Winter came, the snow fell, and Tikbalang was alone in her house. It was cold, though she could not feel it, and it was dark, though it did not bother her. During the time she had alone, she wandered through the repaired first floor of her home, and she admired the work that had been done. It had been decades since she had last seen her home in good condition, and she had spent most of her time before Plum arrived wondering when it would finally collapse. She had put forth her effort in keeping her own room protected from the elements, but it was an upstairs room, and if the foundation gave way then the entire thing would be gone. Now she did not have that worry gnawing at her.
Tikbalang looked up the stairs at the hall leading to her room, and wondered why she had worked so hard to keep it intact. Was it memory? She knew it was her room, and that was nice, but she never slept. Never changed clothes. Never even spent any time in it. That one time Plum had gone inside to inspect it was the first and only time she had gone in since… since…
Since when?
Why did she avoid it so much?
Tikbalang stared at the hall for a time, then climbed the stairs and went down to look at the door to her room. She didn’t have to worry about it collapsing anymore. She windows were intact, the door was solid, and the walls were all still free of rot and vermin. She could relax her efforts on keeping it intact.
Tikbalang felt some unknown exertion fall away from her, and realized intstinctively that she had been expending all her unicorn magic to keep her room safe. She hadn’t even been aware of it! How long had it been? Years? Decades?
Tikbalang was glad she didn’t have to worry anymore, but she had come up here for a reason. She reached out a hoof, and pushed open the door to her room. Dust had settled, but there wasn’t much of it, as her spell had been keeping everything out of the room that might accidentally spill, crawl, drip, or squeeze its way in. No bugs, mice, rats, water, snow, pollen, or anything else had been able to come in. Nothing except Plum Pudding that one time several years ago. Since he had begun repairs, he had dutifully stayed away from her room. Leaving it untouched.
She wandered about, following the same path he had taken. She looked at the walls, stared out the windows, opened the closets to peruse the clothing.
She smiled at the clothes, wondering when she might decide to wear them again. She’d been wearing the same thing for what seemed like forever, and she didn’t know why. She pulled an outfit down, held it over her back with her hooves, then realized she had magic now! She didn’t need to use her hooves! She lit her horn and lifted several outfits out of the closet, laughing with glee at the ability to move things without touching them. She spun the outfits around her, looking them over, and selected one. It was a frilly black gown, with gold fringes. She held it up, and realized she couldn’t get a good look. She needed a mirror.
Tikbalang turned to the full-length mirror in her room, and felt a chilly feeling of dread run through her. Plum Pudding had looked into that mirror and had seen something that scared him so many years ago. What had he seen? She had looked afterward and seen nothing. Not even herself. She didn’t know why, and it hadn’t bothered her at the time, but it bothered her now. Why was that?
Tikbalang approached the mirror with trepidation, her magic holding the dress next to her. She stepped closer, coming at it sidelong, and with a final quick movement, slipped in front of it.
There was nothing. Nothing except her black dress floating next to where she should have been.
Why was she scared of this? Was she scared of what she would see of herself, or was she scared of the idea that Plum Pudding had seen something inside it? Plum’s reaction had been worrisome, but she shouldn’t worry about something that didn’t seem to be there, should she?
Tikbalang reached out a hoof, her limb see-through and wispy as it always had been. She touched the mirror, running her hoof along its surface. It was clean, untouched by any element that might have sullied its pristine surface, including a pony that would look in it. It felt smooth, and was not any more remarkable than any other surface in the house.
Her limb was obvious in her vision, the transparent hoof, sock, and shoe all acted normally for her when she was touching her house, or when touching Glory Seed. It had felt normal when she had finally touched Plum Pudding, but something was off.
She shouldn’t be see-through, and she shouldn’t have problems touching anything. That wasn’t normal was it?
No, it wasn’t. ‘Normal’ would be ponies like Plum Pudding and Glory Seed. Normal was opaque flesh, flush with life and warmth. Weakness to cold, and hunger, and thirst. Normal was being subject to the ravages of time, the elements, and emotions.
She wasn’t normal.
What was she?
Other ponies were lively, cheerful, lusty, and full of… life.
Oh.
Oh no.
Tikbalang dropped the dress as her reflection appeared in the mirror. Her cheeks were sunken, her skin like parchment. Her eyes were dark circles disappearing into her skull. Her teeth were exposed around missing lips, and the rags she wore were in tatters hanging off naught more than bones.
She was dead.