Hexagons: Part l

by Wand3r3r3


~Inhumed

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In a similar fashion, in a similar state, Sweetie Belle lifted her heavy, weary eyes open to lay them upon the dreary all around: Solid walls of protruding crystals surrounded her within a space of twelve feet all around her, with not a single crevice to catalog. Her sight started to fail her quickly though, as some of the strongest physical sensations suddenly surged through her mind and body. They all proved to be much too cumbersome much too soon — the shock of experiencing every tangible feeling imaginable at a single time, multiple times rattled and jolted her body with the rythm of a heartbeat.

Her entire body convulsed and quivered, with her knees first to collapse, and so when she fell onto her belly, she became absolutely enraptured in all the familiar sensations she forgot from a previous life. The cold floor itself, transparent and glistening, sent rapid chills up every nerve in her body. She slowly crawled toward the room's periphery, but couldn’t carry herself more than two feet before she collapsed onto her side, groaning in what was a perfect consonance between pleasure and pain. She frenzied and she spasmed, and she could speak no words.

”Is this purgatory? Unadulterated suffering, chosen for me alone?” She started to pout, then to cry; to shed real tears and to feel real pain. In her chest, she felt heavy, and in her core, weighed down. Shackled, even. “I thought . . . we did everything right. Oh, God, did they have . . . Did they not divulge . . .? To . . . lie to me? To use their own sister as a pawn . . .?”

But she was only wasting as much mental capacity she could devote to the situation: Just like Roseluck, who was currently the one closest to Apple Bloom, she would have all of eternity to wonder why. And it could only be cut as short as her wandering imagination could process. Already, she was losing herself.

“Whoever you are, Rose . . . take care of her.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Enveloped. Enraptured. Entombed.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
---Inhumed---
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Scouts that were monitoring the supposed winter storm found themselves aghast: Despite all the coming signs of the typical wintry weather, and all the science they understood, an isolated blizzard was raging throughout the center of the country. With razor-sharp winds spiraling within a twelve-mile radius all around Canterlot, thick blankets of snow blocked off all access to the city, but that was hardly cutting it close to the small storm’s potential. Lest they get pulled into it, no Pegasus could fly anywhere near the storm, and no pony traveling on land could endure coming close for the same reason. And it was only increasing in size as the minutes passed....

Popular presumptions and theories came to light with the more resistance the town fought — some spoke of mutiny up at the royal city while others held simple blame for the Pegasi. And still, with no solid story on Sweetie Belle's case, the filly who died with no known cause, the troubled community was given even more reasons to grow distrustful and cynical. Every one of their claims was rather undeveloped and primitive, but Ponyville had nothing left to lose now. The storm was coming, more children were dying, and more ponies were leaving for all the right reasons, it seemed.

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Lyra Heartstrings sat on a sofa that lined the wall to the outside, to the suffrage she modestly pitied. Her partner Bon Bon sat next to her, huddled onto her side and lost in thought. She lifted her head to look and speak to Lyra, who shuffled up to her hooves. They both swooned in sorrow to all the misfortune and heartbreak through the rickety door to her left, coming straight from the hearts of older mares who were lamenting the death of their own children. Their quivering lips preached, one way or another:

"I don't care if everyone else's kids are gone, you can't act like we're not at the same loss! Not without a deathwish, anyway!" Their quarrel would continue, though their words were quickly drowned out by bellowing winds. All the windows in the pair's building rattled in their frames due to it all, but could it have also been the work of superstition?

"Bon Bon, we have to go. You know there’s nothing here anymore,” Lyra was the first to speak, albeit in a slightly irritated measure. Her partner developed nearly the same hasty tone.

“Yeah, I do, but you want to leave behind all we’ve lived for. And...I just don’t, Lyra. We discussed this just yesterday, so you know how I do."

All along the walls, memoirs of their years spent together reminded them of their sad situation once more: framed pictures they treasured, signed plates they collected and shelves lined with various knick-knacks... It was everything that they lived for; the souvenirs, tokens, and gifts for everything they had ever done over their impressive eight-year dating period. They first met in Canterlot at the seventy-first annual raising of the sun, bonding rather quickly as the assembly concluded, and even more so as the crowds started shrinking.

Bon Bon was incredibly delighted to know that Lyra moved from Canterlot just to be with her, and she still felt the exact same for her as when they first shared a bed together. Lyra, however, had been drifting away for months, and her take on their relationship never ceased to spiral downward from the point it started. She was at her happiest for the longest time—seven of those eight years—but now she imagined that they were nothing more than awkward roommates, sharing a house instead of a home.

She could leave. Bon Bon couldn’t. Their fate as a couple was highly ambiguous, but the coming signs would tell their tale.

“I know you don’t, but what else can we do but try together? We could brave this storm together. We don’t need to leave each other at all. We stay here, we’re probably... not going to make it.” It was tough negotiating with Bon Bon, as she always ended up at the forefront of their relationship. “I want us to be together forever... I really do. Underneath everything.”

“Lyra... It’s going to be hard....”

“I will hold your hoof through this. We will have each other. ” She then proceeded to physically hold Bon Bon's hoof with her own.

“I knew it’d come down to this sooner or later...”

Lyra understood her words as weary slurs, so she enunciated, preparing to use adjectives that were much less vague. “What we both want... It all conflicts. What is it out there that you want to find?” The sounds of the argument outside surfaced above the winds to distract them for a moment. They both fell silent, and while one relished in the respite, the other waited eagerly for an answer, with the first furrowed brows she’d brandished in almost a year.

“Fighting? Do you want to fight for the rest of your lonely life? Without me? You depend on me, Lyra. You literally cannot hold yourself together without me. Not anymore, you can't.” Her voice rose and Lyra’s expression fatigued. Each of the Unicorn's following facades would suffer the same weakness.

Lyra was trying to hide something that Bon Bon saw right through. She felt threatened.

“I thought you knew how hard it is for me to love you. At least, the way you want me to, and the way I know I should..." Lyra's voice was defensive, but she also wasn’t afraid to add weight to her words. “I would hate to have you waste away here. Alone, as you said, without me. I hardly offer you anything anymore, but-”

And Bon Bon was growing desperate, refuting Lyra's miserable words.

“But why do you want to leave? It’s terrifying out there! Goodness forbid, I would hate to think of you wasting away out there! I care about you too much to-” The Unicorn interrupted her, turning to face her. Just a few tears had welled up in her eyes.

“Bon Bon, I wish you would just come. We don’t have much time left.”

“Before the storm comes? Before it separates us anyway?”

“That’s a morbid way to put it, but... yeah, I figured you would have known that.”

“So either way, it doesn't matter...”

While Lyra tried to form her next statement, Bon Bon was staring at the floor, absent of thought — she had grown comfortably accustomed to staring into nothingness. She slowly rose from her seat and started walking toward the Unicorn, but passed her completely. Both of their weary minds were clouded by certain loneliness that compromised even itself, where neither of them would understand what it really meant to be helpless until what little association they had was completely gone.

"Lyra!"

Bon Bon scratchily called her name, her voice reverberating off from all the walls that enclosed their space. The summoned mare hated her partner's frustrated voice, but she would follow it regardless. Lyra had to finally be brave and brash; she would finally confront Bon Bon properly, and both of their lives would change.

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“Bon Bon... please don’t do this.”

“Why not? Don’t you want to be on your own?”

“No, I don’t! I want to survive together! I want to be with you! I love you!”

“Then why aren’t you willing to die together?!”

Lyra lazily leaned in the doorway, watching as her things were hastily being thrown together on their bed, her resolve already crushed. Bon Bon had actually grown furious enough to take action for—and against—the one she long-thought was her soulmate as she rummaged through their possessions, haphazardly separating them on the floor. She knew well the Unicorn was there, merely allowing her actions, and she looked back at her, once again taking note of her distant, vapid expression.

“Ugh, do I have to do everything?” She continued in her apoplectic grievances, tossing a saddlebag up from underneath. “If you’re not gonna do anything, just go ahead and go, Lyra!” She wasn’t expecting her to listen, but when she wished to throw her another indignant glance, which was far from the last one she planned to give her, Lyra was nowhere in sight. “I can’t believe this is actually happening. Heaven help me....”

That would be the very last monologue of misery Lyra would need to hear, hidden out of sight. She hesitated to walk out the front door....

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Scootaloo asked for Rainbow Dash to accompany her to a choice stop within Ponyville’s rapidly numbing grounds. Walking through the town, surrounded by irritated civilians and suffocated by freezing air, they mutually agreed not to spend more time there than necessary.

“First murders start happening here, of all places, now-”

“Ponyville’s looking to be another forgotten landmark,” Scootaloo insinuated, silently reading the motives and actions of each pony they passed. Dash dared to fight the idea, but to the dismay of the overwhelming odds all around them, and to the mercy of that particular pressure that turned into guilt much so much sooner than she liked...

“Half the town’s already left,” one couple bickered. “And there won’t be anyone left if we just wait around!” Their unusually violent voices tones pushed through the walls of their humble home. “I wouldn’t want to turn up like that little filly. Do you?! Does everyone else just want to give up? Well, not me!”

Yet another female voice came to dominate the one-sided argument, but a wintry howl dominated even that. Dash’s body acted before her mind did, grasping at Scootaloo’s small frame. She wasn’t entirely expecting to feel their chests touch, but all Scootaloo had told her on their trip to the town was enough to put her impeded mind at ease.

“All that matters is that I can still hold you,” she told Scootaloo. They were both grateful when the winds subsided for the moment, the chills dying down with them, and so they continued on. Luckily, Sugarcube Corner—the filly’s destination—was to their mere left.

“Thanks... Dash,” said Scootaloo, her once insipid face became flushed with all the signs of a distinct expression at her touch. Dash made it out so clearly, but the sentiment was spoiled when Scootaloo enthusiastically pressed toward her destination, starting a single hoof toward the building. But first, she turned back around and stared at Dash, studying her own exhausted yet determined expression. “I won’t be long, I promise,” she said. She left the mare smiling as she entered the building, its bright blushes and tints of color barely surviving the dark.

“I swear, Scootaloo... you could be my kid if I ever wanted any.”

With some shreds of dignity still intact, she bravely sought to acquire any clues about Sweetiebelle. She was worried because she could not solve the town’s biggest mystery, and from the looks that few ponies greeted her with, she feared that they would turn on her. But with Scootaloo at her side, she could surely make progress. “She might be onto something though, about this... ungodly storm." She clung to the thought. "Maybe. I’m just looking for anything...."

Another deep chill sent shivers up her spine and made her flinch violently. When she opened her eyes, she scanned her sights all over again, and it was then that she laid her her sight on a single lonely mare who sat outside of her home, on a cold, wooden porch, solemn all the same. She looked to be brooding, and she took Dash by surprise with how quickly she looked back at her...but the mare’s familiar face took her aback even more.

“You’re that detective,” said the faraway mare, “Can you come here?” Dash started closing the distance between them, with each couple of steps soothing the voice that beckoned and beseeched her. She recognized her voice first, but then she saw her face up close, no matter how downcast and crestfallen it was. “Is there any way-”

“And you’re...?” Dash came right up to the mare and opened a single wing, where she extended it out to her chin and lifted her heavy head. A pair of golden-amber eyes were the first thing to strike an addendum to her fluttering motivations, especially in contrast to the minty green color of her coat. “You...strangely sound like you’re the only sane one here. Tired like everypony else, but,” she didn’t fail to digress from the fact that she had forgotten the mare’s name — though she admitted to it humbly.

“I’m Lyra. I was there when we all found the body of that little filly. When you told us to dismiss ourselves... and when her sister fought you and said-”

“And you were compliant, so I didn’t take you in. You even held her back.” Rainbow Dash was defensive, as she didn’t ask to be reminded of events—failures—past. She’d try to revoke the terrible title that Ponyville must have given her, yet her scarce clues have yet to even be resolved. And the coming storm was only growing more belligerent. Lyra continued fighting though, lashing out at Dash’s pressure, but she did so with stress of her own built up. Confusion.

“You’re telling me you weren’t traumatized by those cries? I’ve never heard anything like them before....”

“Look, I’m here to ask about her," Dash snapped. “I don’t need anyone else looking at me as a failure.”

“I... wasn’t going to, miss. And I... I don't think anyone does.”

“Do you know anything at all, about Rarity or her sister? You two seem really close... just close enough to coax her out of the rage she was in.”

“Well, we'd occasionally see each other outside her work hours for... therapy sessions? I don’t know what I’d call it, really.”

Dash cocked her head; mention of any kind of therapy wasn’t at all anything she expected. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m outside right now because my... roommate is throwing me out. We used to be a lot more than that, but my head has just been so cloudy that I can’t feel the same way I did for her before. Rarity would just kind of... be there to listen and help whenever could find a way to.”

“Is it Bonbon?” As interested as she was, she would press Lyra as gently as she could for anything at all. "It can't be her... Lyra, Is she available to talk?"

“She’s usually fine, but not... now I....” Lyra silently sighed to herself, but Dash picked it up — she was about to ask about it, but she gambled that wrapping Lyra in a warm embrace would be more appropriate. She raced to do so, spreading her susceptible wings out and laying them on her back. The caress was empty of all physical comforts, save for the raw feel of one's heart pressed against the others'. Lyra spared a few dry sniffles, touched by all of Dash's sentiments.

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Scootaloo watched from afar with a million fireflies in her non-existent gut. She was looking forward to sharing her findings, and the knowledge she had acquired, but her wild mind was racing with stories and conclusions. She immediately abandoned the idea of talking to Dash; the mare could continue to bash on Lyra's front door, and call for either entrance or answers.

She would intentionally strike at her hopes of feeling reliable: this wasn't the first time Dash had let her down, so this was the ill reparation she felt the mare deserved. However, before her sudden, callous wishes could come to light, another character could bring comfort to the situation. Stagnation, as it solely was.

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“Everyone, get inside!! Anyone who’s still here!”

A hefty feminine voice penetrated the subtly howling winds. It belonged to Rarity, the spokesmare from the morning of Sweetie Belle’s discovery, and the one Dash interrogated the following afternoon. She was patrolling the town, cataloging the number of ponies outside their homes and doing everything in her power to coax them inside.

“For the love of the Princesses, don’t let this storm beat the spirit of this town!” Her voice carried itself around the corners of the buildings incredibly well, signaling her position to Lyra and Dash. She galloped around to a subdivision of the town’s main residential road and she saw the two embraced together, possibly choosing to give their lives. And all the while, Scootaloo just watched, listened, not saying a word to change the course of it all.

“Detective!” She immediately began to close distance from her — she noticed Lyra’s most defining features and spoke accordingly. “Lyra? What are you two doing? You must have heard my warnings...!”

“Your screeching?” Dash teased her, but it was all in the aim of making good fun while the opportunity still allowed. Something to turn the mood around. “Apparently Bonbon did something-”

I did it. It’s irrevocable by now, and it’s a long story, so-” Lyra started sniffling.

“But you two need to take shelter in the Boutique with me,” Rarity finished both of their sentences. Whatever happened here, we can discuss it at the boutique. But for now, please, come on!” She needed to assure somepony’s safety... better it be them—ponies she knew—if no one else. Dash and Lyra heeded the suggestion and acted upon it, both easing away from their embrace, but Lyra was more aggressive as she broke away, running in the opposite direction, apologizing profusely.

Dash was the first to start after her, planting a single hoof an inch ahead of her and nearly slid the distance of two; the first to call out to her through the winds that moaned so heavily over her voice. Rarity then took to reprise, hoping she could push through to the other Unicorn, but she dived between two other snow-battered buildings and lost their sight. “Lyra, come back! You have everything to lose out there!” The most they received was a trio of simple, refutable statements:

"No, no. No!!"

Dash immediately turned to explain Lyra’s predicament to her, and solemnly. By now, her well of tears had long-since ran dry, but her brisk and fragile words still heaved utter distress. She berated herself, as she instinctively told herself she had failed once again. “She’s going to die... she’s going to... die.” Rarity attempted to console her, and she shrugged off every sense of futility that she possibly could, for in the end, her words elicited no positive reactions whatsoever. And so, overcome with destitution from the even the diligent detective, her next words stood to reason with nothing at all, as she had also lost her faith, deep down inside. In everything.

Scootaloo, having climbed to the top of the home Lyra would never return to, listened to every word they shared. She wasn’t aware of Sweetie Belle’s disappearance....

“I suppose some ponies...” A strong silence overcame them. "They just... want to die, Dash.” It was the foreboding sense of impending circumstance. “You’ve tried to help her. I’ve tried to help her!” Rarity was afraid that Dash was losing herself, as she had also gone silent. Possibly by a coincidence, she realized quickly just how wrong every word she chose was; every word that she was able to fit into their tense conversation; the few and far-between responses Dash gave. “She’s not the first to willingly choose death, in any recent memory.”

The elements of fire intertwined and multiplied. Embers danced within Dash’s empty kiln of a body until they corroborated the ignition of her long-forgotten conscience. All that was recent in her memory became but a blur, a flash, for they were all the sparks she didn’t know she needed to be blinded by. The lie she lived for the past few years as a ‘detective and the recognition she sought therein, yet didn’t need, the duties she had unnecessarily tied her hooves with, and the guilt she would so easily squeeze her heart with... all so unjustly cruel, and much more unkempt than her true masochistic tendencies.

“Dash,” Rarity’s voice calmed to a quiver. “I don’t like it when you’re silent....”

Slowly, Dash raised her head, but Rarity had no repercussions to fear. The storm only continued to grow more hostile, but the fire in the Pegasus’s heart spread through to her weak mind, fortifying it with ambition and intent, with her body the next to follow: She found herself shrugging off the benumbed sensations that quickly grew pervasive throughout her form. Rarity was struggling to keep her eyes open, but she was witnessing Dash figuratively repel the cold, holding her head up high once again. Then, finally, Dash surfaced from her trance-like state and wasted no time proposing ideals befitting to the young mare she knew she used to be.

Already, the Unicorn was struck with paralysis from Dash’s incredible change in demeanor. She even had a preamble ready — Rarity had only a few ideas as to who Dash was when she was young... goodness, she was inspiring, and Scootaloo felt the same way. However, the still-impressionable filly she knew it was only a matter of time before Dash would forget about her.

Before she would be replaced by someone that meant more....

“Rarity... Wow, you actually...made that make sense to me.” Dash’s dazed mind thought to hug Rarity, but she was instead snatched up within her ecstatic clutches. Forelegs around her neighbor, her acquaintance. “Thank you.”

“I never wanted to see you on the path to self-destruction, dear.”

Her friend.

Dash and Rarity made their amends anew, using as much time as they estimated their thin coats could endure. Black skies approached and darkness fell over the town, and with no lit lamp posts to act as guides, it was a grainy sort of dark with time quickly running out before it would grow worse. As such, neither one of them could see Scootaloo staring down at them with heartbroken remorse. She felt indifferent as their short time was minimized further, as Dash’s hooves started to freeze onto one of the few dry patches of dirt that were buried beneath the snow. She struggled but managed to free herself, and that was the very push she needed to finally say goodbye to Rarity; for the whole time they professed their best wishes for one another, she never wanted their conversations and their warm embraces to come to conclusions. But they could consort no longer — the blizzard would be swayed no further.

And Scootaloo would no longer hold out for Dash’s once-again empty vows. Frustrated, she averted her eyes and abandoned the scene.

“Stay safe Rarity, I have to get Lyra!” Dash reared her legs back and started taking lengthy steps back, calling; “I will find you closure for Sweetie!” She then gracefully swished her body around, sprinting away. Rarity did the same, recalling the route she took to the best of her memory, but not before calling out to Dash and begging her to return safely. The town was likely doomed to die, and likewise, its inhabitants all the same. And with their faith stripped away by such a cruel fate, the ones who remained hoped to some power that they would endure. Any godly magic at all....

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Scootaloo stood firmly on all fours, watching Dash run away until she could no longer, as the sights all around her were quickly turning achromatic. She wished she could have gotten close to her, gotten to know her and, more so, become a part of her. Scootaloo had so much love to give her; she had so much trust to confide within her; she wished to be the one whose shoulders Dash’s tough demeanor could crumble upon, and withstand all the tears that would wash it all away. But she was going to die, both of them — and so she asked what the point of it all was, from the start of her journey to the end.

She wanted to cry, but she had to emulate the sensation through means of sight: she caught a few seconds’ glimpse of a candle on a table, and that drew her to stare at the lonely mare who could cry without restraint. She watched her lift her head from her folded hooves and stare outside, where debris started kicking up from the ground, and she just continued crying, sniffling, staring....

Scootaloo did the same, slowly turning her head to the coming storm as it tore everything apart in its wake. Her lonely heart wanted to share this moment with the mare—even if it was her last—now that Dash was gone. To have someone to cling to, someone to hold. She told herself that the mare knew of her, and about how much love they both needed at this dire time, and how much she wanted to give to her, even though she had no idea who she was. Grasping at thin air, essentially. Manufacturing hope that was already stretched so thin.

They would surely be mourned....

One more than the other, perhaps.