//------------------------------// // Part Five // Story: The Rariad // by Tundara //------------------------------// The Rariad By Tundara Here our story takes a much darker turn, as it delves into places unnamed and unnamable where dwell the legions of Demonkind. For a space of three years Rarity, Fairest of the Alicorns, did dwell imprisoned in luxury and velvet finery veneer thin beyond which lay the worst cruelties in all creation. 5: Amaymon Ruddy light flowed in a thick stream through curtains of the finest silk. Voluminous plum folds were held by sashes embroidered with gold thread. Between the curtains sat a long, dark vanity, a raised bench slightly askance where it had been pushed back the night before. Past the vanity the light splashed over black and gold tiles until it reached the end of a royal bed, its curtains drawn tight to keep the invading morning at bay. A soft sigh came from the darkened abode within. Shoes clicking on the floor brought a deeper sigh that ended only when the curtains were yanked aside and the burning blaze of daylight cast by the twin red suns at last reached the bed’s occupant. “Come on, your Majesty, breakfast is about to be served,” came the brusk voice of a hoofmaid. The sigh cut into a sharp gasp, a scramble ensuing as covers were cast aside. Rarity half fell from the bed as she hurried to her vanity, catching herself before crashing and smoothly sitting on the bench. She could feel the hoofmaid smile at her back. Using a small mirror, Rarity applied khol to her eyes, elongating the points over her cheekbones. Next she darkened her brows, giving them a sharp definition. Placing the khol aside, she took up gold and ruby paints. Working in tandem the brushes placed the image of a seven sided gemstone on her forehead held by delicate brackets. Before she’d even finished with the gold flourish she was applying a single dot to create the impression of a dimple on her right cheek. Lastly, she applied a thick layer of cherry dark lipstick. While applying her makeup, Rarity likewise placed her mane into an intricate bun held in place by gold pins and gem studded clasps. The amethyst strands of her mane shimmered like living gemstone, adding an unearthly brilliance to her complexion. From her wardrobe floated a comfortable, yet elegant, little summer dress. The dark blues and lighter, floral designs added a sprig of sensual, youthful vitality. Golden shoes completed the outfit, complementing the pins in her mane. A few strokes of a brush through her tail, and Rarity rushed from the room. Nearly at a cantor, Rarity sped through hallways of the grandest opulence. Mahogany paneling went by in a blur. Paintings flashed in the corner of her eyes. Busts and suits of armour came and went. In this part of the palace there were few windows, Rarity electing to take the shortest route between her quarters and the breakfast hall. Maids and guards alike had to dart into corners, or press themselves up against walls to avoid causing a crash. All of them bowed and wished her a sardonic good morning. Rarity kept her gaze firmly affixed off the guards, lest her stomach churn at the monstrous sight and her appetite vanish. It was difficult squeezing past some of the hulking brutes, with their six legs and four arms all covered in blackened iron carapaces. Ugly, barbed axes were clenched in large scaly hands. Dried gore and bits of hair and bone encrusted the edges of their weapons and armour. Glowing yellow eyes tracked her from behind the slits of dark helmets. The Slaughter Demons were as much executioners as they were guards. Elsewhere in the hellish planes beneath Tartarus the guards could have carved out small demenses of their own, lording over swaths of horrible, little creatures. As guards in the palace they held even greater prestige and power. A few times she’d heard the screams of those seeking to sneak into the palace, and once come across a fresh kill near her chambers. Dried bits of flesh yet to be scrubbed away flecked with shards of bone clinging to the frame of a door. Swallowing a lump of bile, she at last approached the entrance to the breakfast hall. Rarity paused only long enough to fix any rumples and lose hairs caused by her hurried pace. There were none. Her divine nature kept her in a state of perpetual pristine perfection. As her hoof brushed down her throat she became aware of an absence, of something forgotten. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell into a shocked circle. The Jewels of Helen! How could she have forgotten the necklace?! He always commented on them every morning. For a moment Rarity pranced on the spot, panic gripping her as she weighted the options of returning to the room for the string of black pearls with blue diamonds and being late against appearing without them. She was saved, for the moment, by the appearance of her hoofmaid rushing down the corridor, the jewels in their dark velvet box floating beside her. “Your Majesty, you really need to let me do my job,” the hoofmaid snapped as she opened the box and clasped the jewels about Rarity’s neck. “It is my neck on the line as well as yours.” Rarity gave a very soft, “I’m sorry,” which only made the hoofmaid snort, roll her eyes, and open the door for her lady. Peeking inside, Rarity cast a quick glance towards the head of the table. Her heart beat faster and faster, wondering if she’d arrived in time. The seat was empty. A quick sigh of relief parted her painted lips. Moving at a more dignified pace, she made her way to the main entrance to the room. She was only half-way around the room when it was thrown open by bowing servants, and the First King of Hell entered. Regal. Powerful. He strode with unmatchable confidence. His oiled, coal black mane curled around two short ruby horns that complimented perfectly his crimson coat. Yellow, draconian eyes dominated chiseled features, drawing Rarity’s gaze and holding her fast. Robes of the finest elegance and stately opulence cascaded over his broad form, blacks, golds, and crimson tones matching his natural colours. Rarity almost cringed at the colour combination. Almost. Dipping into a elegant curtsy, Rarity forced a warm lilt to her voice as she said, “Good morning, Asmodeus. I trust you had a pleasant evening, darling?” “Ah, there you are, my lovely,” his dark golden eyes dipped briefly to the curve of her throat, and the clasp of pearls. Pleasure appeared momentarily in the corners of his tight pressed lips. Rarity used her relief to broaden her smile. “It would have been greater delights if you’d been present, for none shines as bright as I but you. Come, sit at my side and regale me again with tales and legends of Ioka.” Keeping her dismay hidden took all Rarity’s skill. Years of garden parties, balls, and galas proved their worth in this most horrid of places. She had to show at all times a pleasant smile, and ply her host with sweet nothings and little compliments. Oh, he was all too aware that every fibre of her being recoiled at his presence. That the sound of his voice, the touch of his hoof, or the scented oils of his mane all made her skin crawl. He was the most vile, disgusting, wicked villain she’d ever encountered. It brought him pleasure to turn her into a living doll, perfect to the eyes, perfect in demeanor, sweet, polite, and totally within his control. “I am afraid that all my remaining stories would be far too dull for breakfast, or too long to have a satisfying conclusion,” Rarity said as she slipped onto one of the high back chairs. She allowed the slightest of pauses, to gauge what sort of mood the First King of Hell was in that morning. If he revealed any irritation, she would have no choice but to come up with some story or legend. And it had to be new. Only once had she attempted to repeat a story. Her cheek still stung from his reprimand. Worse would be if he showed anger. Anger meant she’d gone too far already. One the other hoof, if he showed amusement, then it’d become a game to play for breakfast. He’d insist, she’d demur, they’d have some banter that toyed with threats or possible rewards for her giving in. She would have to walk a very narrow line, but at least a tiny shred of dignity would be salvaged. Instead, what she received was a long roll of his wings and an indifferent, “Another morning, then.” Icy fear flowed through her veins. This was new. And ‘new’ meant danger. She carefully watched Asmodeus, trying to figure out what he was plotting, as the servant demons stepped out of the side rooms. They pushed carts covered in tarts, bowls of exquisitely spiced oatmeal, eggs of all sorts from boiled ostrich to poached robin eggs, freshly baked breads, sizzling skillets, rashers of bacon, and more. Exotic juices were poured into crystal cups while the tantalizing dishes were served. “Word has at last reached me about you friend,” Asmodeus said as his plate was covered in a thick slice of ham, fried dragon eggs, and sauteed potatoes. “Indeed?” Rarity had to keep her relief to a low simmer. If Trixie had been located, than Rarity felt one step closer to devising a means of escape. Trixie had to know something about how they’d entered Amaymon, rather than breaching Tartarus towards the surface realms. She was grasping at a straw, Rarity knew, but it was one of the few threads of hope that kept her going. “Yes. She landed in the realm of Pride, and currently resides at the discretion of my brother in his dungeons. Madness will have been the least of her fates.” Rarity’s mouth went dry. The tortures devised by demonkind were beyond even her worst imaginings. She was purposefully kept away from the darkest aspects of what the demons were capable. What she had encountered showed a level of malevolence and cruelty she fervently wished to unsee.    “With your leave, would it be possible to barter for her return? She is my attendant, after-all.” Asmodeus frowned, and Rarity felt a tremor of worry lace its way up the back of her neck. “That would be quite ill advised,” he stated. “I will consider sending one of my daughters to parley with Mephisto in your stead.” Rarity wanted to press the issue, but held back. Incurring Asmodeus' ire now would only make it harder to rescue Trixie.   So, she said, "That is an excellent idea, darling. Your daughters inherited your delightful charisma. Besides you or I, who else could retrieve my attendant from your loathsome brother?" After this she let the subject slide.   Towards the end of breakfast, Asmodeus placed a silver fork on his empty plate, and said, “It is with deep regret that I must be away for some time, and unable to enjoy your splendid company. These many months have been exquisite.” Placing a hoof to her chest, Rarity let out a gasp, taking great care to avoid having any of the relief flushing her face from entering her voice as she asked, “Whatever for? What could possible steal your attention?” Pleasure curling his lips, Asmodeus reached over and lifted her chin. “Do not fret, my lovely, you are my most precious treasure. There is merely a certain creature of whom I have taken a particular interest. She goes by the name of Sarah, and is about to be wed for the sixth time. I make a small game of her suitors, to be certain they are worthy of her, you see. Sadly, none have been able to meet even my lowest standards.” Dry humour flickered in his dangerous eyes, the corners of his mouth holding an anticipatory smirk. “When I return we shall host a gala. The grandest of galas in the cosmos! I have already invited my brothers and sisters, and all their courts. It will be a night of laughter, wine, debauchery, and if we are lucky a murder or three. In the meantime, I give you leave to explore my palace in its entirety.” Grasping her by the mane, Asmodeus pulled Rarity into a deep kiss. His mouth opened, and for a second Rarity considered keeping hers closed before she parted her lips to permit him access. Bitterness welled in the back of her throat as his tongue invaded her mouth. She put her mind aside, separating herself from events, encasing a wall around the loathsome moment as Asmodeus, King of Lust, used her. As she had done each other time he’d forced himself upon her.   As with all such moments it lasted an agonizing eternity before he broke the kiss. “Till I return, dear wife,” he said jovially before departing in a ruby flash. She waited, counting silently to ten in case he returned. When the count was done she still refused to relax. Keeping her jaw tense, tongue firmly planted against her palate, Rarity slowly turned, took a mouthful of water from a tall glass, swilled it around, and spat it on his chair. It was the most uncouth act she could imagine from which she would avoid punishment. Everything in the room, afterall, would be taken so as to be destroyed the moment she left. It would all be then replaced with identical copies.   Pushing her almost untouched breakfast aside, Rarity stomped out of the hall. She didn’t care who saw her now. Any demon who thought to inform on her would be punished severely. Afterall, it would be they who must have upset his precious jewel. Otherwise, she’d be as happy and vibrant as when he’d departed, like a flower in a crystalline vase fully bathed in warm sunlight.   He was gone, but for how long? She had to hurry. This was the first time Rarity had been granted free access to the breadth of the palace. Either he was confident that she couldn’t, wouldn’t, or even dare contemplate escape, or it was his intention that she at least make the attempt. If she followed the reasonings of the latter, then her escape somehow helped him. Or, it was truly impossible, and he just wanted the cat-and-mouse game of her seeking a means while keeping it from him. Which made it both a necessary and dangerous game. He’d be disappointed if she didn’t play along. Regardless of Asmodeus’ intentions, she had to make the attempt. Rarity refused to remain in Amaymon. Though opulent and crafted with a talented eye towards decour, there was nothing Beautiful about Amaymon. And without Beauty she felt herself withering. Rarity’s inner self, the new core of her being as an alicorn, squirmed in revulsion deeper than that caused by even Asmodeus’ touch. This place was ugly in the most fundamental sense, and even she as The Goddess of Beauty could never cause that to change.   Surrounded by such depravity, Rarity had yet to begin to understand her powers, or even register the fact that she was an alicorn. Oh, she was well aware of the physical changes. Her wings were heavy along her sides, and her newfound strength still surprised her. Her magic was quicker to her command and seemingly limitless in supply, and she'd shattered a few doors and wardrobes kicking them in her fury after dealing with Asmodeus.   It was being an alicorn that had saved her. As one she was a prize for Asmodeus. Otherwise… She dared not consider what would have happened otherwise. What must have happened to Trixie. Poor, poor Trixie. A deep moan rattled through Rarity, and she had to lean on a wall for a moment as profound sadness welled in her chest. She could recall every moment in Tartarus. From the moment she’d been plunged into Lethe’s memory consuming rapids to the ill-fated attempt to escape the underworld; it was all equally clear to Rarity. Most of her memories were of the simple room in the manor. This made Trixie’s visits all the more vivid for the splash of activity they caused. As with all things Asmodeus said, Rarity didn’t believe for an instant that Trixie was in the clutches of the Demon King of Pride. Whether Trixie was in Amaymon or not was harder to gauge, but Rarity was certain that she wasn’t being held in Pride’s dungeons. Trixie had fallen towards Amaymon, spinning just beyond Rarity’s reach until they’d been separated by a tall, jagged spine of a mountain to land on opposite slopes. Before Rarity could search for her friend, Asmodeus had claimed her. She only hoped that, somehow, Trixie had managed to escape his notice. Of course, that would mean that for months Trixie would have been surviving out in the desolate wastelands of Amaymon alone, surrounded by demons, struggling against the horrors of Hell, where everything sought to corrupt her soul. It was almost impossible to imagine that anypony could survive such a place for even a day, let alone— Rarity didn’t want to contemplate exactly how long she’d been in Amaymon.    Trixie was resourceful. Rarity knew this perhaps better than any other pony. If Trixie could find a way to save her, than it was possible she’d found a way to survive Amaymon too. She had to have hope. It was all she had against the nightmares that beset her from all sides. “You looked after me,” Rarity said as if Trixie could hear her, hoof clutching at her chest. “And I will find some way of repaying you, Trixie. Wherever you are, just hang on.” Using the promise to give her a bit more incentive—unneeded as it may be—Rarity almost cantored towards her destination. She’d seen the door many times, with the simple gold plaque that proclaimed it as the library. Or, one of many libraries. Double sided and made of honey dark oak, they seemed almost warm, tantalizing with an invitation to plum forbidden depths of knowledge.   Assuming this too wasn’t a lie. Cautiously, Rarity took hold of the gilt handle. She hovered there ears flicking towards the corridor. There were no demons about, their absence conspicuous and only furthering her paranoia.     “Well, nothing for it now,” Rarity said as she straightened her posture and went through the doors. The library was much as Rarity expected. Similar to the National Equestrian Library, multi-leveled bookcases formed narrow corridors beneath a vaulted ceiling. Staircases to the left and right lead to both an upper floor as well as a basement. Desks lined a central aisle, all empty, leading to a large central reception area holding the card catalogs. “Twilight would love this place,” Rarity said softly, her heart aching for her missing friends.   Rarity wandered the library slowly, scanning the spines of books for anything that looked like it would help her escape Hell. Turning a corner she saw a bound soul standing next to a directory. His face was plastered with a rictus smile beneath unkempt bangs. Every few moments he would shift a hoof, but otherwise might as well have been a statue. Each time she encountered a bound soul had lead to frustration, and sadness. The poor creatures were mortals who’d sold their souls to the demons. For what purpose wasn’t recorded, and didn’t matter. They were little better than living statues capable of only doing what their master deigned. Most weren’t permitted to move, and spoke only the same few line over and over. What was worse, Rarity could sense the torment of the soul. They were acutely aware of what was happening, forced to experience every agonizing moment imprisoned in their own bodies. Unable to move, to speak, to breath of their own accord. Most of the souls were mad beneath the surface of the puppet show they were forced to innact.   “Good day, madam!” The pony said with a creaking, jovial laugh as Rarity approached. “Welcome to Lord Asmodeus’—Praise be his Magnificence!—most marvelous and amazing small private study library. We’ve been having a problem with imps lately. The little scoundrels ran off with seven of Lord Asmodeus’ books. If you were to retrieve them, I’d be in your debt.” Short speech done, he resumed his unblinking stance, mouth clacking shut like wooden slats. “In my debt?” Rarity softly clicked her tongue. “And would you help me find a book on how to leave Amaymon?” The statue-like pony didn’t respond. Sighing, Rarity asked in a flat tone, “What will be my reward?” That command phrase was one of a few she’d uncovered that would cause a response from the puppets. Smile returning, the pony clasped his hooves as he breathed a relieved sigh, and said, “A blank magic scroll, and thirty bits.”   Closing her eyes as she took a deep breath, Rarity passed the bound soul saying, “Accepted.”   The imps were down the next aisle, the scrawny miscreants flapping between shelves as they unorganised the library. Some tore out pages and inserted them into other books. Others wiggled boney fingers to make the titles on the books change into rude words. Still more flapped from shelf to shelf, tossing down fresh books to the vandals below. An unusually plump imp directed his cohorts like a conductor of an orchestra, tapping a foot and swaying his hips from side to side as he cackled out a discordant tune. Again, Rarity thought about Twilight, and the horror her friend would experience seeing such a scene. Twilight would be beside herself in disgusted fury at the desecration of any library, even one belonging to a demon king.   With an angry mask affixed, Rarity set her shoulders and marched up to the largest of the imps. “Stop this nonsense this instant.” She was a little proud of the imperious crack to her voice, and how it made the vile little cretins stop their antics. A long talon digging in his ear, the fat imp peered up at Rarity with inky dark eyes. Diminutive wings flapped to lift the rotund body, gangly limbs dangling underneath as it hovered. “What this? What this? The ‘Queen' of Amaymon gracing us wit’ her glorious presence? Gits and gals, we bein’ blessed, we is.” Cackles rippled between the imps, bouncing like an infection from one to the next. Unperturbed, Rarity curled her nose as she’d seen the Canterlot Elite do so many times. The effect was far from instantaneous. But that was alright. Shooing away the imps wasn’t entirely her goal. She only needed seven books they’d taken. Her tone diamond edged, she pushed her way through the imps coolly looking over the mess they’d made. They had to flap their wings extra hard to get out of her way, vile grumblings rattling through thin lips mixing with their snickers. “It is a shame,” Rarity said, speaking as if to herself rather than addressing the imps. “I’d been promised access to the library, and hoped to see it in the fullness of its glory. Not in this dreadful state. My husband is going to be so disappointed.” The imps cackles ceased with a sharp finality. Sharp glances were cast towards the boss, its underlings twisting their gnarled hands in worry. “Boss, you says the Great Magnificent One no worry about piddly little library.” Cudgeling the speaker with a bony fist, the rotund imp snarled, “She just trying to be tricksy, you oaf! Use that psychology thingy. We no be fooled by pretty alicorn’s pretty words none, right you gits? The Great Big Bestest Boss no care about a few books.” There was far fewer mutterings of support than there’d been jeers of laughter before. Rarity couldn’t help but smirk. “Oh, you darling thing, of course he cares. He cares about everything in Amaymon being just perfect. And this,” Rarity gestured at the mess with a casual flick of a hoof, “is far from perfect.” Mutters began to grow among the smaller imps, discontent noises and glares sent at their fat leader. “We’s just havin' a bit of a laugh! This ain’t wrong. We right!” Pressing her lips into a thin line, Rarity let out an unsure hum. The demons faces paled beneath their ugly, ruddy skin at the doubt put into the simply noise. “It was them's idea, anyways!” The fat imp sputtered, waving a fist at his followers. “I was one who tried to make 'em stop, Ms Boss Pony. But they no listen. Ears full of wax.” Rarity stayed silent, and simply glared at the imp like she would a particularly problematic dress. Beneath her gaze the imp wilted further, and then flew into a hissing rage at the other imps. In a flurry it started pummeling them over the heads with books, kicking them, yanking their wings with its bony fists. All the while it yelled at them to put the books back. Within moments the mess had been cleared away and the imps flew towards the exit, leaving behind seven unsorted books on the floor. Withholding a sigh until the demons had vanished, Rarity retrieved the books, and returned to the puppet. At her approach the puppet snapped back to life, relief washing across his glassy eyes. “You have my thanks for taking care of those nuisances!” Forced enthusiasm made the puppets voice flat. “Here is your reward.” The rolled up blank scroll and a small bag of coins appeared next to the puppet, hovering within a field of ruby edged darkness. Rarity took them without thinking, storing them beneath a wing before turning to continue exploring the library. Before she’d gone more than a few steps, the puppet spoke again, and this time his voice dripped with desperation. “Kill me!” Frozen where she stood, half-turned away, Rarity at first thought she’d perhaps imagined the demand. It came again, with even greater longing. “Please, Your Grace, do not leave me like this! I do not know how you came to be here, but please, kill me! Destroy me! Anything but—” Whatever magic had faltered re-asserted itself, the pony once more a puppet. A statue held in perpetual frozen torment, only able to move and speak but a few lines at the approach of somepony new. Forever bound to a single spot in the library, aware of all that happened around it, but unable to act, bereft of even the most basic of freedoms. It was a fate worse than anything else Rarity could imagine, and she had seen and could imagine a great deal of horrors from her time living in Amaymon. Slowly she called on her magic, letting her horn ignite with power as she contemplated the poor puppet pony. She had no spells designed to kill. They were something Rarity never wished to learn. But, enough raw magic channeled would have the same effect, and Rarity had far, far, far more than enough. She hesitated, however. This pony who begged her to release him from his nightmare was in Amaymon, the realm of Hell where those who sold their souls for Lust were doomed to spend eternity. That he was here meant he’d had to have formed a bargain with a demon. And that meant he belonged to Asmodeus. “I am sorry, but I can’t risk it,” Rarity said as she banished the magic dancing along her horn. If it were possible the puppets eyes would have swam with hatred or despair. Probably both. Rather than look on the empty gaze fixed in her direction, Rarity left and ventured deeper into the library. Once she was alone and certain nopony was watching, she collapsed onto a chair. Wearied from her confrontation with the imps she checked the ‘rewards’ given by the puppet, though she hardly needed. The ‘blank scroll’ was exactly as it purported: a plain piece of parchment that she’d have used to send letters or scribble designs. The silver coins were silver coins, held in a simple canvas bag, and of absolutely no value in Amaymon. “Does he think this some game?” Rarity huffed as she placed scroll and coin purse back under her wing. Rarity spent the rest of the day in the library searching high and low for any literature on gates, traveling between realms, or teleportation. There were plenty of stories on such subjects, fairy tales aplenty describing the pacts demons had made with various mortals across a myriad of worlds. A common theme quickly emerged. The demons never made their way to the worlds without being summoned. Sometimes this involved a crossroads, or a blood ritual of some sort with the demon’s name being evoked. This after the demon found some crack or other in the wards meant to keep them imprisoned through which they could whisper their names to the mortal, infect his or her dreams, or taint some item. Being as these were books in hell, the demons were praised for their cunning, the mortals their lustful stupidity, and everything always worked out in the demon’s favour in the end. Regardless of the attempts of heroes, archons, or even gods who attempted to intervene, the demon always collected its prize in the end. Worry that she’d never find anything useful began to close in around Rarity. Surely it would take more than a single day to find the answers she sought, but a large part of her had hoped, irrationally, that the way out of Amaymon would be there waiting for her. She visited the library again the next day, and the day after that. Every morning the imps had returned and the puppet reset. Wanting to avoid being spied upon, she shooed them away, collecting the scroll and small bag of useless bits. A full month passed before she came across what she needed deep in the dusty archives beneath the curated sections. In an ancient tongue long since lost to any other realm was written the simple title, The Gates of Marelantis. The tome was thick and covered in a deep layer of dust in the furthest recesses of the library. Inside Rarity found instructions on how to craft giant gateways capable of piercing the barriers between realities. Spell matrixes for temporary portals. Methods of summoning—or being summoned—to distant worlds. How to temporarily bind a demon into a servant. With this tome it was possible for entire armies to march between realms. Heart beating faster, Rarity felt the tingle of suspicion. But she had to chance that the book was what it seemed, rather than some trap lain by Asmodeus. Quickly she rifled through the varied methods and spells the tome supplied. She needed a spell powerful enough to overcome the wards placed over Hell to keep the demons contained. One that could wedge open a crack. Asmodeus had some method of leaving and returning, so it wasn’t as impossible as everypony was told. The perfect spell was located near the middle. It would have been easy to skip over in favour of other spells, innocent and appearing far too simple. A mere nine runes were required, the frame was entirely basic in structure, and—if she were reading the calculations right—even an average unicorn would have magical power needed to perform the spell. Rarity didn’t recognize half of the runes, but the others she already knew. The only concern was that the bottom of the page was missing, eaten like a cabbage leaf swarmed by caterpillars. This wasn’t the only page with such damage. Almost every spell had pieces missing. Though, suspiciously, nothing that seemed critical to the actual casting. Copying the spell onto her scroll was easy. Rarity hesitated, however. She couldn’t risk being discovered. Quickly she formulated a plan. As she copied the spell, she placed it within the design for a collection of dresses. Each dress held a single rune. By placing them into a specific order the spell was created. “This is so obviously laid out even Dash would recognise this as a trap, or my luck isn’t as terrible as I thought,” Rarity sighed as she worked. “No matter. It is a risk I have to take. I simply can not stay here any longer. Calm down, Rarity, you are starting to talk to yourself. That is never a good sign.” Once done, she replaced the tome on the self, and for good measure made sure to spread the dust back around. That way if anypony checked the aisle they wouldn’t be able to uncover which books she’d read. Half-turned to leave, Rarity stopped. If she left only the one section altered, whichever little devil was sent to uncover what she’d been doing would know where to look. All it would take would be finding the tome to know that she had a way out of Amaymon. Charging her horn, Rarity decided to clean the entire library. The whole thing from the tops of the chandeliers to the carpet flooring. She left nothing untouched, making sure everything was sparkling perfect. Making the room beautiful. It would be ruined by morning, the imps back to their antics, everything reset to how it’d been. In the meantime, Rarity let out a relieved sigh. Satisfied in her endeavours, Rarity began planning how to find the runes she was missing. It was normal for spell formulas to only use a short-hoof script for the runes used, rather than the runes themselves. This helped prevent curious unicorn foals from attempting magic far beyond them when they’d poke through textbooks. Runes themselves were kept in many places, though most often directly passed down from mentor to student. There would be little chance of Rarity gaining the three missing runes in such a manner. But, they’d be somewhere in the hellish palace. It would be too easy for runes to be lost if not written down. Since she had access to the entire palace, that meant she also had access to the store-rooms with the scrolls containing runes. Only the capstone rune gave her some concern. Unsurprisingly, the name was unfamiliar, but so were the classification symbols. Lost in thoughts about where to begin her search for the missing runes, Rarity didn’t realize there was somepony else in her sitting room until they cleared their throat. Stifling a gasp, Rarity twisted around. Her mouth fell open in surprise at the pony sitting in the corner. An elated gasp burst from Rarity. “Trixie?!”