//------------------------------// // Chapter 13: Death // Story: Pronoia/Paranoia // by TooShyShy //------------------------------// Canterlot might have had all the fancy boutiques and galleries, but Manehattan was ninety-percent art. Cooking academies, art schools, acting schools. Most of the greats had attended a school in Manehattan at some point before moving to Canterlot. Manehattan also had a thriving fashion industry to rival Canterlot's. Occasionally Twilight wished she'd grown up in Manehattan. She might have pursued a career as a painter. She wasn't particularly skilled art-wise, but there was something about the romance of color and canvas that attracted her. Maybe it was the feeling of control, of being able to sculpt a world entirely her own with just a brush. But paintings were never exactly the way they appeared in one's imagination. There were always subtle differences, a shift in vibrancy. This was what made painting ultimately tragic, at least in Twilight's opinion. Twilight read through the third letter again. She'd noticed a strange shift in the language, beginning somewhere around the end of Letter Three and continuing into Letter Four. If the letters were in order—she'd marked the supposed order at the top of the page, based on how they'd been placed in the box—this shift seemed to hint at the writer's mindset. The structure became even looser, even profoundly clumsy in some parts. It was like the pony who'd written these letters was struggling with putting their feelings into words. Then there was another shift at the end of Letter Four. By the time they penned Letter Six, this mysterious pony seemed to have regained their confidence. So what had happened to them during Letter Three and Letter Four? Had they started to doubt the relationship, only to regain steam after a while? There were no dates and of course all the important information had been taken out. The masked pony wanted Twilight to have these letters, but they obviously didn't want her to know the ponies involved. Then what was the point? How was Twilight supposed to make something out of this evidence? Twilight grabbed her mug and took a long sip of tea. What did she know about the pony who'd written the letters? What could she ascertain about them from their words alone? Letters like these were meant to leave the sender vulnerable, to expose their soul. The more Twilight read, the more she was learning about a pony she may or may not have considered relevant under normal circumstances. A profile was coming together in her head. Well-read and slightly egocentric. Those were the first words that popped into Twilight's head. Being one herself, she knew how to spot a fellow egghead. The letters were peppered with long-dead sayings and references to obscure literature. It was only thanks to Twilight's extensive library and love of old books that she even noticed. This was the first time either had really come in handy during an investigation. Miserable. It wasn't obvious during Letter One, Two, or Three, but Letter Four kicked off a trend that became more apparent as Twilight continued. Although the words were always affectionate and casual, there was an element of melancholy to some of the shorter paragraphs. There were times when the language unraveled completely and the entire tone of the letter changed. It was as if the pony writing it had bent hit by a wave of regret. Phrases like “The hearts that beat next to each other” were replaced with “Into our coffins we go as one, blessed by the moon to enter death together”. Each morbid counterpart seemed to imply death or disaster in some way or another, as if the writer was preoccupied with thoughts of their own end. Bitter. Twilight had to re-read the first letter again to pick up on it, but eventually she noticed. It started in Letter One and steadily intensified as Twilight read through the others. Whenever the prose loosened, the writer would unleash a stream of sour thoughts. The words “So few are free of sin” appeared several times in Letter Two. In fact, they seemed to enjoy using words like “sin”, and “sinful”, and “sinners”. Was Twilight detecting guilt, perhaps a bit of projection? Were these letters written by the masked pony to a second party? But why would they want Twilight to read letters they had written? The masked pony had never turned the spotlight on themselves. They'd never invited Twilight to dissect them, preferring to keep their own mind at a distance and leave everything up to interpretation. These letters weren't vague. They were definitive. But if not the masked pony, who had written the letters? Were these letters between two other ponies entirely? Bronze Hoof and Cherry Blush maybe? Except these letters didn't fit their profiles. Bronze Hoof had gone to an acting school in Manehattan, but nothing about him had struck Twilight as “well-read”. Slightly ego-centric maybe, but well-read? The same went for Cherry Blush, who likely had been more interested in mystery novels than obscure fiction. Twilight tried to think of ponies she'd known in Canterlot, but she came up blank. The problem was that these letters were personal. If—as a random example—Donut Joe had written them, she would have only been partially shocked. A pony could have four different personae, one for each facet of their life. Bronze Hoof and Cherry Blush had been straightforward personality-wise, but Twilight had never gotten to know Donut Joe. She'd scarcely gotten to know anypony at the station in Canterlot, other than Spike. But that in itself seemed to absolve all of her fellow officers—even those she'd busted—from being involved. Even for those she'd wronged, Twilight didn't think she'd wronged them enough to warrant any of this. If she was being brutally honest, she also doubted most of her fellow officers could have pulled off something this elaborate. However, this wasn't all about her. Cadence and Shining Armor stood at the other points of the triangle. Twilight just had to fill in the massive blank space in the middle. What or who connected all of them, especially with Shining Armor gone? The last letter in the box was unfinished. The top half was intact, but the bottom half was missing. It seemed to have been ripped off, likely in a violent outburst of some kind. Did the masked pony have the other half? If so, were they planning to send it to Twilight at some point? Why not give her everything at once if they were so eager to give her these letters? Considering all the information that had been redacted, what could that second half have possibly contained? The first half seemed to have been written in a hurry, but it was legible. We could have a life together. We could fall asleep under the stars. We could live in each others' hearts. We could find compromise in all the right places. We could complete each other. We could be the sun and moon. We could take off our masks. We could stand naked at the precipice of the world. We could shed our fur. We could live on the edge of the universe. We could become the beginning. We could forget. We could tuck ourselves away from pain. We could become one with the sky and drift away forever. Twilight read over it again, as if she could somehow will the second half of the letter into existence. “We could take off our masks”. “Take off our masks”. “Our masks”. She mouthed the words to herself over and over again, like a silent mantra. She rested her hoof on the letter, glancing at the words as if she was afraid they might rearrange themselves. She followed the jagged tear with her eyes, imagining a pony seizing the paper in a fit of rage and ripping it in half. Twilight tried in vain to attach a face to the image, to create an answer out of nothing. But all she could see was the fox mask and the cloak. Twilight glanced at the object leaning against the kitchen counter. She stared into its lifeless eye holes, shuddering involuntarily. The fox mask. Twilight had taken it more out of impulse than anything else, grabbing it before leaving the building for good. The masked pony undoubtedly had more than one mask, but Twilight wanted to have that one in particular. A part of her felt as if she was meant to have it, as if the masked pony had left it for her along with the letters. She should have thrown it in the evidence locker, but Twilight couldn't part with it. She also couldn't bring herself to put it somewhere else, even though she could feel its blank eye holes staring at her as she worked. She didn't want to touch it, even with her magic. At that very moment, Spike returned. He'd been gone for a few hours—the sun had just disappeared below the trees—but he hadn't tried to contact Twilight after those initial messages. “Dinner,” he said. He held up a bag, a nervous look on his face. It was happening again. That awkward stab at falsifying normality. They both knew it was fake and that made it worse. It would have been easier trying to rebuild from the ground up, as if they were meeting each other for the first time. But neither of them wanted that. It had taken years to construct this mutually beneficial and friendly relationship. They couldn't just start over and hope for the best. Not in Ponyville, not after everything that had happened. The best they could do—the best Spike was willing to do—was pretend nothing had happened. But they couldn't even get that right. Twilight gave Spike a curt nod and muttered a “thank you”. Quite absentmindedly, she swept the letters off the kitchen table and into her open saddlebag. She'd done this a few times in the past, but never with Spike. She'd always treated him as a partner, even when he had no obligation to be involved in a case. Now it seemed as if Twilight had defaulted to looking at him as a mere roommate. She shared a house with him, but their careers and their lives were separate. Turning his back on Twilight, Spike plopped the bag down on the counter. “You should eat,” he said. “You didn't have lunch, right?” He started taking steaming containers out of the bag. The food wasn't an apology or even a peace offering. It was just courtesy, a friendly gesture. He clearly knew how hard she was working and he didn't want her to neglect her basic needs. Twilight found that touching in a way. Despite the rift between them, he was still going out of his way to take care of her health. “I'll be fine,” said Twilight. Spike didn't turn around, but he groaned and rolled his eyes. He continued pulling containers out of the bag. He'd cracked the lids slightly, allowing the intoxicating aroma to escape. Despite what Twilight had said, her mouth started watering at the smell. Baked vegetables and pasta. Spike knew all of her weaknesses. “No, you won't be fine,” said Spike. “Have you even slept?” Twilight realized she'd neglected to mention the drugging incident to him. She almost brought it up, but she stopped herself. Spike must have noticed the fox mask leaning against the kitchen counter, yet he'd kept his mouth shut. He was trying to pretend he had no interest in the case because Twilight hadn't asked him for help. But maybe that was for the best. There was something bothering Twilight, something about Spike in particular. Unsure how to put it into words, Twilight decided to ignore it until she could get a better grip on this vague sense of unease. “You should get some sleep,” said Spike. “Its been a long week and...” He reached into the bag and pulled something else out. He paused, staring at the item in his claws with a puzzled expression. That definitely wasn't a container. “What the?” he said. Twilight backed up so quickly she bumped her rear against the kitchen table. She gaped at the thing in Spike's claws, her heartbeat increasing. She wasn't sure where the reaction was even coming from at first. But somehow this awareness made it worse. She could feel herself struggling to hold onto sanity, but she didn't know why. Her throat dry, Twilight raised a hoof and pointed at the object Spike was holding. “Crow,” she managed. It was indeed a crow, or rather a crow mask. Not one of those cheap novelty masks foals wore on Nightmare Night. This had been crafted by skilled hooves. It was too detailed a recreation to be found in a shop window. When Twilight was a young filly, she'd gone to a Nightmare Night festival with Shining Armor and Cadence. That was the first—and only—year all three of them wore similar costumes. As per Twilight's request, the three of them dressed as witches. Shining Armor went for something more modern, complete with a long robe and black eyeliner, while Cadence and Twilight stuck to the more traditional interpretation. Although they spent most of the festival just eating candy and exploring the various “haunted houses”, it was one of the best nights of Twilight's life. She knew the festival was meant to be scary, but she wasn't even slightly frightened by all the plastic skeletons and fake ghosts. But there was one thing that terrified her. She'd spotted it at one of the booths and decided to get a closer look. It was the only time that night she'd been curious enough to wander away from Cadence and Shining Armor. She was waiting for them outside of a photo booth, growing more and more impatient as the two took yet another roll of pictures. A crow mask. A horrifyingly well-detailed crow mask was hanging from the side of the booth. There were others—bears, frogs, even spiders—but Twilight's attention was captured by the crow mask. She just stared at it, looking into its lifeless eye holes. The more she stared at it, the more uncomfortable she became. She was never quite sure why. But Twilight felt like it was staring at her. Twilight didn't know how long she stood there, simply staring at the mask as if she expected it to open its beak and start scolding her. Then Shining and Cadence had appeared at her side, both admonishing her for wandering off. It was their words that had forced her to snap out of it, their closeness that had given Twilight the strength to tear her eyes away. She'd forgotten about it after some cotton candy and enjoyed the rest of the festival. But that mask had found its way into her nightmares. Now it was back, taunting her with its blank eye holes as it hung from Spike's claws. It wasn't the same mask—this one was a lot more detailed—but that didn't matter. What mattered was that it had found her after all those years. That creeping fear, the feeling of indescribable malice attached to an inanimate object. Spike placed the mask on the counter, his face filled with worry. “Are you okay?” he said. “Do you need to lie down?” Twilight did need to lie down, but she shook her head. As somepony who'd studied magic for several years, she knew all about crows. They came up frequently in old literature and folktales, usually as a stand-in for a malevolent force. Traditionally, crows were considered death omens. However, the legends went a bit further than that. Supposedly, those who wore crow masks brought death with them wherever they went. Crow feathers were considered unlucky and very few ponies would use quill pens made from them. But those were just stories, tales of misfortune exaggerated by historians and scholars. Superstition given weight by fact. “Where did you get that?” said Twilight. She didn't intend for it to sound so accusatory, but that's how it came out. Spike glanced from the mask to Twilight's face. His brow knitted with worry, he took a step towards her. He was relieved when she didn't back away from him, but the tension in the room was unbearable. “I didn't know it was in there,” he said. “I promise.” His voice weakened at the last word. Maybe if he'd kept his voice steady, his defense would have been readily accepted. After all, nothing about the situation indicated it was planned. Despite Twilight's tone of voice, she really hadn't considered any of this being on purpose. But Spike noted the shift in Twilight's emotional state when he spoke, that subtle change in expression. “Throw it away,” Twilight said. Twilight turned and left the kitchen, ignoring Spike's weak plea for her to remain. She was angry at herself for having such a strong reaction to something so ridiculous. This was the scarecrow all over again, except even more foolish. But as much as she tried to direct her animosity inward, a single thought nagged at her. She was trying to smother it, pressing the pillow over its muzzle to seal its airways. But somehow the bastard was still breathing, pulling enough air into its lungs to gasp out its purpose. He wouldn't, she told herself. But she couldn't help thinking about the crow mask. What exactly was the masked pony implying? Whatever they were trying to say, Twilight was suddenly feeling threatened. Those first few months following Cadence and Shining's wedding had been difficult. She'd been very open with how she felt, had confessed—when she thought Twilight wasn't eavesdropping—that she felt like an invader. Twilight had never been the jealous type. She could stand to be pushed to the side a little if it meant Shining Armor was happy. If anything, she felt as if she was intruding on the happiness of two lovebirds That was why she began to withdraw during those few months, distancing herself from her brother and his new life. So many things were happening to him that had nothing to do with her. She'd lost touch with them during her studies. But it never felt like losing touch. It felt like letting Shining Armor breathe. For the first time in years, he didn't have to worry about his little sister. However, as it turned out, he did have to worry. After all, he was still Twilight's big brother. At the end of the day, that's what hurt the most: feeling as if this whole thing was a punishment, as if Twilight had asked for this. If only she'd stayed away, if only she hadn't decided to reconnect with him when he'd reached the height of his career. If only she hadn't been so naive. Twilight locked herself in her bedroom. She almost barricaded the door, but she stopped herself. This was completely outlandish. Did she think that crow mask was going to sprout legs and come after her? Preposterous. Sweet Celestia, maybe she did need to have a nice long nap. Forget about masks and love letters for a little while and start taking care of herself. But before she did that, she wanted to read those love letters again. She'd felt as if she was getting somewhere, but Spike's unexpected entrance had snatched her attention. Now that she was alone, she had a much better chance of cracking the code. There had to be some hidden message she wasn't getting. Perhaps it was time for Twilight to bring out her cryptology book. She grabbed the massive book from the small bookshelf in her room. A birthday present from Rarity. Twilight didn't remember telling anypony her birthday—she'd made a point not to—but she was grateful for the gift. As a filly, she'd been obsessed with secret codes. Twilight opened the book and scanned the index. This shouldn't take long. There were only two hundred codes in the book. If she narrowed it down to the most likely candidates, there were around forty. Shouldn't take very long. Then she could finally get some rest. Her phone rang. Already on edge, Twilight cried out and dropped the book. She whirled around, her horn glowing and her eyes scanning the room in a panic. When she readjusted her senses and realized it was just her phone, she sighed in relief. But who in Tartarus was calling her? She snatched up her phone and answered it. She was fully prepared to hang up if it was Pinkie Pie asking about her favorite type of confetti. “What?” she snapped. There was a humorless laugh. “Good morning to you too,” said a voice. It was Moondancer. She didn't sound pleased. But then again, this wasn't necessarily due to Twilight's rude greeting. If anything, she was bitter about the fact that she was stuck in Canterlot. While she didn't envy Twilight's new life in Ponyville, she was deeply interested in this case—she knew very little, but even those vague details intrigued her—and was angry that she couldn't at least pop in and do some sleuthing of her own. “Did they find anything at my apartment?” said Twilight. She imagined Moondancer taking a sip from that Coffee Queen mug she had on her desk. A gift from Twilight. Well, technically a re-gift. Moondancer had bought it for Twilight a few years back and Twilight had given it to her as a farewell present. Moondancer would never dare admit how much the gesture meant to her. “Forget your apartment,” said Moondancer. “Something happened with Cadence.” Twilight's blood ran cold. No. NO. Not Cadence. What could have happened to her? The image of Bronze Hoof jumped into Twilight's mind. She pictured every detail of his ghastly fate. An innocent stallion. All for the sake of sending Twilight a message, of shocking her. The masked pony hadn't viewed Bronze Hoof as a living creature, a pony with hopes and dreams. They'd seen him as a tool. The fact that he was alive had simply been an inconvenience to this pony, something to be corrected. They'd never cared about his heart, only the flesh and fur. “Is she..?” Twilight started. But she couldn't say it. Nothing could make her spit out that horrible word, could make her want to continue in a reality like this. Cadence had been her foalsitter, her friend. Practically a big sister. They'd lost each other, their relationship clouded by Shining Armor's death. But Twilight believed they could reconnect, that the pain of their shared loss couldn't erase years of laughter and telling each other secrets. Twilight would never be able to accept all of that being taken away. “Oh, she's fine,” said Moondancer. “Her place was robbed.” Twilight took a deep breath. What would she have done if Moondancer had told her the opposite? Would the news have crippled her investigation or would she have redoubled her efforts? Twilight was glad she didn't have to find out. The pendulum could have swung in either direction. “What was taken?” she said. She heard Moondancer shuffling papers. The familiar sound of a notebook being flipped open gave Twilight a pang of longing. It was strange to miss a notebook of all things, but there was something special about those police-issued notebooks. They made her feel as if she was part of something. Not a family, but a group of like-minded individuals dedicated to one goal. Twilight's one and only gift upon taking up her position in Ponyville had been a mug. The mug—cracked and obviously very old—had bore the words Ponyville Police in dark dramatic letters. Some remnant from a pony who'd held Twilight's position two decades ago. “A ring?” said Moondancer. “Wait, no, that can't be right...” Twilight heard more papers being shuffled, but she didn't wait for Moondancer to correct herself. Her heart was already sinking. She knew that hadn't been a mistake on Moondancer's part. Twilight had come to know the masked pony all too well. She knew the kind of pony she was dealing with and what they wanted, even though she couldn't for the life of her understand why. Weddings in general—at least the traditional kind—were entrenched in ancient unicorn culture. Wedding rings were one of the oldest and most respected traditions, although those hip modern ponies loved to buck the old ways. But Cadence had insisted and Shining Armor fell in love with the idea. The rings weren't worn after the ceremony, but they were usually kept and passed down. Twilight smiled bitterly. She tried not to think about things like that, but sometimes they just crept up on her. Foals. She'd never wanted any herself, but she knew Shining and Cadence had been eager to start their family. They'd talked about it constantly, had even started buying foal clothes long before the possibility of pregnancy was even on the table. Next year. That was what they'd said when Twilight asked. Next year. But there hadn't been a “next year”, had there? At least not for Shining Armor. However, she didn't have much time to dwell on that. She hadn't processed it when Moondancer first said it, but now Twilight was starting to wonder. Clearly the robbery had been reported recently, otherwise Moondancer would have mentioned it before. How often did Cadence check on the wedding ring? If she had to guess, Twilight would have estimated once a day. Of course Cadence would be wary of losing a physical reminder of the spouse she'd lost. Of course that ring would be well-guarded. It couldn't have just vanished right under Cadence's muzzle and its disappearance left unnoticed for days or weeks. The masked pony must have been in Canterlot. But how was that possible? Regardless of how incorporeal they seemed, this pony was as solid as Twilight or Spike. So how had they basically teleported from Ponyville to Canterlot, then back again? Magic? That was certainly possible, but a spell that powerful required years of study. Having mastered it herself, Twilight knew it wasn't a common skill. She also knew that teleporting long distances—like from Ponyville to Canterlot—was nearly impossible even for a unicorn like her. But there was another possibility, an idea already taking root. What if the masked pony had accomplices? Connections? Not in Ponyville. No, they could have Ponyville all to themselves. The town was small enough and their target disconnected enough to manage. But Canterlot? Canterlot was massive and somewhat far away. “Do you have a suspect yet?” said Twilight. Moondancer sighed in frustration. “Of course not, you idiot,” she said. “We just got the report an hour ago. We haven't even started looking yet. Why?” Twilight's mind was racing. How in Tartarus was she supposed to navigate this? She was still unwilling to leave Ponyville. Even if she did, what was she supposed to do? Even if she showed up in Canterlot and marched into the station, Twilight no longer had the authority to barge into an investigation. By Canterlot standards, she was basically a civilian. Her favors only went so far. Moondancer immediately realized what Twilight wanted. She spoke up, her voice filled with disapproval. “Sorry, but I can't do that,” she said. “I could lose my job. Unless you have proof that this robbery is connected to your investigation?” Twilight hesitated. She could always lie, but Moondancer would probably see through that within seconds. While Twilight knew for a fact that this was connected to her case, what actual physical proof did she have? None. Not a single scrap of evidence to connect this seemingly random theft to what she was investigating. Yes, it involved Cadence and Cadence seemed to be at least somewhat connected to Twilight's case. But the wedding ring was an entirely different matter. Twilight would need to take a different path, something less direct. “I need you to put me in contact with Cadence,” said Twilight. “Tell her to call me as soon as possible. We need to talk about a few things.” She waited, worried that she'd crossed a line. Surely she could get away with something like that. Cadence was her friend, or at least had been. Plus Twilight had evidence that Cadence was connected to the case, so she had the right to request an interview. Moondancer hesitated, weighing how much trouble she could potentially find herself in. She could easily play it off, but there was still the chance of her getting chewed out or even suspended. Despite having been there for a while, she was still trotting on stilts. It had taken years for Twilight to build a solid foundation of trust and respect. Moondancer had barely scratched the surface. “Will do,” said Moondancer. She paused. “Hey Twilight?” she said. Caught off guard by Moondancer's serious tone, Twilight hesitated before answering. She sensed a general shift in the conversation and she didn't particularly like it. “Yes?” she said. More shuffling, but it sounded more absentminded. Moondancer was trying to distract herself from her own words. “Be careful,” said Moondancer. “If anything happens to me, Canterlot is going to need you.” From the way she said it, it sounded like she'd been doubting herself for a while. But who could blame her? Even with approximately the same skill level, Twilight Sparkle was a hard act to follow. She'd completely given herself to her work, shutting out her family, the few ponies who came close to being her friends, and any semblance of socializing she might have dabbled in. Twilight was the real deal, a pony who'd fallen so deep into her job that she was indistinguishable from it. Moondancer was just her replacement. “Then you'd better make sure nothing happens to you,” said Twilight. She didn't intend it to sound so grim, but that was how it came out. She knew Canterlot had turned its back on her. She was never going back. Even though Twilight lamented it every day, she understood that Ponyville was her home. Despite how much the small town infuriated her, she wanted to protect it. Maybe it wasn't for her, but Twilight saw the value in that sort of life. That was another reason she couldn't let the masked pony get away with what they were doing. Spike sat down at the kitchen table, a steaming container in front of him. He slipped his claw under the lid and started to open it, humming to himself. If he didn't like the taste of his own cooking so much, he might have ordered out more often. Everything in Canterlot tasted too fancy, but Ponyville prided itself on simple home-cooked meals. Spike didn't have to struggle with remembering overcomplicated names. He could order a bowl of carrot soup and that would be the extent of it. His phone started vibrating, distracting Spike from the alluring smell. With a sigh, he withdrew his claw and stood up. He would have ignored it in favor of stuffing his face, but Spike couldn't afford to miss calls. He checked to make sure Twilight was still in her bedroom, then grabbed his phone and answered. It might not have been important. It could have been Pinkie Pie with another frosting emergency or Rainbow Dash wanting to hang out again. But Spike couldn't take that chance. “Hello?” he said. He listened for a minute, frowning. “Right now?” he said. Spike glanced in the direction of Twilight's bedroom. Had he heard a door opening or was it just his imagination? He tensed, waiting for Twilight to come galloping out of her room and into the kitchen. When she didn't, Spike relaxed a little. Of course Twilight had locked herself in her room, probably intent on busting the case wide open. He knew better than to assume she was finally getting some sleep. “I'll be there,” said Spike. “But you have it, right? The whole thing?” He listened for a few minutes, nodding at regular intervals even though he knew the pony on the other end couldn't see it. Spike raised his claw to his chin and sighed, then leaned against the counter. “Good,” he said. He paused, listening intently. “The usual place,” he said. “I'll be there in twenty minutes.” He said goodbye, then quickly hung up. No time to waste. He had ponies—well, a pony—to see and things to do. If he played his cards right, everything was about to change. But he wasn't sure if they were going to change for better or for worse. He'd just have to wait and see.