//------------------------------// // Night Terrors {Foreboding} // Story: The Life and Times of Fancy and Fleur // by Honey Mead //------------------------------// Fancy Pants blinked, tired, bleary eyes struggling to absorb what light they could in the darkness, even the canopy's royal blue turned to shadow overhead. Moonlight trickled in through the balcony blinds, shining off the polished edges of bookshelves, dressers, and wardrobes, hiding more than it revealed. The clock ticking incessantly upon his nightstand served to establish the lateness of the hour, only halfway to dawn. He closed his eyes again, hoping the simple action would be enough to forestall the building pressure of consciousness against his senses. Nights like these were the worst, falling asleep only to be roused again and again before ever reaching the invigorating depths of restful sleep, where every minute of repose was hounded by four of ceaseless, meandering thoughts, grinding against the same inescapable, pointless musings. After all he'd been through, another sleepless night was the last thing he needed. Ten seconds later he rolled over again, unable to find even the most basic levels of comfort, each pose as grating and untenable as the last. A groan escaped his lips and he buried his head into his pillow, inhaling the soft musk of down. All he wanted– needed– were a few solid hours of sleep, just enough to make the day bearable, enough to manage the inevitable problems, those minor bumps that must be dealt with the moment they arise, just enough to weather through all the inane facets of daily life without drowning himself in coffee. He reached out, his hooves searching for the mare with whom he’d shared his life for the past three years. The intoxicating mixture of lilacs and the natural musk of her mane was usually enough to banish whatever foul antagonist plagued his thoughts, granting him the restful sleep he so desired. He came up empty, his hooves finding nothing but air, with only the faintest hint of warmth to show that another pony had once occupied the space. Opening his eyes only confirmed what he already knew. His flower was gone, her sheets thrown aside as she’d fled their bed in haste, abandoning him to face the night alone. The awareness from which he’d fled came rushing back in a tsunami, scouring away all traces of sleep more thoroughly than any amount of sleep. He sat up in a panic, ears perked and eyes wide, swallowing the whole apartment at once. The eerie shine of the moon's half-light created false shadows to fool his eyes, they danced and played, mocking his failure to pierce them and reveal their secrets. Making to call out to her, his beloved, the words wilted into a harsh breath, scorched and stolen by a sharp gasp from the washroom. He crossed the room in an instant, leaping from the bed, his hooves clattering loudly despite the soft rugs covering the floor. The washroom door buckled under his weight, its wooden frame cracking and giving way as he shouldered through without a second thought to try the handle. He found her there, curled up in their brass bathtub. Fear pierced eyes looked up at him, only to dismiss him entirely as the dull terror that she’d tried to hide from him swept her away, casting her back into the horror that gripped her heart. Vibrant and crimson, Blood dripped from the forehoof clenched tightly between her teeth to muffle her own cries as she cowered: quaking. Some stallions might have hesitated, paused in uncertainty at finding their wife in such a state. They might have called out in confusion, hoping to be reassured that all was well, that the sight before them was an illusion, unwilling to act. Fancy Pants was not some stallions. His magic engulfed her, drawing her from the tub; only for Fleur to panic, screaming and flailing at unseen attackers. Fancy weathered the blows, letting them land as they would until he had her cradled in a tight embrace, whispering words of love and comfort into her ear. She did not respond at first, but slowly, like the changing of seasons, her struggles waned, her muscles relaxed, and her shuddering breaths evened out. He held her there, curled up on the bathroom floor, until she sank against his chest, the terror ebbing from her visage. He held her until the last of her tears were dry against his coat. He held her until the servants arrived an hour after dawn, confused and frightened by their master's and mistress' state. He held her until her eyes fluttered open to find his own, the terror skulking, waiting, in their unseen recesses. He held her until the second wave of tears finally ended and she fell asleep once more. He held her until he was sure that she would be okay, and then he clung to her for dear life.