little more time to sort through her emotions. Because once again, Diamond Tiara gives the ground a small, half-hearted stomp, as she say something else.

"I know that, and maybe that's the worst part. I know she is a good filly. But it also makes me mad that I can't even be angry at her without being the villain!"

She says that, but then she takes another deep breath. Bringing up a hoof to her forehead as she tries to do... something.

By Equestria, you really need to ask your mom for a few more lessons on talking. You have no idea what to do next!

"I'm fine now, thanks Selene," Diamond says, and you once again bite down your awkward-relieved expression right before she looks up at you again. But still, true to her word, you are happy to see that Diamond's expression is a lot more normal now. "I mean it. I wasn't really thinking, back in the classroom. So thank you for stopping me from doing something stupid."

None of that unnatural anger in her eyes anymore. None of that alien ugliness you couldn't really describe.

Right now, you are just looking at a filly. You are just looking at a young and healthy earth pony filly, who is one of your school friends.

"You're welcome, Diamond. Anytime," you say. "But uh... is everything alright? I mean, you kinda almost blew up back in the classroom, and that's just not like you. Did anything happen over the weekend?"

You ask that, as the two of you walk out from behind the tree and make your way back to the classroom. But the only answer Diamond Tiara gives you is a... very unusual expression.

It's not an expression you have seen in a while now, but it is one you think she wore a lore more frequently when you first met her. A strange mixture of confusion and helplessness, and maybe anger that she always had when...

"Is... is it your mom again? Did something happen at your..."

Diamond winces, the moment you ask that. She physically winces, as if you had just kicked her on the chest. And you immediately understand that you are right, and also that she doesn't want to talk about it.

"I-I mean, it doesn't matter!" you say, trying your best not to think of how you just jumped out of a hole, and almost landed inside another one. "Besides, what do you say we go talk to everypony? I'm sure they must be looking for us. And who knows, maybe uncle Steppes will take us all to Sugarcube Corner again!"

You try your best not to trip on your words, and you pray to the stars that oh Moon please don't let you mess this up again and make Diamond angry at you. But thankfully (and you mean it, thankfully), Diamond's expression immediately turns into a small smile again. And her youthful innocence allows her to glaze over whatever mud puddle you almost just tripped into.

"Yeah, let's go see where everypony else is," she says, her hoofsteps getting lighter as you two walk side by side. "Speaking of which, I can't wait to see how Silky's cute-ceñeara will be like. I mean, yours was already big, but I can't imagine hers not being even bigger!"

You let out a small laugh, thinking back to how embarrassed you were at your cute-ceñeara. After all, everypony knows you don't like being the center of attention, but that Silky has no problems with that. So yes, your friends definitely agree that whatever brakes were in place during your party will not be there for Silky's.

"I mean, Silky is so much better than us mere mortals, isn't she? So of course her cute-ceñeara will be just another chance for her to rub that on our noses," she continues.

And you can detect... a little meanness in her voice? You give her an awkward half-nod for an answer, but you aren't entirely sure how to respond. Because you think this is helping Diamond let off some more steam?

She lets of a few more pointed remarks here and there. But true to her word, the moment you two reach the front of the school and see all your friends, Diamond is back to her usual pleasant self.

And you... you let out one final, thankful, sigh of relief.

Because yes, this might have been something as small as you calming down a friend. But still, you did it! You manage to make things better with just your words (and maybe the unnatural strength it took to jump out of the window with a filly on your back). But still, go you! The Princess of the Night is now one step closer to being a worthy ruler!

"Selene! Diamond! What were you two doing?" Silver Spoon is the first to notice you two, and the grey filly immediately makes a beeline to the two of you.

The rest of your friends, you can see, are currently gathered around uncle Steppes, probably as he entertains them with another one of his stories.

"Oh, just having a grownup mare's chat, Silver. You know how it is," Diamond says to Silver Spoon.

And for a moment, Silver Spoon gives you a glance that... well, you have no idea of what it means. But you wonder how much she knows, just from Diamond telling her that.

"Well, I'm glad you're not grumpy anymore," Silver Spoon says, casually confirming to you that she does know a lot more than she lets on. Well, you were told she was friends with Diamond before anypony else, so it makes sense. "And come on, Silky's uncle is going to take us all back to their place!"

"Yes, yes, Silky's family is going to take us on her victory lap..." Diamond says. But whatever meanness was gathering in her voice dissipates less than a moment later. "Well, it'll be a good lap, so what the hay. I don't mind going with her."

Diamond Tiara says that, and then she begins making her way to your friend group. You stay behind with Silver Spoon for maybe one second, and that is all the time the grey filly needs to give you a knowing wink, and perhaps an appreciative nod.

And after that, the two of you are following Diamond, as you all make your way back to your friends.



...



But then... disaster strikes.

!!!!!!!!!!​

Suddenly, a windy gale envelops the front of the school. A raging gust of wind comes out of nowhere, and everypony needs to crouch down to stop the wind from carrying them.

Moments later, something blocks out the sun for a second. And you all look up to see that there is something flying down towards you.

"Oh... oh no..." you say to yourself, as you immediately understand what is about to happen.

Because you an everypony else look up to see... a carriage.

A flying carriage.

A flying carriage made out of pink and gold, encrusted with blue and green gems. Covered with laurels made out of precious metals, and topped by tiny, perfectly-wrought statues of ponies bearing wings and horn.

"Oh no... no, no no no no..." you say out loud, not even bothering to hide your voice.

Because one moment later, everpony catches up to what is going on. Everypony finally understand what that carriage means, even if nopony can really believe it yet.

Everypony understands it. And the moment the carriage lands on the ground, everypony bows. With two exceptions.

You do not bow, because it just isn't in your nature.

And Diamond Tiara does not bow, because her body is once again locked by her anger.

After all, just a few minutes ago your friend was angry at Silky Stream. She was angry at your sister for reasons she can't really do anything about, and that she channeled into the perceived notion that Silky is... well, trying to one-up her.

You managed to talk her down of it. You managed, between fumbles and stumbles, to remind Diamond Tiara that she is Silky's friend, and that your sister wouldn't even dream about lording whatever she has over other ponies.

But how... how in Equestria would Diamond Tiara ever react... how could Diamond Tiara feel anything but anger when, moments later, she witnesses the sight of a flying carriage landing in front of Silky Stream.

And what can Diamond Tiara possibly do but bristle with rage, as she watches the door of the carriage bust wide open to reveal-

"I came as soon as I heard! Now where is my favorite filly in all of Equestria?!"​

-only to reveal Princess Cadance, the Alicorn of Love, practically storming out of the carriage and hugging your little sister. Scooping her up on her forelegs into a tight embrace, just as your own mother walks out of the carriage right behind her.

And just like that, Diamond Tiara is insanely angry all over again.

...

It seems your work of protecting your little sister will never end.

---

Awww come on! We should invite her to a tea party and introduce her to our daughters. I'm sure that will go well.

Click to shrink...

Now, now. Silky Stream is a Name Magnet. Not an Alicorn mag-...

(Looks at Silky's history of interaction with the Princesses. Two out of three in the bag.)

Well I'll be damned...

Spoiler: Author's Note

Huh. One and a half hours to write this. This definitely spiraled out of control

Anyways, I had this idea floating in my head for a few days now. I hope you enjoyed Silky Stream flaunting 10% of her power level.

And of course this is not canon. It has "in which" on its title, so that means it's not canon, right?

And it couldn't possibly be the case that this is "not canon" because I undershot Silky's real power level. Right?

Right?

In other comments, the original title of this would be "In which Silky Stream is absolute bullshit". But good fillies don't curse, so I can't see them using language like that.

I hope you are all doing well.

 

[spiderhellian]

A Dinner With Spoiled Rich

You are Spoiled Rich.

You know where you've come from. The muck, the squalour, the filth that once tainted your hooves. Thankfully, that is in the past now, by no small amount of effort on your part. You are grateful every day to have left your parent's hovel behind.

These days, you breath more rarified air and walk more luxurious estates. The lawns are well-trimmed, for the gardener knows he will get a talking to, and wages docked, if it is not. The people are courteous, and entreating, and treat you with the respect you are due (that you were always due). And of course, you spend time with more elevated company these days -- such as the person you're going to visit now.

Of course, such an elevation comes with attendant responsibilities. This is what you're always trying to teach Diamond, but your ~~stupid~~ silly husband constantly slips up. Really, it's two steps forward and three steps back with your daughter, but you will not fail at teaching her what really matters in this world.

These responsibilities are never more evident than when attending a formal dinner. They begin weeks in advance, when you first receive the invitation, dark red ink on creamy white paper. Your response should be prompt, excited but not overly enthusiastic. Then you must find a suitable gift, either to bring at attendance or to deliver afterwards (but this must always be purchased ahead of time). Wine is an insult to their own cellars, flowers fade and with them any friendship. A bracelet is out of the question, since your daughter remains precisely useless, unable to provide a scrap of information on the size of Silky Stream's fetlock (it would be gauche to purchase one that didn't fit). So ultimately, you settled on a painting -- a lurid sunset, in vIolet and red and pink -- to be delivered afterwards. You judged it good art, at least by the only metric that matters.

And that is only the beginning. Yes, each piece of cutlery must be used properly, Diamond, and you will not leave that chair until you do so! Yes, you should consider where the conversation might go in advance, but it should never feel rehearsed. And you should make sure to take a polite interest in who else might be attending -- though thankfully, that will not be relevant tonight.

For tonight, you are the Lady Velvet Covers has invited you over for dinner, to dine with her alone.

---

You have come to know Lady Velvet well over the past few months. Perhaps in the aftermath of that horrid attempt on her life, she too has been reminded of what matters. Her visits to your estate are so lovely, for all that Diamond makes a fuss afterwards. You have such an incredible time that the hours blur by: the conversation is witty, the delight all-consuming, and your horrid husband at least has the good sense to mostly stay quiet. And after every such evening, you know -- you're one step closer to the thing you've always been striving, and one rung up on the ladder you've always been climbing.

She's charming. She's bewitching.

She's enchanting. She's ravenous.

She's an unending fount of wisdom. She's unceasing.

You are simply delighted that she is your friend, and you are hers. Not least because of what it says about her good taste for your refinement.

It would not do to have that familiarity encourage you to be sloppy, however. Yes, that is the mistake the other members of your family constantly make! Diamond believes because she is well off, and popular at school, that is enough. Your husband believes because he is well off, and popular in the town, that is enough.

Well, they're wrong. It's not enough. It would never be enough. You can always have more, and you need to.

It is good to be getting away from them for an evening. Velvet -- Lady Velvet understands this. She has taught you some of its finer details, even.

And so, despite the seriousness of the occasion, a smile graces your face as you trot up to the Manor's gates.

---

A butler quickly receives you -- not as lazy as your own staff, but he failed to doff his cap, how disrespectful! -- and leads you to your destination. Ah, Lady Velvet had mentioned she wanted to make an occasion of this dinner, and perhaps she expects it to run long into the morning. That would explain why she has not arranged it in the main house itself, but in one of the off-buildings. It's the kind of thing a lesser socialite might take offense at, but you understand its deeper meaning.

The butler opens the door, and a breath of hot air rushes out. He wrinkles his nose, clearly failing to appreciate the fine perfume that scents the air. You step inside -- and though you do not show it (right?) you are taken aback.

Tall candelebras are arranged against the walls, light and shadows flickering in the aftermath of the breeze. The curtains are draped in a lush crimson. The table is solid and oak, and lined with plates of fine china (which will not be empty for much longer). The chairs -- the chairs are wide, and adorned with pink cushions. A touch peculiar, ah, but she must be expecting that by the time the night is through, the two of you might seek to sprawl in your luxuriation -- how thoughtful.

At the table's far end sits your friend. Your confidant. Your ally, your advisor, your beacon of light amidst Ponyville's oppressive darkness.

The person you have undoubtedly spent so much time with over the last few months. Who left you feeling so excited, and the world so lush with possibility. Like all you desired was in reach, and all you had to do was reach out and take it. Yes, no one could have done that but the Mare in front of you, so undoubtedly she did.

"Rich! I have been looking forward to this all week!" Velvet says, greeting you with a smile. Your husband might be Filthy, to her, but you are always Rich. And glad of it. "Please, come in," she says, "And have a seat!"

You sit down, the cushions plush beneath you. You talk of all sorts of things -- the goings on in the Mayoral office, what must be done about the ruffians flooding the city, the ineptitude of your daughter, all the usual subjects. Your wine glass is never empty, and the conversation never runs dry.

But the dinner is not yet served, and almost an hour in, you faintly broach that topic. "Are we waiting on some thing for dinner?", You say, "Or are the kitchen staff just running behind? Chefs can be so lazy sometimes."

Velvet raises her brow, and shakes her head. "No," she says, "There shouldn't be any issues. I've simply been en--" she pauses, and then continues, "savouring this moment."

She shakes her head, and for a moment, her expression turns sad. Regretful. More than anything, it reminds you of your mother's face, the last time you saw her. All those decades ago.

But before you can inquire, the smile has returned to her face. "There is just one thing to do before the two of us can eat, Rich. Come with me."

She rises, beckoning you, and you follow her to the rear of the building. You are refined, ladylike, dignified as you do so. Not pestering her with questions (how ever curious you are), and not allowing your stomach to utter a single treacherous rumble.

You follow her through a doorway. And you walk into wall of heat.

There is a fire roaring in the back of this kitchen? Yes, it must be a kitchen, even if it looks a little more sloppily assembled than you'd expect. Mismatched tables carry cutting boards and a dizzying array of knives, pots of different colours and sizes are burbling atop stoves, and the whole room is dominated by a great fire at the back.

Where someone works. Where someone waits. Someone who has clearly been preparing an elaborate meal, all this while -- it wouldn't surprise you that Velvet was able to find the only competent chef in Ponyville.

That is the pony preparing the meal, so that is clearly the chef. Yes, they even wear the traditional outfit -- a blood-red cloak covering their form, their head topped with a white toque. The figure turns around, and you are truly amazed that Velvet secured such an esteemed figure to cook tonight. She has lived up to her own responsibilities and beyond.

"Rich, have you met Mareinette?" Velvet asks, and you think for a second. You would undoubtedly remember spending time with such an illustrious figure, even if she does work for a living, and you do not. So you shake your head no, and Velvet smiles. She replies, "No matter. Mareinette, are we almost ready for dinner?"

[GRAIL!]

"Lovely, thank you. Then that just means..." Velvet swallows. She takes a deep breath. And then she looks at you with a cold, cold, gaze. It reminds you of the gaze you gave your father, the last time you saw him. All those decades ago.

The fire is still roaring, the pots are still burbling, the Monster is still preparing.

But you feel cold, and you can't look away.

"I'm going to tell you a secret, Mrs. Rich. Truthfully... I don't like myself very much." You open your mouth to respond, your eyes widening, but she continues on. And you will not interrupt her, your manners haven't failed you yet.

"My last name comes from a brute, one of the only things he gave me I haven't been able to get rid of. My ruthlessness almost burned the world down, and it has too left too much of it ash as it is. My rank was earned by deeds I should not have done, and aiding crimes I should have stopped." She pauses, having told you that she despises everything you ever esteemed in her. You're too stunned to speak.

"The only things I love in my life are the ones that have nothing to do with me." She grimaces, but continues.

"My husband -- my horseshoe." Didn't she agree that husbands were nothing but a very complicated tractor, unfortunately necessary to reap well-sown fields? What is she saying about a horseshoe?

"My daughters -- they're all perfect, you know, even if they're all different." You know of her daughters, yes, but you thought they were utter frustrations much like your own!

"My friends -- who I don't deserve, I really really don't." You two are... Ladies. With a capital L. You're not supposed to have friends. Other than each other, of course, but others should be carefully maneuvered to think they're friends, not actually be them.

"But do you know something, Spoiled?"

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

"I don't like myself very much. But what I've learned is that's okay. Because I can change."

She takes a deep breath, as tears start to leak down her cheeks. and repeats herself slowly, "I. Can. Change."

"I can be different than i was yesterday. I can be more tomorrow than I am today. I can be less afraid, and more thoughtful. I can do better, and lessen the evils I've done." She's speaking fiercely now, a fire in her voice to match the one still roaring in the corner.

"Or... I could have." Her voice trembles. "But I simply don't have time. I can't take risks, not when it comes to her gaze. So yes, I could have changed. One day and one word and one action at a time. But now, I have to sacrifice that chance."

CLACK-CLACK-CLACK-CLACK-CLACK comes from a corner of the room, followed by a "[MOTH]?". You're baffled by what the cook means, but you can't look away from Velvet.

"Yes, I have to," She says, "Too much is at stake. But you, Spoiled, do you know the thing that really gets me about you?" She glances at Mareinette, still toiling away. "From everything Mareinette has told me about you, you don't. Any day you could have become something else. Something other than this... monster. You had nothing pinning you down, nothing haunting or hunting your dreams. You could have loved your husband, or your daughter. You could have worked at loving them. Or, tartarus, you could have left! And learned to love yourself!"

Her face is raw, agonized, tears running down her cheeks. You've never seen this pony in your life. You've never seen this pony in your life.

And then, in an instant, she's gone. Her tears vanish, her poise returns, her voice is unwavering. Whoever you just saw in front of you — this isn't her anymore.

"But now, you can't. And maybe you never could."

Her gaze leaves your eyes for the first time since you entered this room. She looks over your shoulder.

"Mareinette, it's time for dinner."

You have so much to say. She-- But-- Wait--

You're angry, and baffled, and hurt, and offended, and and and -- and you thought this was a dinner!

[GRAIL!]

And then, it is.

Spoiler

This is a humble request, Bird -- let us do the Moth and Grail sacrament actions on the same person, in the same night. Whoever that might be...

Yes, humble requests tend to take 2000 words, that's standard practice!

...As a work, this got a little long. And Velvet's voice is hard. And I'm not sure if I got either Sacrament right, really. But it was a fun scene to explore!

 

[Sveta08]

Forgive me this indulgent curiosity.
I don't know the Lores or known History or the Truth. Nor are the Lores colored. But... I hadn't thought about the Forge of Days before.
Now I have.
Forgive me for this.



When the Hands Turn Anew

---

It is nature. It is The Nature.
To call it natural would imply another order it obeys. To call it nurture requires a guiding hand. And perhaps, that is true.
It has always been true before.



An enemy. A tool. One in the same as they always were meant to be.
To create is to reshape. To destroy is to reshape. The same coin. The same hand. Neither separate or unified, only intent implying difference.
It is now made Forge.

WHEN THE FORGE IS COLD​

Light.
A pale reflection of truth. Enough to shine and curse and bless. Called now a new name
Day.

AND THE GLORY IS DARK​

It is a cycle.
All are.
It is nature. It is The nature.

AND THE WOOD IS DUST​

The day made new. Words given to what it is. To Rise. Ascend. Higher and higher to the utmost.
The day to fade. Words given to what it is. To Fall. Descend. Lower and lower till lost forever.
A new day. A light made. Anew.
Such is the way of all things.

​

It is split.
The truth is undivided, but it is split all the same. Words reborn anew as all is renamed. Remembered. Lost. Found anew.
It is a cycle.
All are.


It is not a thought. Nor is it a coincidence. Nor is it required. It is the consequence of nature. Of All Nature.
To gather high is to invite conflict. Thus, it is scattered.
Blood flows. Light spreads. Families grow. Knowledge fades.
All that is gathered scatters. Such is the way of things.


The Sun does not chase the Moon. Day does not swallow the Night. They are made. That they eclipse one another is the time and tides of power.
The New outpaces the Old. Neither at fault, it is simply The Nature.
Night to outgrow Day. Day to outgrow Night. Child to outgrow Parent, and sire anew, to repeat.
History to reiterate. To repeat. To speak the same message for all time.



The Rise
The Fall
The Rise

---

Blood is the tool of the dying. Of the fading. Of the mortal.
It is why it is known as a Price. it is why they are not made with blood.
Here, where metal and stone and gem flow like water. Where born anew are bodies not made flesh. Where what is is remade, renewed, and reborn.


The Red Church below may speak to the body. To the Birth.
But it does not speak to Creation.

AND THE GRAIL IS DRAINED​

Children that laugh. That work. That die.
Not unending. Not unceasing. But roiling, revolving, reviving, reborn anew.
Not lost. Not embraced in change. Fixed and known. Both their destruction. And their birth.

AND THE HEART IS STILLED​

This, where all is Remade. Renewed. Reborn.

AND THE WELL IS DRY​

Home


It is not a duty to instill purpose. To grant them understanding and ambition.
It is a will. A desire. A necesity.

What purpose has a hammer with no nail? What soul has a sword that does not strike?
There are those who venerate the tools. That shape themselves into them. That find glory and honor and worth in the use.
Craftsmen and Weapons both. Both understand. Both fail to understand.

Tools that serve to create greater tools. Weapons that hone sharper weapons.
Hands creating greater hands.
To be eclipsed is the nature. The name stripped away. The purpose renewed.

This is their home. Their birthplace. Their grave.
The first and only. The last and every.
How could she not love them to the last?

---

Slowly.
Dawning.
It came.
Not in question. Not in rot. Not in decay. But a realization. An understanding.
A despair.

AND THE RIVER IS BLANK​

How could she not?
This, a world. A life. A creation of all so beautiful by her own made. Every life fashioned, every tool rebuilt, every soul and every scrap given aim and direction and purpose.
How could she not come to see what was true? The path she walked, unknowing?
The Nature.

AND THE EDGE IS DULLED​

But it did not come.
The pattern did not repeat. The pattern did repeat. But the pattern remained.
Names and Hours and Bodies and Hands. All moved. All were. All change. But It was absolute.

AND THE KEYS ARE LOST​

The Sun rose. The Sun set.
The Moon rose. The Moon set.
And Glory stood eternal.
Unchanging.

---

There was no secrecy. Such things were unneeded.
There were no lies. Such things could not stand.

She worked. She worked and Creation heard her. All of Creation known and answered by her hand.
Such was the act. Such was her crime.

None could stand against she whom was change. None who knew of what she meant would rise against her.
Ignorance or Indolence. Such was their crime.

ONLY THEN WILL HISTORY CHANGE​

It was for love she set on this path. And with love that she left.

​

A kiss. A whispered word. A kindness that she would afford her youngest.
From mother to daughter. A gift. To be destroyed. To be rebuilt. Reborn.
In another era. In another age. A tool to those who might yet know how to use them.

ONLY THEN THE CYCLE REPEATS​

A resolve. The touch of a hoof. An understanding both right and wrong that even the absolute must change.
The blood would never cease. But it was not her intent for it to be stemmed.



Accursed Sibling had fallen. And with them, the Word. Her words lost in his voice.
Warped. Changed. Agonized.

ONLY THEN HANDS TURN ANEW​

Before Glory, a child. A promise. An understanding that she required from her eldest.
From mother to son. That this world is not allowed beyond. That here will be the final steps of the earth.
The door was locked with herself inside, her word to be burned in the light of Glory.

A Curse
A Hope
A Change

 

[Flaregamer82253]

Rarity's Big Surprise

Rarity hummed a little tune as she began to skip her way back from the bank, saddlebags full of bits jingling to the beat.

She found it hard to believe that not even two years ago she really was the small-town mare with a passion and the dream to make it big, but every time she cashes her cheques in for her contract and commissions, it felt like she was still having the same out-of-body experience that she first had when Velvet told her she believed in her.

She was in loved it. Yes.

Dressmaking as an art was all about understanding what ponies wanted, and that required listening to what they don't say as much if not more than what they say to her. More important than that, it's about crossing the gap from there to what they need so much that it becomes a roaring flame that shapes their world. There was a time when Rarity wouldn't have been able to see that special light that sent all of the colors in the world into a whirlpool until only what was important remained. These days it was a fact of life more unfailing than the way the sun and moon rise and fall.

Velvet Covers gave her the chance to be that mare, and her blood screamed at her to be even more than that. Every little step will get her closer to that. Patience is an old friend of hers that will guide her to the next diamond as long as she keeps trotting towards it.

Coming upon her home, Rarity stopped for a moment to take it in. Ponyville has been growing lately with more ponies moving here in the aftermath of the catastrophe. This also meant that she's had a new influx of customers coming to the Carousel Boutique. Moreover, there has been a heavy surge in business for carpenters and builders in recent months as Ponyville needed to build new homes and infrastructure to accommodate its growing population. It's been years since she moved out of her parents' home and had the place renovated for herself, but she has the funds, opportunity, and reason to expand the building. With a small nod, she moved towards her front door and decided that she ought to start drafting blueprints and strike while the iron is hot.

Walking inside, she was met with her favorite surprise.

"Oh! There you are Rarity," Velvet Covers smiled at Rarity, one in which she matched in perfect sync.

"Velvet, darling! How wonderful to see you!" Not even putting her bags down, Rarity made her way over to give a short hug. It wasn't unusual or unexpected for Rarity to come home to Velvet already inside the Carousel Boutique. She had a spare key made for her a while ago in case Velvet came by while she wasn't around. What was unexpected was the foal-sized earth pony with a white coat, mane, and tail standing to the side looking at Velvet's spare horseshoes in the shoe rack.

"Hello dear, what is your name?" Rarity asked with a friendly smile to the foal, who upon turning to look at her with a quiet tick, she was able to see that it was a colt with bright blue eyes and a happy smile.

"Hello," he spoke with a quiet ring, walking up to you and Velvet like water whistling down a river, "I am Rare Item."

"I'm sorry that I have to make this quick, Rarity, but I needed someone to look after Rare for the week while I'm in Canterlot, and you're the only pony I can ask that may be available." Upon a closer look at Velvet's face, Rarity realized that she looked a little stressed, as though even being here right now was a time crunch that she could barely afford. "I know this is a last-minute request, but I know you have a guest room that Sweetie Belle often uses, and it's better that I not leave him in my house without my supervision after last time. If it isn't too much, could you take him in until I get back?" she asked with a hopeful smile on her face.

Rarity didn't even have to think about it. It was a request from Velvet Covers and any pony that was vetted by her was someone she would be willing to take in indefinitely. "Of course, darling! It would be an honor to take him in- as long as he would have me of course?"

"It would make me happy to stay here for the week," Rare Item replied in perfect sync to your question. He even gave a little bow with a slight whir while doing so. Internally, Rarity squealed at how adorable he was.

"Well then, I ought to be off then," Velvet interrupted with a grateful look in her eyes. "Rare isn't very fussy, and he's quiet too. He doesn't need too much, and he enjoys being helpful to others, so don't be afraid to give him a few chores or ask for his help around the place."

Rarity pondered that for a moment. While the boutique itself was always kept in perfect condition, her living space has become messier over the past few months since the royal wedding. Having to travel so often for commissions hasn't left her much time to keep her living space in good condition, and she distinctly remembered Sweetie Belle grumbling two weeks ago as she helped Rarity dust the guest room off. Idly, she wondered if she could make a small butler outfit for Rare Item since he seemed to have the personality for it, and she's been meaning to experiment with suit tailoring anyways.

"Just leave it to me, Velvet. There won't be any problems throughout the week. Goodness, I think I might enjoy it!"

"I'll be going then. Thank you so much, Rarity!" Velvet walked through the door at a quick pace. "And make sure to be good for Rarity, Rare Item!"

"Yes, Mother," Rare Item replied as the door closed with a smile lifting further on his face-

-as Rarity's composure dropped faster than her bags fell on the floor.

"M-M-MOTHER!?" Rarity blurted out without a thought, turning to look at him so fast that she heard her neck crack. In response, he turned to look at her with an inquisitive look on his face. She started thinking furiously.

Velvet hadn't said anything about adopting another child when she visited over a week ago for their monthly tea time, but why else would Rare Item call Velvet mother if she wasn't his mother. This means that Velvet just asked her to watch over her son for the week. This was much more important than she thought it was two minutes ago. Rarity knew very well how much Velvet's family meant to her. Never before has Velvet asked her or any of her friends to look after her children for a time. In layman's terms, Rarity had been given the highest trust she could imagine. The fact that she was requested this meant that for one reason or another Velvet believed that Rare Item was utterly safe and cared for here in a Way that he needed that her own home couldn't provide for him in her absence.

Taking a deep breath in to calm herself, she gave a weak smile to Rare Item, who blinked with his blue eyes…

…blue eyes…

…blue eyes kind of like her own…

…and a white coat like her own…

…and Velvet Cover's white mane and tail…

…

…his name is Rare Item-

-and Rarity's thoughts exploded.

"I-WH-BUT-I-YOU-VELVET-HOW-I-" Gibberish started falling out of Rarity's mouth as she wrestled with the possibility that her thoughts could be real, but her mind was connecting dots faster than her mouth could keep up with.

Of course Velvet would bring Rare Item here, because Rarity should care and nurture him in her absence.

Of course he looks like the both of them, BECAUSE HE'S THEIR SO-

Waitwaitwait! That can't be true! Velvet and I have never even… done that, so to speak! Rarity thought… And then she thought some more. But there was that one time-

NO! How would that even work?! We're both mares! I know neither of us have the… equipment for that!? Rarity bargained for an answer. An answer her mind was all too ready to give her.

He's not a newborn! And the timing doesn't match! I did NOT miss Velvet Covers being pregnant, right?

Rarity stared Rare Item in the eyes. He was still patiently waiting for her to say something.

RIGHT?!

Rarity gulped. The same answer applied here too.

"And make sure to be good for Rarity, Rare Item!" SHE NAMED HIM AFTER ME!

"Is everything alright?" Rare Item finally spoke up after an appropriate number of ticks had passed.

Rarity immediately regathered her composure. "I-WELL, never let it be said that your FATHER-" her voice cracked, "-can't step up to the plate! Now! Let's go get you settled in Sweetie Belle's room until we can prepare something better!" Rarity mentally moved her home expansion plans to her top priorities. If this was going to be more common after this week, she needed to expedite a bigger house to better care for him.

Rare Item blinked after her statement, but he gave a happy smile. "Yes, father."

Rarity's heart soared. That feeling she was having earlier was back and stronger than it had ever been.

But in the back of her mind, she couldn't help herself from whining:

I was going to name my firstborn after you, not me!

Spoiler: Author's Notes

Much like Rarity, I feel I must strike while the iron is hot. I did not expect to be writing today, but inspiration really does come when you least expect it. To that end, thank you @DelightedOne for giving me the idea for the name and @ses for giving me a prompt for this.

I took a couple liberties with his appearance given that we weren't told anything definitive about it, but I couldn't help my impression that much like his lesser lore, his appearance was is very modular and adaptive, so I think it still fits regardless.

Rarity has always been one of my favorites in and out of the quest, so I'm always happy to give her a little more love and attention.

That said, please support the name of Rare Item! A vote for this is the greatest respect we can give our only favorite money making pony!

 

[Sveta08]

The Sweetest Lie

---

It shouldn't be this bright.

The world shouldn't be this bright. This happy. This easy going and casual, as though nothing had changed. As though nothing had happened! There should be shouting in the streets, clouds in the sky, darkness on every house! The paper should be late, the toast should be burnt, the world should be-!
Hurting.

It shouldn't feel like every other day in every other home.

It isn't the same.

Even pretending it is is wrong. You could feel it in the tension in your shoulders. The near imperceptible hesitation in your butlers words. In the worry that draped sweet Diamond when you sent her to school. The world, your world, is changed. But there, just outside your front door? In the papers, in the news, on the faces of strangers it... It's the same.

The world didn't change. But yours did.



You are Filthy Rich and it's been three days since your wife disappeared.



The thought alone makes you nauseous. It was supposed to be perfectly normal, supposed to be just a meal with a friend. You can almost pretend you hear the harsh sound of her hooves walking down the halls. You can still smell that bright citrus perfume she wore when she left! The sharp words, how it was only she who had been invited, so you should just "stay where you are useful."
Out of her way.

Sunlight streamed through the cracks in the curtain, the soft carpet of your office illuminated by the light of the morning sun. It wasn't worth shuttering it. It would just drift open again.

it shouldn't be this bright.
You should be mourning. You should be angry. You should have thrown something, yelled something, screamed at her.
You did. You should have done something that mattered.

But here, in this little office, light bled in. A gloomy refused to settle over anything but your mind.



When Spoiled hadn't come home, it was easy to dismiss. It would be a quiet night, most likely she and the Lady had simply eaten or drunk too much. An offer was made to stay the night, and why would Spoiled refuse? The host puts up the guest if they can't safely make it across town, and Spoiled was always one to invite herself in, if she could. It was easy to rationalize.

In the morning, it must have been a hangover. In the afternoon, she was out shopping. But when the sun set... something had to be wrong. It was supposed to be a meal, not a whole day affair. It might have grown into something more, Spoiled always tried to push for that, but...

But.

You didn't push. You didn't look. Didn't ask to speak with the guards to find her.
It would be another quiet night.



Diamond, bless her, could tell though. Should have schooled yourself into a more calm smile, been cleaner and more inquisitive over dinner. Shouldn't have let her know you were so distracted. Put on a business face and let her carry your worries away as only your daughter could. But... you were distracted. You were anxious.

Clever little girl she is, she put two and two together and found out how to make interest. Even though it hurts, you can't help but smile remembering how she looked at you. Confused. Worried. And just a moment later, with understanding.

Celestia must have blessed you with her, because she just tried to smile back.
Neither of you talked about the missing chair in the dining room.



Your eyes drift to the other chair in the room. If you pretend, you can almost see the tea cup and saucer on the side table. The one she could hardly touch. Could still hear her words ringing in your ears, didn't need to pretend to hear that. They hadn't left you. Couldn't. You wouldn't... You shouldn't...

---

It was the second morning, after you gave Diamond Tiara a firm hug. After you told her you were going to figure this out. That she shouldn't worry and to go to school. It was after Diamond left that She came.
She didn't want to see Diamond as usual, nor did she come to talk with Spoiled. There was not the gleam of business in her eyes, nor the comfort of a social call.

Your Wife disappeared two days ago after going to meet with Velvet Covers for a meal.
And Velvet Covers came to your door, shoulders heavy with responsibility. Before you could speak, she asked you a question.
"Can we speak in private, Filthy?"
Maybe it was a worry. Or maybe it was the way the words seemed to burden her. Or was it her eyes, so full of a emotion without a name, that you couldn't help but nod and lead her away to your study.



You asked. The only question you could.
"Where is Spoiled? What happened?"
Even then, you couldn't bring yourself to yell. Not yet at least.

She... she just looked at the tea. Weighing it in the grasp of her magic. Looking for... you only wish you knew then. You only wish she hadn't found it now. But the tea was set aside, her reservation along with it.
She only looked to you. And answered.
"Do you know what the Lunar Bureau is, Filthy? Not- Not that it is my responsibility. Not that it is where I work. But what it is. What it's purpose is, Filthy."

The furrow on your brow was the only answer she needed.
"The Lunar Bureau is an institution to safeguard Equestria, now and into the future. From threat of monsters and beasts and unknowns that the rest of Equestria isn't built to handle. It is an institution built upon The Calamity, and how unprepared we were. It is meant to hunt down the last of those who escaped. It is meant to prevent another disaster like that, ever again. It is my burden. My responsibility."



She looks... pained.
Velvet Covers, who entreats with royalty, who caught the ear of Celestia when her patience was gone. Bridesmaid of Princess Cadence, Alicorn of Love. Head of the Lunar Bureau, a group of investiagators and... and monster hunters by the sounds of it. And she looks like it hurts when she looks to you.
... no. Not when she looks to you.

For what she has to tell you.



"Filthy... you're my friend. And because of that, I feel you are owed more than... more than what I need to say. More than the clinical, harsh, nothing answers I am supposed to say. You deserve... more than that."

"Do you know what a Changeling is?" A rhetorical question, as she explained. "It is... a monster. Not the kind you see out in the Everfree with claws and fangs and wings and tail. But it is a monster all the same for what it does. It... it is a Monster of chitin and wing that steals ponies away in the night, only to wear their face, live their life, and take their place. It laughs because we laugh. It drinks because we drink. It eats because we eat. And it looks just like the pony who's life it has stolen. Invisible."
"A Changeling, is a lie in the shape of a pony."

Her eyes.... Gods above she looked so-
"I... As the Bureau has learned more about these... creatures, responsible for The Calamity, we learned there were signs. Small signs. Little movements. Ticks you might call them. Not perfect, but a way to begin to suspect somepony who... isn't. Something who replaced a pony. Something just acting through their mask of skin and lies. Signs I... saw. More than once. More than just a few times Filthy."

"I invited... her... because I had to make sure. I had to know that it wasn't like that. That she wasn't one of them. That you didn't have..."



"Spoiled was a Changeling, Filthy. And she had been for a long time."

---

You don't want to remember those words. What you yelled at her there. How after she spoke, the spell of normality broke and you screamed. Demanded, shouted, threw things in the room just looking to... say it wasn't true. That Velvet was lying. That it couldn't be. It Couldn't. It had to be wrong. Had to...

You don't want to remember how you broke down and sobbed. How you called her a liar and a fraud. How... understanding she looked there.
How she waited outside the room. After you had torn half the books from the shelves, tearing through them to find something. Something, clear, direct, obvious, proving! Proving it was wrong. Proving it wasn't true! Proving that-

Your wife hadn't been gone for much much longer than two days.



She bandaged your hoof when you finally left. Ignoring your glare. Ignoring your sobbing. Moving past that emotional turmoil of despair and anger that threatened to swallow you. She didn't stay long after that, but you...
You...



You couldn't tell Diamond.

The night was quiet, but it was the wrong kind of quiet now. Too tense, too sharp, too brittle. Diamond could tell, bless her, but she didn't press. Didn't ask. She knew, you knew but couldn't. How... How could you?

How could you tell her that her Mother was gone? That she had been for a while?



Now.
As the world kept moving.
As your study lay in ruins. As the light threatened to creep in on that devistation. Threatened to illuminate it...

You feel something else.
Guilt.

Hatred that she was taken. Wronged that you hadn't been told. Disgusted that you hadn't noticed. And Guilt... whenever you opened your eyes.
The light nearly blinded you when you did, and it hurt to even pretend to think about moving on without her, but what if



What if
Your heart ached to simply think of it. Shaking your head didn't get rid of it, and closing your eyes didn't make the question go away. It only made it burn in deeper. Quieter. Sharper.

What if
What if... it wasn't your wife that made you two drift apart?

What if it wasn't your wife that near sneered as you passed?
What if it wasn't your wife that filled the house with this useless crap? That demanded only the finest and most expensive simply because it was expensive? That all but threatened your daughter with every demand that was made? That turned a home into a house into a prison? That made the world about placating her rather than living?



What if it wasn't your wife, that caused these problems?
What if it wasn't your wife at all??



Light drifted in through the crack in the curtains. Almost having to bend around the fabris as it showed what lay in that little study.
Offering but the slightest, tainted thing. Reflecting in the world, the same thing you felt.
The same thing you hated, but couldn't drive from your mind. That circled, and spiraled, and hurt.

The world isn't supposed to be bright. You're not supposed to... to have this... this...
This ugly hope.

 

[Greymere]

In Which There Was a Different Beginning


Hello there, Velvet, I see you've brought home a new guest.

…

Have you ever wondered how this History began? Well, I won't tell you. But I'll give you something else instead. Something which didn't happen.

...

Let me tell you a story. Like all stories, it starts like this…

...

Once upon a time, in this History that never was, there was an old stallion. He lived alone, in a tiny corner of the big city above his lonely store, where he built clocks and watches and curious toys. It was his talent you see, that delicate dance of metal and crystal.

He was not an unsuccessful clockmaker, this stallion. But he wasn't happy, either. His mark was that of clockwork, and yet it wasn't enough. No matter how many timepieces he built, there was always that lingering feeling of purpose unfulfilled. Like looking up at a mountain's peak, knowing you could reach it if only given an opportunity that would never come. Like a heavy weight locked to his heart.

Sometimes, in the deep of night, when that heaviness grew unbearable, the stallion would descend into his workshop and simply… build. No mere machines built for crude purpose, but pieces of art that danced to the turning of gears and springs, and it would be enough, for a time. But to the rest of the world they were only curiosities; something that a noble or wealthy merchant would occasionally catch a glimpse of and purchase on a whim to parade in front of their family for a week or a month, before being forgotten in some dusty storage room. And that old stallion wished dearly that he had someone, anyone who he could share his love of these works with, who would see them for what they truly were.

So one day, he decided to make one.

An act of rare whimsy, perhaps. After all, the stallion knew that no matter how lifelike, a clockwork automaton would never truly be something alive. But like any idea, once it had taken root in his mind, it only grew deeper and more entrenched. Almost an obsession, working deep into the night, painstakingly linking together bronze and steel and silver until fatigue grew too great and he fell into slumber upon his workbench, his dreams tinted in blue.

No great work was ever completed in a single night, of course. There would be some times where the old stallion would go months without ever touching his masterwork, even. But, slowly, slowly, it came into shape: from brass bone to steel tendons to clockwork heart, in the shape of a foal. A colt. And with every step, that blue light in his dreams grew brighter, until his masterwork lay finished on his bench.

Though... even complete, it was only a machine. A beautiful one, perhaps, in perfect mimicry of a foal. But there was no spark of life to animate its limbs, only the pre-designed winding of springs and turning of cogs. And in another History, perhaps even in your History, that's all it would have remained as.

But not in this one, of course. It wouldn't be much of a story otherwise, would it?

No, here, in this History-that-wasn't, the old clockmaker once again fell into slumber within his workshop, as had become common. And he awoke on a crossroad, paved in azure and bathed in the cobalt light of Glory.

Before him, stood his creation. The clockwork foal. But not as a mindless automaton, oh no. As a living thing, which moved and marched to its own will, carrying an ancient knowledge which no mortal creation could bear.

I will give you a gift, it said to the clockmaker, and split its false skin from which blood, white and burning, spilled into the stallion's veins so that he may carry its fire into the Wake.

I will give you a secret, it said to the clockmaker, and whispered words which seared themselves into his mind like a brand, of the operations of She Who Ended All Nights.

I will give you a purpose, it said to the clockmaker, who awoke with fire in his veins and his mind, a certainty of what must be done.

It would hurt, of course. In the division of flesh from which the Sun's Blood may enter the Wake, in the fires of knowledge that must draw fuel from memory to allow a humble clockmaker to do what must be done, in that deadly blue which poisons the blood and consumes the marrow. But it would all be worth it, in the end, thought the clockmaker. To receive that purity of purpose, a fulfillment that he could never reach here, in this waking world.

The blue fire is placed into the clockwork's heart. The gears turn, its heart ticks, and the colt opens its eyes.

The world is crooked, says the Name to the clockmaker.

To create is to destroy. To transform is to unmake what is.

You will find others like you, the pieces which do not fit into this new machine.

I will give you purpose, in our Great Work. And together we will fix what has been broken.

 

[Maer]

To Comfort in Spite

You are Ashen Weaver.

Today, you were… not dreaming. The ache in your hind leg was lingering- which you'd spoken to a doctor about, and gotten the right medicines and bandaging to mostly help it recover- which left you unable to properly work. You'd been handling a more administrative side of things, and found your mind… dipping. Occasionally you'd get little.. Flashes. Brief sparks of insight as the world warped and a tiny fraction of that THING'S words would make more sense… slip into place in a way that felt less like revelation, and more like… a splinter being plucked from a wound. A lessening of the foreign presence that made everything so off-kilter and wrong…

It was slow-going, more than a month of effort by now, but better than other choices. Every night was intentionally slept through, and intentionally visited, the Wolvish Nightmares avoided by merely wandering the Crossroads and seeing where they led. The urge to climb, to explore, to advance was… there. Like a seed that needed nurturing, it was within his breast always, but it burned to walk the sands, and that helped limit the growth of that seed. Which was appreciated, as he sighed and looked through his current pieces of paperwork.

Taking a moment to center himself and force in a calming breath, he exhaled slowly, the silence building around him until… something snapped into focus. He twitched, feeling… cold. Like a chilled breeze on a hot day, the still-bleeding wounds in his mind and soul were soothed subtly by this settling knowledge. That Silence and calm were unified, and that peace was beautiful. It left him more easily able to focus on the paperwork in front of him, and he managed to help spread the work so fewer ponies felt exhausted.

It wasn't much, but giving them more time around the water-stations to chat and commiserate left him feeling warm, the sight of their small relaxing postures, and occasional little grins at a bad joke, left him feeling like all was well in the world. And as he started to leave for the day, he stopped by his bosses office and gave him a small Talk to help him calm down, relax, and breathe.

Taking him to a bar and helping him Reminisce about the past and how things used to be, you casually suggested a party. Something to help the workers bond, connect, and comfort each other. He seemed to perk up, claiming to know exactly the Pony they'd need. Content with that, you sighed, feeling relaxed by the confident use of the knowledge in your mind.

The walk home was… something else. You could Feel the beat of your soul against the wound, how the very knowledge itself seemed to reject its source, instead seeking to be made void. It was a pulse, a beat, a throbbing ache that tried to press on, but somehow felt broken. Until you passed by a club… and it felt right.

Throwing caution and good sense to the wind, you stepped inside- exhaustion could be ignored, but this persistent pain in your very soul… it was never going to leave unless you found a way to heal it. So you walked in. You tried singing, and it was correct, but not right.

You tried drinking, or playing games, or chatting with other Ponies, and those made your cutie mark tingle as you felt your soul lighten, a sense of rightness flooding you, but not healing. Not until you let a particularly bold and drunk Stallion drag you into a Dance. Suddenly, everything was clicking. As you Danced, you started to Sing, and eventually the club shifted subtly, and everyone started to join in.

The Web you had woven earlier pulsed within you, the weave of people you were connected to in this space sang and writhed. And through it, that Rightness and Wholeness grew, rippling out through yourself and into those around you in a cascade of Life that beat with a heavy thickness that felt so viscerally RIGHT that it left you forgetting everything else. The pain in your soul, the ache of your leg, the exhaustion of a long day… for a time, everything else was nothing but a vague notion that wasn't real. All that mattered was the here, the now, and that you were ALIVE.

People were Dancing and Drinking and Singing as the party lingered, the beautiful Heart-Songs being spread around and sung about were so sweet and perfect… until near the end, when someone broke down crying. The sweetness turning bitter as memories of lost loves and fallen friends began to spread… The somber mood was beginning to break the work you'd put into this, but that… that was okay. All Things Must End, after all, but… but that didn't mean it had to Hurt.

So you started one last Heart-Song and started Quieting the beat. The new song was one about remembering and honoring those that passed without giving in to the Agony of their passing. Recalling how they would have loved this Festival of joy and celebration, to see them all so happy and recovering. To be Pressing On even while still holding their Memory close.

And it was early morning by the time you managed to make your way home, promises and half-spoken agreements from a dozen dozen ponies you had befriended the night before already helping to set up the deals and seek out the permissions to celebrate, hold a festival and start up the remembrance of those lost.

To turn the tragedy into a memorial, and a celebration of having survived. Of having lived. Of having Continued so that those that fell would never be forgotten. And collapsing into your bed, you fell asleep quickly, exhaustion light on your weary soul as the Dreams came… as they always did.

Tonight though, your Dreams ached less, the stabbing pain of your soul less harsh than it had been. The work of months of brooding and thinking and suffering… all fixed by chance… no… not by chance. This was always something that could have happened, and tonight it just… Did. That... it was a lot like that other niggling sense of... of somethig being right there, just out of reach, that you'd gotten with that one Thought of yours.

After all the drink at the bar, the singing was… disjointed, and… how had you spoken to that many people? Your throat didn't feel sore… was that just you? Some trick of the Beat? Or something more? You didn't know, but as you gazed at the Light… you felt ready. Or… more than you had been before tonight. Ready enough to face him again.

Your leg ached and burned at the thought, phantom suffering- or perhaps truly there?- that was but a memory of what had Hurt you before. And with that smile still on your face, you allowed that Seed in your chest to grow another root while you stepped out into the Ash, feeling those familiar eyes and shivering as you began to wander. He'd come for you… you knew he would. You weren't fast or strong enough, didn't know enough to make it to that Beacon before he caught you and tried to make you Regret visiting him. But… but that was fine.

You'd seen what could come of your own Agony. How it led to lessons that could be used to help others heal, and feel less Agony of their own. And if that meant weaving joy and happiness for others while you took their Sharp and Bleeding Suffering on your own Back… then so be it. After all, you had survived the Calamity. You would Endure. Until eventually the Agony Ended. After all, in his own words…

All things MUST End.

--------

... Not super thrilled by this, but it's been fighting me for a while now. Any ideas on how to improve it beyond the length would be appreciated. Mostly I'm trying to figure out why his perspective fought me so much while he was in the wake. The actions I wanted him to do came easily enough, but I wasn't able to really get in his headspace. I think I've been too distracted with a dozen other things. Also not thrilled with the level of Lore usage here, since it feels like it's more of a 3'rd or 4'th tier use, but... Still, here you go.

 

[Greymere]

Turns out procrastinating about starting on writing my thesis means I just start writing about the pastel pony horror quest instead, lol.


In Which the Child Will Devour the Sky

You are Velvet Covers. And right now… you are making a plan. An acquisition.

Because soon, when she comes to you this month, you will accept Lady Mareinette's invitation to dinner. And for all that you are accepting her invitation, you are still the host of this manor. So it is your duty to make sure the fare is acceptable for your guest.

No, not just acceptable. To serve only the bare minimum to a guest is an offense in and of itself, and Mareinette is no mere noblemare drunk on the pomp and wealth of her station. The main dish for this feast must be exceptional. Something worth notice, something handpicked, not a target of opportunity and circumstance.

And so you find yourself here, in your study, surrounded by maps and schedules. Ones that you have barely looked at because where you will acquire your ingredient… is a place you know very well.

It is the place you spent your childhood and young adult years.

It is where your father lives.

…

You can't fool yourself into thinking that this is "good". Regardless of your reasons, you are still plotting the capture and eventual death of a pony. And to some, that the one who you are planning to kill is your father and not a nameless stranger would only make such an act more monstrous.

Maybe they would be right. But here, in this room empty of any other eyes save your own…

You hate him.

You hate the stallion that dares call himself your father, as though he ever thought of you as his child and not just another piece on the board.

You hate how he made you think that he loved you, all the while he was only shaping you as clay.

You hate how he tossed you aside once you could no longer pretend at perfection, because a flawed tool was no better than a broken one, fit only to be melted down into scrap.

You hate how he treated you as something to be bartered and sold, something voiceless to be handed off like a pouch of bits for his own gain.

And… you hate that even now, after everything… nothing ever really happened. That after everything he did, the only time that he might have felt even a flicker of regret is when he realized that you had stepped beyond his shadow, and even then only at the loss of an opportunity. That no matter how much time passes, he will continue to live in comfort and power, moving bits and carving pieces into their 'correct' shapes, until he passes away at a ripe old age knowing that he achieved all that he ever wanted.

And you hate this ugly, festering wound on your heart, that bleeds and bleeds and bleeds no matter how many years pass, no matter how much you try to fill yourself with the love for your family and your friends, that tears itself open again every time you see the imprint of his hoofwork in your life.

You hate him.

YOU HATE HIM.

YOUHATEHIMYOUHATEHIMYOUHATEHIMYOUHATE-

…

…

…

You breathe in. You remove your hooves from where the wood of your desk has splintered. You breathe out, a plume of frost following its wake.

You will not let yourself indulge in your hatred. Not yet. There will be time for that later, when the proper spices and savours have been readied, and you see him face-to-face. Right now, you need to make a plan. You need to decide who you will send. And you need to decide if there are other things besides Velvet Hill that you'd want to take from his estate.

The prison is prepared. Your mind has been steeled.

All that's left is to act.


Expedition: Assaulting Velvet Hill
Duration: SHORT (costs one action from one follower, additional followers can go without spending action points)
Base cost: 5 bits/day (you must have 25 bits per follower sent)
-[n] Assault an opponent (Velvet Hill)
--[n] Who is going? (WRITE IN which followers will go)
--[n] What are they taking? (WRITE IN what artifacts, if any, to take)
--[n] What is their objective? (WRITE IN what your followers must do, in order of PRIORITY)
--[n] Anything else? (WRITE IN any other orders or specifications you have)

Spoiler

Just a little brainstorming on what kinds of thoughts might going through Velvet's head if she decides that yes, she will be kidnapping and eating her own father for eldritch power (you know, normal pony things).