Midnight could almost make himself believe Little Whisper was sleeping. Her breathing was shallow, so shallow that it was hard for him to mark its rise and fall. Midnight held a hoof in front of her face. He was relieved when the fur along the back of his leg bristled at Whisper’s breath. Perhaps Whisper had survived the worst of her injuries.

Bandages changed and bleeding stopped, Granny Smith moved from the coffee table to the chair where Grimes sat. His face in her hooves, she gently turned his chin one way and then the other. The bruised left eye had swollen completely shut.

Granny Smith hissed. “He sure cocked you good, boy. Got you puffier than a winter jacket.”

Grimes groaned a noncommittal reply and said no more.

Midnight took it upon himself to remain stationed by his friend’s side. He studied her, partly concerned, but mostly curious. Midnight’s eyes drank in Whisper’s appearance. From the jagged horn on her head, to the holes perforating her limbs. Every inch of her was a dark, distorted visage of equestrian anatomy. Whisper’s true self looked more like something from a storybook. Something with ghastly bridge trolls, wizened old mages, and aloof fairies.

It wasn’t long before that curiosity got the better of him. Midnight reached out and cupped a locke of Whisper’s pink mane. It was soft and silky. Letting the strands slide from his grasp, he noticed an oily sheen left behind on his hoof. Eyebrow arched, Midnight sniffed it on an impulse.

This scent is so sweet… honey, maybe?

“What she smell like?”

Midnight jumped. He spun around to see Apple Bloom watching him. The filly was taken aback by the shock and guilt in Midnight’s face.

“I… ugh… um...” Whatever else Midnight may have said was lost as he tried to bury his face into his chest.

Macintosh elbowed his sister. Apple Bloom was ready to defend herself, but hesitated upon seeing Macintosh scowl. Forelegs crossed, she resigned herself to sulky silence.

It was a long minute before Midnight felt sure no one was watching him anymore. He returned his attention back to Whisper. He had enough time to catch Whisper’s mouth open in a large intake of breath. Black lips hid a row of sharp teeth. Midnight’s heartbeat stuttered when he saw the pair of almost dagger-like fangs.

Before the fear could manifest in full, Midnight summoned what memories he had of the night before… of the mare Whisper was then...

Warm, patient, and quick with a smile. Even when troubled, she did her best to make him feel welcomed and wanted. Midnight held this version of Little Whisper in his mind, then laid it over the one before him. The comparison wasn’t even close.

It’s still her, though… isn't right? From the way Alabaster acted, I think she’s always been this… even when…

Midnight’s thoughts reeled back to the day that would plot the rest of his life. The memory was vivid, more so than it had any right to be. He could feel the dust beneath his hooves and hear the creaking of old wood from the buildings around him. Appleloosa.

Standing some yards down the dusty thoroughfare, Little Whisper and Alabaster huddled close. Her words filtered through to Midnight in a dark, shadowy trickle from the shadow at his hooves.

~~“You heard his story. Midnight doesn’t even know who he is! Could you possibly imagine what that’s like, to be lost in a country with no idea who you are or who to trust? At least we have each other, Al. He doesn’t have a thing in this world except for the saddlebags on his back. If we leave him now, it would be like leaving a little foal to fend for himself.”~~

Midnight turned away, hooves pressed tightly over his eyes. He wasn’t sure what stung worse, his tears or the shame they brought. It felt nearly sacrilegious to cry with one friend at death's doorstep and the other one probably catching up to her.

The other…

Perhaps it was a sign from the divine that as soon as Midnight's thoughts turned to Alabaster, the mindful quiet of the sitting room was shattered by the whooping cough of a giant.

The fixtures overhead flickered, plunging the sitting room into a nauseating transition between light and darkness. Macintosh and Apple Bloom sprung to their hooves. From deeper in the castle, the cries of ponies echoed down the corridors. It seemed that the day was not through with the screams of Ponyville.

Grimes squinted at the sitting room door with his remaining good eye. “Those things got in?”

“Oh, crab apples!” Apple Bloom tugged at the ends of her mane, threatening to uproot them. “Do we need to move up a floor? We should move up a floor!”

“We ain’t moving nowhere,” Granny Smith said in a huff. Clutching to Grimes’s chair, the old mare struggled slowly to her hooves. “If them beastie outside got in, I don’t think we’d have to ask. Even if they did, ain’t like we’re outrunnin’ them in a dollhouse full of ponies. Besides, Whisper’s finally stopped bleedin’. I ain’t riskin’ starting that mess up again unless-”

Her tongue went limp as she looked over at the coffee table. Little Whisper was as Granny Smith had left her, but the stallion…

Midnight was rigid. Even with the flickering lights, she noticed how his muscles were pulled tighter than a strained corset. Granny Smith could only see half of Midnight’s face. A single blue eye stared off, distant and unfocused.

The shadows had been quiet. They had left Midnight to the uncertainty of silence, left him alone with his fears and his hurt friends. Gone. But then what was this sound emanating from below his hooves? A long droning note, like the buzz of a mighty engine. It was swelling quickly. Within seconds, Midnight was enveloped in its violent might. His skull shook as if under the weight of a cider press.

Sensing her disquiet, the rest of the Apples followed Granny Smith’s gaze. Three pairs of eyes widening.

Apple Bloom groaned. “Ooooh, not again. What in the fresh hail storm is going on in here!”

A chill over them as Midnight shed inky tendrils of black smoke. Those strained muscles were now trembling. Midnight raised his forelegs, bringing both hooves to his temples. His movements were slow and labored.

“As if we didn’t have enough crazy,” Grimes said. Although his tone was sarcastically, his complexion was waxy. The stallion looked ready to faint. Meanwhile, Macintosh moved in front of Apple Bloom.

It was then a second wave of screams crashed over the castle, drowning those of the ponies. Twisted, guttural howls of agony and terror. The Apples looked at one another. They were no longer sure what to do. Even Granny Smith’s stern resolve was crumbling to jittery nerves.

Midnight’s pursed lips parted, allowing a whistling sigh to part between them. The sigh rose into a hiss as the lips stretched back. Teeth clenched, those blue eyes now bulged.

The words came at first as a low chant hidden beneath every exhale. They quickly swelled into a mad bellow. Within seconds, eardrums were quaking as Midnight screamed.

“It burns! It burns, it burns, it burns! Someone help me, I’m BURNING!”

Midnight feel to the cold, crystalline floor. A bed of invisible flames swallowed him whole.