….
2.
….
“OCTAVIA!”
Vinyl acted instinctively. Her horn flared. At once, half a dozen things on the sideboard rose up. Each became a sparkling blue missile – at least until Voron spun around and held Octavia in front of him like a shield. With precision honed by hundreds of hours’ practise manipulating multiple things at once at her turntables, Vinyl halted every single object in mid-air.
“Do you not see, Vanelda? Your attachment to this pony makes you weak. If you truly meant to strike me down, you would not hesitate.” Voron peered around Octavia, smiling so she could see his fangs. His eyes gleamed. He wasn’t full-red yet but he wasn’t trying to hide his reactions either. “Or maybe you are deceiving yourself. Maybe you long to return to me after all. Life was good when we travelled together. You miss that, don’t you, my pretty Vanelda?”
That name. That damned name. “My name is Vinyl! And I’ll never come back to you!”
“Never say never, my dear.”
Octavia groaned. Her head inched upwards.
“Tavi?” Hope flared. She was still alive?
Vinyl could now see the wound on Octavia’s chest. A ring of red marked the edge of Voron’s hoofprint, like the marks Vinyl herself had left in the terrible tasting dough she had made the one time Octavia tried to teach her how to bake. No doubt ribs were broken. But Octavia was still alive! That was the most important thing.
“Tavi, baby, hold on. I’ll get us out of this. I promise.”
“An empty promise, I can assure you,” Voron said mildly. “I could snap her neck right now and be done with this charade.”
“Don’t you dare!” Vinyl all but shrieked.
He smiled. He actually smiled at her, like this was all some big joke. To him, it probably was. “You have developed some fire in your belly, Vanelda! Maybe this little detour into the mundane was not such a waste after all. I must confess, when you deserted your fealty to me, I was very angry at you. To choose death over your own father! And then to find out you lied about it? Such behaviour is not becoming of a dutiful daughter. But if living among mortals has given you some new fire, then it might be worth something. I have more use for a fiery pony than I do for a milksop.” He tilted his head to one side as if considering his own outdated language. “Of course, fire is only useful if it can be made to burn the right things. A fire that runs unchecked is useless and leaves behind only ash.”
Vinyl’s mind ricocheted from possibility to possibility. Maybe she could levitate Octavia out of his grip or cause a distraction outside. She was used to fine-controlling multiple strands of telekinesis at once. He had never known her before she learned how to do that. Or maybe –
“Vanelda. You are not paying attention to me.” The faintest hint of irritation fringed Voron’s tone. Her breath caught in her throat and ice water washed through her veins. “Apologise for your rudeness.”
“Sor-” She tamped down on herself.
Voron frowned. It did not make his face any less handsome but it did sharpen his features. He looked colder. Older. More like the truth that lurked beneath his smiles. “Vanelda, apologise or I shall – urk!”
He didn’t get any further. Quivering in his stomach was the knife Octavia had secretly grabbed from the kitchen counter when he had her pinned beside it. Her limbs were still contorted from how far she had been forced to bend to even get it that high behind her. She gasped, clearly having jarred her chest. Nonetheless, she shoved further backwards, jiggling the hilt like it was the last thing she would ever do.
“Get … away … Vinyl!” she wheezed. “Wh-while … he’s distracted … run!”
“Winter Song, run! Run far away and don’t look back!”
Voron roared with pain and rage. In a blur of motion, he lifted Octavia and slammed her against the kitchen floor.
Her cry cut off. A ragged triangle of red appeared on the tiles, corner marked by half a broken tooth. He was lifting her again when Vinyl struck.
A toaster smacked into his head. Before he could recover, a glowing blue electric mixer swept his hooves from under him and slammed against his left hind leg. It hammered down again and again, matching the toaster’s attack on his right leg and eliciting a fresh roar.
While the machines tried to turn his bones to mush inside him, plates, pots, pans and dishes flew from the cabinets to smash into his face. Sharp fragments of crockery rose up and jammed into whatever white fur and flesh they could find. Voron was forced to shield his eyes against hundreds of razor shards, which instead buried themselves in his forelegs and hooves. Kitchen drawers hung open and cutlery shot out like silvery arrows. It was an all-out, chaotic, unplanned assault that would not stop him in the long run.
Yet Vinyl was not interested in the long run. She just cared about getting Tavi away from him now.
She rushed in and pulled Octavia away from him as he flailed. Octavia panted in agony. Vinyl was forced to pull strands of her magic away from the assault to prop up the injured earth pony. No way could she walk on her own anymore. If they were getting out of here, they were doing it under Vinyl’s power.
“C’mon,” she hissed, galloping into the hall. Octavia floated behind her like a marionette with tangled strings.
If they could make it outside, they would be in a better position. This was a nice neighbourhood and Ponyville was a nice town full of nice ponies. The houses were far apart, since the street had been designed by city planners who valued greenery over squeezing in as many properties as possible, but if she could at least get Octavia somewhere safe then maybe –
She didn’t see the dark shape waiting on the stairs. If she had, she would not have run past it for the front door. She might even have been able to defend herself, though her horn and mind strained to maintain so much divided magic already. Instead, something heavy and laughing propelled into her back at speed. Her belly skidded along the hallway carpet, leaving clumps of white hair behind from the friction. She instantly tried to turn over, but whoever had landed on her pinned her down. Grunting, she tried to peel just one more strand of magic from her dwindling reserves, blindly bullwhipping the telekinesis behind her.
“Naughty!” giggled a voice in her ear. It sounded like what you would get if you mixed a nightingale with a hacksaw. “No using magic, naughty girl!”
Vinyl would have gasped if she had been able.
The mangled toaster landed on the welcome mat a few inches from her nose. Voron’s roar was terrible to hear. Vinyl’s mind all but locked up in terror. Only thoughts of Octavia kept her from becoming a gibbering mass of old apologies and fresh panic. She retracted all telekinesis from the kitchen and concentrated on unlocking the door to quickly levitate Tavi through it. It didn’t matter if she got away herself, as long as Tavi was safe. Somepony would find her and take her to the hospital. She had faith that the ponies of Ponyville would not let an injured mare lay in the street untended.
She got as far as turning the doorknob.
“Naughty girls must be punished! Naptime now.”
A hoof rocketed into the back of Vinyl’s head.
Darkness swallowed her.
….
She crept back to the lair like a mouse stealing food from the cat’s bowl. All her stealth meant nothing, however. Voron only had to probe the link to know exactly where she was. That he didn’t immediately summon her to him was unusual but she wasn’t complaining. She slunk to her designated room, closed the door with a soft click and sat on the bed that was not her own.
Pictures of some other filly’s family stared accusingly at her from the dresser. The filly this room really belonged to had a frame all to herself. The photo had been taken at some sort of dance recital where she had posed on stage in a wonky arabesque. Her coat was a lovely shade of lavender, her mane sugary pink. Close to the camera was an older mare who shared enough resemblance to be a relative. She was clapping her forehooves in blurred applause, face lit by a grin. The moment spoke of many similar ones – a collection of happy events strung together to form a life in which Vanelda had no place.
She got up to turn all the photos facedown. She couldn’t bring herself to throw them in the trash but she couldn’t stand them staring at her either.
“I’m sorry, Clover,” she whispered.
She wished her only knowledge was through pictures. Nopony should have to look at a photo and know what a pony sounded as they laughed over ice-cream and also as they cried and begged for their life.
“I didn’t want to. I’m so sorry.”
If only Clover hadn’t lived in this house. If only she hadn’t been so socially awkward and dreadfully easy to befriend. If only she hadn’t been too lonely to ask the questions that might have kept her alive. If only Voron could go and jump off a cliff instead of moving from town to town all the time …
Vanelda’s belly felt bloated. She had expected Voron to call her to him immediately so she had eaten too much in preparation. Habitually she wiped at the corners of her mouth. She was fastidious but always felt like there were tell-tale signs of what she had been up to. She had never quite gotten past her first feeding, when she had gone full-red and ripped a rabbit to pieces. Not even its thready scream had been enough to wake her from her frenzy. She had come to later, stained so extensively that not a scrap of white fur was left. Ever since, she had kept herself so clean that in another lifetime teachers and friends she’d never had might have whispered ‘OCD’.
She waited. Good girls waited. She hadn’t always been a good girl but beat a dog enough and it soon learns obedience. Ponies are no different. Not even monsters like her.
She waited for hours. Dawn painted the horizon purple, then mauve, then a delicate orange. The sky was completely blue and the neighbourhood stirring by the time Voron returned. He didn’t usually risk compromising their secrecy by letting ponies see them entering or leaving this house. He must have had a good reason for doing so now. What it could be made Vanelda shudder.
The front door opened and shut. Voron’s hoofsteps clattered against the tiled hall floor.
“Vanelda?”
Her bloated belly roiled.
“Come here, sweetness.”
She couldn’t resist a direct order. She did, however, drag her hooves as she left Clover’s room and descended the stairs. Voron waited at the bottom. He stood upright, a bundle of rags draped across his forelegs.
“Ah, there you are. Did you feed well last night?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good, good.” There was a strange gleam in his eyes. “Come here. I have somepony I want you to meet.”
“Meet?” She eyed the bundle. It was moving. Her heart sank. She prayed he hadn’t brought her something alive that he wanted her to kill in front of him. He did that sometimes. She wasn’t sure if it was a test of her loyalty, obedience or something else. It might just have been that he just enjoyed watching things die. It was bad enough when he brought her animals but that bundle … there was a hoof poking from the folds of fabric.
A tiny, soft hoof not yet old enough to bear its owner’s weight.
A white hoof.
“Shhh, shhhhhh.” Voron’s tone was gentle as a summer breeze. “It’s all right, little one.”
The hoof pressed against his nose. Its owner giggled. Voron’s smile showed every single one of his teeth.
“Vanelda, say hello to your little sister. Her name is Vellum.”
Suddenly Vanelda wanted to empty the contents of her belly all over the floor. The face looking up at her from the outstretched bundle was adorable: a chubby foal with cheeks begging to be pinched and a giggle to make any mare broody. She held out her forelegs, demanding to be picked up. The only thing spoiling her appearance was the abundance of red stains around her mouth and the tiny fangs indenting her lower lip.
“My first successful pegasus get,” Voron said proudly. “Can you believe her mother’s husband thought she was his? His screams were hilarious when he found her empty crib.”
“Baba!” The foal blew a raspberry. “Bababa!”
“We’ll be moving on tonight. I have what I came for.”
Vanelda’s head snapped up. This? This was why he had made her come here? This was why he had made her do what she had done?
“You will look after Vellum while I sleep. I will teach both of you from now on. She is by far the youngest daughter I’ve ever brought into the fold. Maybe this age will make her more biddable than her predecessors. She might even survive as long as you have. I do so want a pegasus in the family,” Voron went on blithely.
Vanelda swallowed. “I … Daddy, I don’t think …”
“You do not think at all, sweetness.” Something dark laced his words. It was not an observation, but an order. “You are not meant to think. You are just meant to do.”
“But–”
“Good girls do not question what their daddies tell them, Vanelda. And you do wish to be a good girl, do you not?”
Fear rattled down her spine. “Yes!” she squeaked. “I do.”
“Because what do bad girls get?”
“P-punished.”
“Indeed they do. And it has been so very long since I had to punish you, sweetness. It would be a shame if you forced me break that streak through your own misbehaviour.” He raised his eyes as if in thought. “Or break you. I’m not sure which.”
She swallowed and held out her forelegs to accept the bundle. However, instead of passing it over like she expected, Voron put it down on the floor and peeled back the wrappings. It was a shredded, bloodstained baby blanket.
“Sit there, Vellum. That’s a good girl.”
The foal rocked back and forth, giggling and sucking her own hoof. She was too old for diapers but seemed not to know much language.
“Babababa! Baba?”
“Daddy is hungry after giving you so much of his blood, little one. He needs to feed now.” Voron held the foal’s gaze directly. “Stay there like a good girl.”
The old panic rose inside Vanelda like a column of ice. It lodged in her throat when Voron looked at her. The whole world seemed a little bit colder when he got that look. She knew better than to back away, but it was hard to fight down the instinct when he approached.
“Lay down, Vanelda. You know better than to keep Daddy waiting.”
Dutifully, she tucked her legs under her and rolled over. The motion made her nauseous. Voron looming above made it worse. She shut her eyes. She should be used to this by now. It shouldn’t be this difficult anymore. She shouldn’t mind. Good girls wanted their fathers to be happy. She wanted to be a good girl. She so, so wanted to be a –
“Ngg!”
She winced when his fangs pierced her upper abdomen. They seemed to lengthen when they were past the first layer of skin and subcutaneous fat, stretching past what lay between him and his prize. When he began sucking, her throat tightened at the draining sensation. Her bloat subsided but the nausea remained. When Voron made an appreciative noise, it was all she could do not to cry out.
When he was finished, she stayed where she was, made dizzy by the sudden loss of nutrients. He had taken more than usual. She opened her eyes to a spinning room and had to wait until it stopped before getting shakily to her hooves.
She froze when she heard the sound of someone clapping.
Vellum giggled enthusiastically, little forehooves tapping in what seemed like approval. She was still exactly where Voron had told her to stay. She had watched the whole thing. She immediately held her forelegs out, demanding that Voron pick her up. He did so, laughing when she insisted on hugging him and nuzzling into his embrace like he really was her father.
Vanelda could only watch, suffused with dread at the sight.
“There’s my good girl …”