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// Chapter Four: Obsessive Behaviour 
// Story: Octavia's Painting 
// by Ribe_FireRain 
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Octavia spent the majority of her morning reading through the journal she had been left by Colour Palette. She had remained seated at her dining table in the kitchen so that she could observe and analyse the contents closely in the peace of her home, which was made easier by the absence of Vinyl. Although, given the circumstances, Octavia only wished that Vinyl would come home.

Day had slowly transitioned into the late afternoon and then into the evening, the light in the kitchen becoming so minuscule and scarce with the passing hours that it had become hard to read. And so, Octavia had opted for the use of the kitchen light to continue her research, also pausing and taking a break to brew herself a fresh mug of coffee.

She needed it, too. Her eyes were starting to ache and become dry from her constant reading while her limbs were becoming tired and slowly turning numb from her inactivity. It did the trick in reviving her energy to a certain extent, just enough for her to keep her eyes open, but that was about it.

She had been at it still by the time that the kitchen clock had struck 8:00 PM, and she had hardly shifted her gaze from the ancient ink staining the even older paper within the journal, only breaking her attention away to take ample, reserving sips at her coffee.

So far, the search for answers had been fruitless in finding a lead. The writing was significantly different in terms of similarities to Stencil Palette's, but it was still written in elegant, smooth cursive. The writing of Caravaggio was much more refined in terms of how steadily and evenly spaced it seemed to be while Stencil's was more untidy and unsteady, but it remained coherent enough to be readable to Octavia. However, it made Octavia curious in the terms of how evenly matched Stencil and Caravaggio were with their intellect and phrasing.

''It's about what the art can do,'' Was a constant comment that popped up in Caravaggio's writing as well as Stencil's. It made Octavia wonder if Stencil had picked the phrase up from the journal itself when it was in his possession. It definitely seemed plausible enough.

Caravaggio 'Aramatta' Palette's journal was so far turning up empty, and the only information that Octavia had been able to dig up was nothing more than the personal life of Colour Palette's ancestor. Mostly concerning his basic routine and the names of some of the clients that he had worked for in his career as a painter and general artist, one of which surprised Octavia: Princess Dawn, the mother of Princess Celestia.

Octavia read about how Caravaggio had spent a couple of months in The Royal Castle by invitation of Princess Dawn herself while he worked on creating her self-portrait. He had written about the stay in one of the royal suites and his amazement with how hospitable the staff and personal caterers were while he expressed his love of the plush queen-sized bed he was set up with. That and some rather...intimate details regarding him and one of Princess Dawn's assistants. Octavia had read the page with a glowing red face, skipping past most of the details.

''It seems like somepony was a bit of a hit with the royals,'' Octavia had murmured to herself upon reading the page, feeling embarrassed. Some of the details she had been unable to restrain herself from seeing has burned a series of clear images into her brain, and she knew that she was never going to be able to purge herself of her sins of sifting through another pony's private life. ''I guess I was asking for that,'' She said.

Caravaggio, according to what the details in his journal entailed, was an artist dedicated to multiple artistic types, ranging from traditional, landscapes and even surrealism. He was even a bit of a known abstract artist around ancient Equestria, and he seemed to be quite popular among ponies. So, it made some sense where Stencil had gained his talent from, a set of creative traits passed on throughout the Palette bloodline.

After reading a bit deeper into the personal thoughts of the pony who's journal she was reading, Octavia found herself to be somewhat enthralled and hooked on what she was learning. She was about one third through the journal when a particular section caught her eye. Reading, she scanned over the ink with her attention cranked up. It read,



The Royal Family has been a very gracious and exquisite host to me in this past month, and I'm more than pleased to say that the portrait which I am in the middle of painting for Princess Dawn is coming along both smoothly and nicely. There's still a lot of work ahead of me, but you can't rush an artist or perfection. It can't be done.

Princess Dawn is a rather beautiful mare, and I can't help but admire her beauty at times. Although I know it's wrong to feel this way about royalty of all ponies, I can't suppress a spark of jealousy towards her relationship to the Prince. Those two daughters of theirs, Lu-Lu and Celly, show their beauty, too.

Lu-Lu, or Luna, has got her father's eyes and Celly, or Celestia, has got her mother's eyes. They radiate with kindness, something unmatched by your average pony. Both of The Royal Sisters are not your average pony, not by a long shot. One day, they will both mature and develop into gracious rulers of Equestria, carrying on the line of royal blood for moons to come.

So wonderful the innocent and uncorrupted mind of a young foal is. With this painting I'm creating for the princess, I vow to capture that beauty by any means necessary. If Her Highness demands it, then only the best shall do to best define her in all of her glory.



Octavia read the journal and pursed her lips, raising her brow as she finished reading, finding herself at a loss for words.

''Someone had a crush,'' She said to herself with amusement. She even laughed a little to herself at the idea of a prolific artist being in love with one of the rulers of Equestria. It seemed like a cheesy romance novel that was waiting to happen. Octavia could picture it now.

Turning her attention back to the journal, she continued to read.



Last night, I was continuing my work on the portrait of Princess Dawn in her throne room. She was such a sweet and patient client, and she remained as still as a statue as she sat on her throne for the better part of a few hours. She's very regal and pleasant in that retrospect.

We spoke for a while as I focused on the task at hand, and she was such a dear, always asking me if I would like a refreshing beverage or maybe one of her special pancakes as a snack. Of course, I accepted, and I was delighted by how marvelous of a cook she is. It was like edible diamonds sprinkled with gold dust! The absolute best!

By the time the night was out, I was almost to the end of the project, on the very verge of putting the finishing brush strokes that would see the portrait to its completion, but I felt like there was something that I was missing. Something crucial.

I had taken the portrait with me back to my royal suite for the night to look it over before I was due to hand it in for the following morning, wondering what was missing from the puzzle. I had captured her beauty and grace, that much was true, and I had added the royal crown and jewels in with life-like effect, but there was still something not right.

I had decided to head out for a walk around the castle during the late hours of the evening to collect my thoughts and ponder upon what it was that I was missing. Nopony was around to interrupt me or to intervene in my plagued mind, so I found solace in my pacing up and down the castle's stone-cold corridors and vast hallways.

Half of the time, the battle armour in the corridors on display outside of the royal throne room seemed to be watching my every move, and I believed it, too. Those suits of armour have always unnerved me and brought about unpleasant images within my mind. It was those empty helmets shielded by shadows and pitch black. The night only made them seem more alive.

I had passed by the archives during my late night stroll, and I stopped by the front gate when I overheard the sounds of a conversation on the other side of the magically-secured gate. I wasn't able to gather much context on what was being said, but I did hear something about what I believe was 'black magic'.

It was something regarding the concerns of the use of black magic in unicorns to carry out ill-intentioned deeds and magic abuse. I have heard tales in the past about such forbidden magic, tales and stories that end in nothing but insanity and corruption, sometimes death. It never resulted in a happy ending, to be brief about it.

However, it gave me a perfect idea of what I was missing from my painting of the princess. It was then that I had a little thought come to mind, one that I knew was incredibly risky and would result in an instant order of execution if I were to be caught in the act.

If black magic could enhance a unicorn's or an alicorn's magical abilities and give them a power boost for their own personal gain, then what can it do for a simple earth pony like myself? I knew right then and there that this could be the chance to enhance my career and reinvent myself, not just as a pony, but as an artist!



Octavia stopped right there, shocked at what she was reading. She had doubts and suspicions thrown together in the mix, but what she was reading right now from the hoof-written pages of ancient ink was causing an unsettling feeling to bubble within her gut. It made her heart sink as she assumed only the worst to happen, and it did.



I had stalked back and forth in my own thoughts for moons after learning about concerns of black magic being expressed from within the royal archives. I had learned recently that the voices I had heard were Princess Dawn and Prince Stardust swapping their thoughts on the matter. I had even learned as much to know that they were both hiding and securing some of the more deadly and forbidden black magic spells in their archives.

I observed their behaviour for a while, learning their daily routines and trying to figure out how to gain entry. The lock to the archives was kept secured by that of a magical lock, meaning only a unicorn could gain entry and access the secured, preserved files within.

I soon came to learn from my investigation into how to gain entry to the archives that it wasn't only the princess and prince that had the means of access to the files, but also a keeper, a mare by the name of Night Watch, one of the prince's guards, a creature called a bat pony. Strange hybrids, but beyond loyal and fierce in a fight.

I kept a close eye on her the few nights after my discovery of black magic being stored in the castle, and I noticed that there was a steel necklace around the bat pony's blue neck, a large steel key on the end of it. It gave me an idea, the start of a plot to possess the key for myself, something easier said than done.

Bat ponies - they are nocturnal. They have incredibly sensitive hearing and they are hyper-alert and on the move if they hear something go 'bang' in the middle of the night. Not so good to know on my end. I would likely be striked down in a split second by one of their claws, decapitated, if and only if I was lucky enough for a swift death. I dread to think about what damage those fangs can inflict on an enemy.



Octavia stopped for a moment and became horrified as she skipped over a couple of paragraphs to find the resolution to the entry, now curious and somewhat reluctant to know if she wanted to find out what she thought was inevitable. She wished she hadn't read the next part her eyes landed upon.



I...I killed Night Watch.

I clubbed her in the back of the head with one of the blunt weapons propped up by the battle armour outside of the throne room.

The mace sounded like it had shattered and caved in around her brain. She went down without a sound, hitting the floor with such force that I heard the royal armour she was wearing click and grind into the floor, bending and breaking the plating.

I didn't mean to kill her! Honestly, I never meant to inflict serious harm upon her, but...but I suppose that there's no turning back now. I am now certain that there's a gallows reserved for me and calling my name, and that's if I'm lucky enough to have earned that fate. I have no idea what judgement awaits a royal murderer, and I don't want to live to find out.

I took the key from her body and I unlocked the gate to the archives. I dragged her carcass in after me and stuffed it inside a small storage room that appeared to be disused. Hopefully, she won't be found until I have a chance to make my escape.



Octavia stopped reading and felt her chest grow warm while her grey cheeks tinted a deep green. She dropped the book down from her hooves and rushed towards the sink, whereupon she vomited into it, spewing the coffee she had drank earlier backup, the brownish stream of bitter-tasting puke showering the broken wine bottle and tea towel that was still laid broken in the sink, pooling around it.

She leaned shakily against the sink, her body hunched and her hooves shaking from the repulsive act she had read about, her hooves jingling like a winter's howl drifting in and tickling her nerves with its bitter, frosty bite. She had to force herself to resist the urge to vomit once more.

Octavia had to force a shaky breath to regain her composure, trying not to think about what she had just discovered in the most disgusting and heinous journal entry she had ever gazed upon. She simply could not believe it!

There has not been a reported murder in the land of Equestria for over a century! If it happened, it was rare and it was relatively easy to narrow down a list of suspects and track the prime culprit down. Civilisation had come a very long way since the time of Caravaggio, and although it may not be completely perfect in some respects, it was peaceful and full of harmony.

Alliances had been formed between past enemies, where the most unlikeliest of bonds had formed between clans and factions. Ponies, dragons, hippogriffs and griffons were now joined in unity with each other, having learned to set aside their differences and take on the culture of each others' way of general life, growing stronger from it.

To read that, a long, long time ago, a pony, a famed artist, had committed a murder against the royal family, unintentionally or not, was shocking and disgusting to Octavia. There has been no recent or past tragedy involving the death of a royal family member or their associates, such as Luna's bat pony army, but this one...it was the only one to Octavia's knowledge, and knowing this made her feel queasy.

It felt like she had found something out that she was never meant to find out, and she cussed mentally to herself for having requested the possession of the journal from Colour Palette. It wasn't hers to have, even temporarily, and it certainly wasn't hers to read. However, the damage had already been done.

Octavia forced herself to sit back down after swallowing the bile back down her throat, breathing slowly and controllingly before she found the will to continue reading the journal, wanting to know what happened next in the story. She took a deep breath in preparation and sighed before picking the journal back up.



I stole a document from the archives.

It seems worthy and genuine enough to work, but I always feel on-edge and scared that I may be found out. More importantly, I fear for the discovery of the body of Night Watch. It dominates my mind, actually.

As awful as I feel about being found out and labeled as a murderer, I can't let the guilt drown me and pull me under the waves. As long as nopony discovers what I've done until after I leave, then I should be clear on biding my time.

This forbidden document, this spell of sorts, I have read and re-read it multiple times over, trying to figure it out. It's old, that's for sure, older than myself, and it seems like something only the great and almighty Starswirl the Bearded can understand and possibly conjure.

Old, strange-looking symbols and phrasing is what appears to be written on the document, but the most unsettling feature that I've noticed about the spell is that it doesn't appear to be written in black ink. As a matter of fact, a quick sniff of the 'ink' clarifies enough to me to allow me to understand that it's written in the blood of a pony, most likely to be from a unicorn. Magic blood.

Despite being written by a unicorn, the creators of all spells in Equestrian history thus far, I understand from the writing on the document that it was intended to be able to be utilised by earth ponies, too.

In my suite, I locked my door and pulled the dead bolts on both the top and bottom before I shut my curtains, obscuring myself from view, should I be discovered from one of the windows by security. In front of me, I have my painting of Princess Dawn, set at the ready for the spell.

A symbol of a griffon's talon and the word, 'Califar' follows it. It seems strange to me, but after summarising what I could from the document's contents, I decided that I would at least try and prevail in understanding the black magic it contains.



Octavia's eyes went wide as she paused again from her reading, shocked. She couldn't recall an instance in history that an earth pony had conjured a forbidden spell. It was very unheard of, indeed. Sure, spell books do exist and are available to purchase from certain shopkeepers around Equestria, but they are hard to come across and they are legal, medicinal or helpful spells the majority of the time. But black magic? This was something else entirely. Something not meant to be.



The spell worked! By all the stars that shine, it worked!

With a sacrifice from my own life force, my blood came to stain the canvas, and the oil and my creative energy have intertwined and become one! My genius has truly surprised me, and my expectations have been raised for future work!

The spell was a complete success! However, I am unsure of the long-term consequences it might have on my being. However, I am not undeterred from my craft! I have made a copy of the spell within the journal, written by my own blood as to tie in with the demands the spell has, a crutch or a failsafe, if you will. Any and all artifacts crossed and intertwined with my creative blood will carry with it The Curse of the Booster Spell.

It's strange, really. I feel warmer on the inside like the embers of a Hearth's Warming fire, and I have a renewed energy that pulsates within my heart and my soul, like a spark of endless energy. It feels as if I have been granted the ability to perform any task with tremendous ability, absolutely free in the realm of possibilities!

For as long as I might live and breath, or for as long as my blood remains soaked into whatever it touches, art or otherwise, the curse will remain. A small sacrifice for a big payout, wouldn't you know? With these powers at the tips of my hooves, I could become the most well-known artist that ever walked on Equestrian soil!



That last paragraph had caused Octavia's heart to flip and her stomach to sink. Her doubts had turned out to become a reality, and it brought about a sense of dread within the sophisticated mare.

A Booster Spell? Octavia had heard of them before, and it was a fairly common spell among unicorns, but the one that Caravaggio had discovered in the heavily-guarded royal archives seemed to be a modified version of the spell, likely a tampered variation. As the journal suggested, it was developed for the use of not only unicorns, but earth ponies and possibly even pegasi, at the cost of a little bit of their life force, a bond of their being to the magic so that it intertwines and melds their bodies with untold magical power.

So, it was not only The Periled Mare that possessed this magic, but also the journal and the portrait of Princess Dawn!

Octavia turned the page of the book and found what Caravaggio had used to perform the spell. It was written across the page, as he had said, in his own, aged red blood. The blood had darkened and browned as the years progressed, and the smell of copper lingered within the fibers of the ancient paper.

Octavia didn't fully understand what she was looking at, and she had no way of comprehending any of the strange, foreign symbols, hieroglyphs and phrasing used in the spell's chemistry. She doubted if anypony alive today could understand them and maybe decipher their meaning.

As she inspected the copy of the dark spell, Octavia felt cold and clammy, her senses telling her that something or somepony was watching her closely. She thought about the painting in the next room, and she thought about the blood staining the eyes and mouth of the mare in the portrait that belonged to Stencil Palette. She could feel his presence.

Looking up from the journal to view into the open archway that lead into the living room, Octavia noticed that there was a thin mist-like substance forming in the air, like warm breath freezing over in the winter season.

Watching it form, unsure of where it might be generating from, Octavia witnessed it become thicker and more dense, bringing with it a stronger chill, causing the grey mare to rub her hooves together and hold her breast tightly to conceal her warmth.

All the while, her eyes came to view a shadow of a pony standing in the middle of a mist, a silhouette of a figure, just standing there and unmoving. She knew it was watching her. She could feel it. Moreover, she knew who it was.

Stencil Palette.

She saw his empty breath crystalise in the chilled air as he stared at her emotionlessly, and although she couldn't actually see his eyes, she knew they were fixated upon hers. However, Octavia did not feel scared this time. Instead, she felt sympathetic and she gave a sad frown as she faced him.

Stencil, if her hunch was correct, had likely read into Caravaggio's personal entries himself and come across the painting, whereupon he came across the Booster Spell, only to inadvertently corrupt his own being with the black magic it held. He had inherited the curse from Caravaggio without knowledge of what it would do to him, and he had paid dearly with his life.

This had to end, and it had to end now.

''Stencil,'' Octavia spoke, her voice mellow but firm as she kept her eyes trained upon the form of Stencil Palette. ''I'm sorry that this ever happened to you,'' She said, pulling herself out of her chair and coming to a stand, grabbing up the journal after her. ''I'm going to make this right.''

Stencil didn't speak a word. Instead, his form began to fade and slowly disperse along with the frosty mist that had formed. Just as the mist was clearing up to the point where it was almost completely gone, Octavia heard a voice whisper through the air.

''Set me free.''