//------------------------------//
// 10. Beauty and the Beasts 
// Story: Bon-Bon the Demon Slayer 
// by ObabScribbler 
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A/N: This chapter features the appearance of a character who was originally from G1 but whose name (though not likeness or personality) later turned up in Friendship is Magic.At the time of writing that character's introductory episode had not premiered so please don't leave comments telling me I got the character wrong.





I write this from an inn in the town of Horseshoe Bay and I will apologise to my future self for any misspellings, poor penponyship or other errors, for you see I also write with great alacrity and joy. Horseshoe Bay is a wonderful, enthralling place! I had thought Canterlot so fascinating after a foalhood in Fell but Horseshoe Bay is truly filled with wonders I could never have predicted. I knew tales of magic and nobleponies before I arrived in Canterlot but I knew nothing of ships prior to our arrival here.
 
I can still hardly believe that Princess Celestia herself insisted that Master Starswirl bring me along. She even knew my name when she saw me carrying his luggage towards the convoy. She complimented him for bringing me and then complimented me for ‘putting up with his nonsense’ for so long! It seems I have outlasted all his other servants’ tenure by some margin. Of course, Master Starswirl was less than impressed at her words and spent most of the journey making notes on a scroll or, when the above-clouds wind whipped it away, staring grumpily at the sky.
 
I do not think I like flying. It must be a magnificent mode of conveyance for pegasi, but for ponies such as I who lack wings, the notion of falling is like a wolf preying upon the scattered sheep of my thoughts. Princess Celestia’s magical chariots and carriages are impressive but I would prefer a longer journey by land to a quick one by air.
 
It seems most of her court has taken this trip and will attend the Summer Sun Celebration. Even Lady Brightsmile the Gentle, whose smile has not been so bright since illness took her husband. Her grief has lifted somewhat in the changed surroundings. The moods of all ponies in the convoy seem to have lifted the moment we came within sight of the coastal settlement and smelled the sea. In case I forget between now and when I am old enough to reread my diary, it is salty and carries the faint whiff of fish and wet leather. It is not an altogether unpleasant odour, though it does leave the nose a little prickly and prone to sneezing fits until one is used to it. 
 
Our inn is called The Happy Guppy and the ponies who own it are a pair of former seafarers who have given up a life on the waves to raise their family ashore. It is dominated by the Canterlot convoy at present, though there are some ponies from other places staying here also. When I brought in Master Starswirl’s things one of them chose to help me carry them. He is a burly fellow of tan fur and fashionably pointed beard who calls himself Drake, presumably for the ducks upon his flank. When I tried to dissuade his help he laughed and called me ‘a fierce strong little mare’, then carried them anyway. 
 
He is from Tavistock, a small village near Trottingham, though he now calls the sea his home, for he makes his living as a sailor. He told me all this without my inquiring and then had the cheek to ask whether I would go sailing with him during the coming days! Horseshoe Bay shall be the scene for much revelry prior to the Summer Sun Celebration, including the Presentation of Spells. Moth and Cobweb informed me that this is an important event for all magicians and that Master Starswirl always participates. Naturally, I told Mister Drake that he was impertinent to make such demands when he did not even know my name and informed him that I would likely be occupied during the next few days. His answer was most impudent! For he said that he did not need to know my real name, as he had already dubbed me Strong Little Mare. He told me he would see me at the harbour in the morning and that I should look for some boat named The Golden Hind!
 
Well, I did not know what to think. I believe frogs awaiting flies do not hold their mouths as wide as I did at that moment. Master Starswirl shut it for me with a sharp word, as he was waiting inside his room and did not appreciate me lollygagging in the hall with my mouth open.
 
He is much more tense even than usual. He has not returned the shawl I covered him with some weeks past, though neither has he worn it again. I do not know whence it has gone but for a day or so it bought me a less harsh tongue as I went about my chores. Now, however, Master Starswirl is returned to his irascible self and I once again bear the brunt of his ill temper for the slightest mistake. One would think the smallness of his room was my fault from the way he complained at me. Apparently the workspace is not adequate for his labours, though I suspect it is perfectly fine if he would only keep all his scrolls and equipment in their proper places. 
 
In the morning we are to accompany Princess Celestia on her excursion around the town. She always explores the places she chooses for the Summer Sun Celebration and allows its mayor to introduce it to her and explain its history. I find this odd, as she surely knows much of what will be shared already, but she was unfailingly polite when the mayor met us at our arrival and listened with rapt attention to everything he wished to say. I predict it will be no different tomorrow. 
 
My yawns come more frequently now, which I take as a sign that I should down my quill and retire to bed. We shall see what new wonders the morning brings. I confess that in my heart I do wish that I could walk the boards of one of the magnificent ships anchored in the harbour. That would seem a most tremendous treat for a pony whose hooves only recently left solid ground for the first time. Perhaps my sea-legs would be better than my flight-legs. However, I doubt Master Starswirl will let me. 
 
That is an extremely poor thought to end upon. My dreams will be the poorer for it if I do not remedy the situation. Instead, I shall think of happy things that coax a smile, so that my dreams are also filled with happy things. I shall think of Lord Silvertongue, the vastness of Equestria from high above, apple tartlets and Horseshoe Bay. Yes, I shall think of those things instead.
 
-- Taken from the diary of Peaseblossom, 488 AN.
 



 
Horseshoe Bay is a terrible place. It is all water and watery ponies. Their manners are uncouth, their food too salty and their accents indecipherable. One did actually address me as ‘matey’ after he held my belongings hostage from that stupid servant of mine. Cankerblossom did at least have the presence of mind to call him impertinent, though she did vex my patience by not dismissing him immediately so as to have done with his chicanery. Instead, the fellow did depart under the impression she will meet with him before the Summer Sun Celebration to go boating! As the Celebration is only three days away and the Presentation of Spells a mere two, I could have told him that his merriment was built upon falsehood. Cankerblossom will be busy until this expedition is over and we can return to Canterlot. 
 
I do dislike boats almost as much as I do dislike Silvertongue. Though he travelled by another chariot to reach this place, I could feel his eyes upon me for the entire journey. I did travel with Lady Brightsmile, whose penchant for silence of late did serve me well. My mind doth flourish with all I intend for the Presentation of Spells. Silvertongue shall not best me, no matter what trickery he doth plan to exhibit. Upstart whelp! His offer to assist me in dismounting from the chariot upon our arrival was yet more underhoofed effrontery. Lady Brightsmile stood beside me, yet it was for my hoof he reached. Evidently he still seeks to discredit me for my age, since he cannot eclipse me in magical power. He shall not succeed! These hooves will yet see him set in his proper place!
 
It is late and I am tired, yet I will refuse to retire to sleep until I am finished with my notations. The framework for my Presentation spell is complex and requires memorisation if I am to avoid standing before the princess reading from notes. That would do little to dissipate notions that I am growing too old for my position. I only wish that my optical enchantments lasted longer than a few hours, so I could do without my spectacles for longer periods as well. Instead, I must carry them with me in the event that the enchantment fails and my shortsightedness reduces me to the role of blundering blind buffoon. 
 
This room is cold and damp, I think. Or perhaps it is only cold and damp to me. I have had to bring that shawl I discovered some weeks ago, though I concealed it in my personal knapsack by using it to cushion my scrolls. I still do not know for certain from whence it came, though I suspect it belongs to Cankerblossom. I would dispense with it as a servant’s cast-off, but it is warm and if I did thus I would be forced to purchase another, which would seem odd at midsummer. Only old ponies feel the cold in the summer months, I fear. Her Majesty would probably speak of my need to thank the stupid earth pony for her gift, yet I find I cannot, for to do so would be to admit my old bones do shiver under the moon’s light and nopony, not even a servant, can know of my aged weaknesses. 
 
-- Extract from the journals of Starswirl the Bearded, 488 AN.
 





Fleur resisted touch the floor with more than her hooves for as long as possible but eventually even she had to give in. long hours waiting around at fashion events had strengthened her legs, so she lasted longer than many ponies would have, but even she had her limits. Hunger and tiredness overcame her and she sat gingerly on sacking that had once held grain of some description. Her lip curled as prickles and itchiness nearly made her leap up again. Her stomach growled loudly.

“They should be coming to feed us soon,” said Petal, who had chosen to sit nearby. She and dewberry had become Fleur’s shadows, following her wherever she went in the dungeon and talking constantly about whatever entered their little heads. Fleur would have found it annoying, but for the fact that their chatter kept her from dwelling too long on her own panic. 

“They don’t let us starve or anything,” Dewberry added. “The food is kind of weird but there’s lots of it and it isn’t, like, poisonous or anything.” His accent had been distracting at first but Fleur was used to it by now. Some of the greatest, if most eccentric designers she had ever worked with were from Trottingham. 

“Weird how?” Fleur asked distractedly.

A loud clang from the corridor made both young ponies scurry for cover. “You’ll see,” Dewberry said as he dashed past to hide behind a pile of straw. 

All the fillies and colts hid themselves as footsteps grew nearer. It seemed a programmed reaction, and one that Fleur’s instincts, though rusty, told her she should copy. She vacillated as she looked for something large enough to conceal her. 

While she was still looking, the door at the top of the steps unbolted and swung inward. Through it stepped a tall bipedal figure, followed by two smaller ones that walked on four hooves and carried large metal buckets in their teeth. The smaller demons had bodies like skeletal ponies dipped in wax that had started to melt off their bones. Their faces were twisted, disgusting parodies of ponies, with jowls like drooling hounds and manes that wriggled like maggots. Compared with them the bipedal figure seemed almost harmless, shrouded in a burgundy robe and cowl that completely concealed its head in deep shadow. Yet it was the less threatening figure that provoked whimpers around the room.

“Oh no,” moaned Petal from somewhere behind Fleur. “Not her!”

Fleur had frozen at the sight of the maggot-mane creatures. She had not believed the foals when they spoke of demons. Now she was quickly rectifying her own opinions. How could such awful things be anything but demons? Not even the Everfree Forest could vomit up anything so … unnatural. 

“Why is there a big one?” A quavering voice emerged from the depths of the hood. If Fleur could have had any doubt it was referring to her, the figure raised a forelimb and pointed, whatever hoof or claw the limb ended in covered by the voluminous robe. “I don’t like big ones. There isn’t as much life in them. Whose idea was it to bring a big one here?”

The maggot-mane creatures might have looked at each other. It was difficult to tell when their eyes were just chunks of glimmering rock that didn’t move in their long skulls. They didn’t reply. Maybe they couldn’t. 

“Never mind,” the two-legged figure continued. “I can guess. Hmm …” It turned the mouth of the hood around the room, as if looking for all the foals that had disappeared. Fleur felt frozen in place even though she had been dismissed, so she had a perfect view when the figure raised both forelimbs and twist them as if caressing an invisible crystal ball. It kept caressing until the empty air between its sleeves began to glow, spot of light coalescing into something with a vaporous outline. Finally the figure pushed this away from itself and the light seemed to leap down the steps, retrieving more form as it went. 

The foals screamed as a gigantic dog with slavering jaws and red eyes bounded into the dungeon. It ran behind the straw, boxes and other things, chasing them out of their hiding places. Though it snapped its jaws at their heels, it never actually bit them. When one filly tried to dodge sideways, it leapt into her path and drove her back towards the others. When an older colt turned around and tried to prang it with his horn, it circled like a sheepdog, turning him around and around until he fell onto his back. It lowered its glowing yellow teeth towards his belly but when he squealed it let him get up and run away. 

“Enough!” called the robed figure. It had been making its way creakily down the stairs, moving like Fleur’s grandfather had when his rheumatism was especially bad. When it reached the bottom it held out its sleeves and the vaporous dog came to sit at its feet.

The foals had been driven to gather in the middle of the dungeon, putting them around Fleur’s own trembling legs. Some twisted around her hooves, as if she, by virtue of age, could keep them safe. Fleur wished she could tell them they were wrong, that she was just as terrified as they were, but fear had stolen her voice. She could only watch as the robed figure studied them and finally pointed.

“That one.”

Needing no further description, the dog stalked forward and deftly cut one foal from the herd. It drove the filly towards the figure, which bent to catch her up in the folds of its sleeves and lift her to the same level as the hood. She struggled and shrieked but the figure kept a remarkable grip for something that had looked so weak tackling the stairs. The filly was a pretty thing, with a tufty pink and white mane that contrasted a coat the colour of freshly slices peaches. She was so tiny it made Fleur’s stomach lurch. How old come someone that small even be? Morbid terror held her in place as the filly’s struggles diminished and her eyes locked onto something deep within the hood. 

“So beautiful,” murmured the old voice. “So young and full of life. Yes, you’ll do. You’ll do just … fine …” It drew out the words. With each syllable the filly’s body grew a little slacker, until she hung limply, staring straight ahead into what Fleur could only distinguish as complete blackness.

Do something! Fleur silently yelled at herself. Why are you just standing there? Do something! Use your magic, or run at her with your horn, or … or something else!

As if sensing her thoughts, the dog turned to glower at her. A low growl rumbled out of its throat. Fleur quailed.

The robed figure made a rusty sucking noise. As it did so, the filly shuddered. A shimmering cloud emerged from her mouth and hung in front of her, like breath on a frosty morning. The figure inhaled deeply and the cloud whooshed into the hood. It sucked again and again, pulling more and more out of the filly. With every breath, she shuddered less and less and the lustre seemed to fade from her coat. Her mane grew thin, falling out in clumps onto the stone floor. Her tail greyed, growing lighter and lighter until the white streaks bled into the rest. Her foalish pudginess evaporated, leaving her legs skinny and her tiny chest convulsing until, with one final gulp, the figure took the last of her breath.

“Ahhhh.” It let out a satisfied sigh. Its voice had changed, becoming deeper and noticeably female. “Much better.”

The dog whined. The figure glanced at it and casually tossed aside the little filly. Fleur watched as she hit the floor and didn’t move. Her eyes stared sightlessly – and, whispered Fleur’s conscience, accusingly. What once had been the face of a young pony was now wrinkled with age, as if she had lived an entire lifetime in the space of a few minutes. 

The robed figure pointed at the dog. A bolt of lightning snaked from within its sleeve and hit the animal. The dog yelped but the figure only laughed as its vaporous outline became fully solid and it began to cast a shadow it had not before. It snarled menacingly, which only made the figure laugh more and toss back its hood. 

Fleur had expected something like the maggot-mane creatures, which still had not moved from the top of the stairs. The stood in front of the open door, heads still held high despite the buckets they carried. Nopony had tried to get past when the dog rounded them up. Even now, when it was more threatening than ever, not one foal bolted for the exit. The robed figure, however, did not share in their ugliness. 

When she was just a filly, Fleur’s mother had read to her every night from a huge book called ‘The Big Book of Human Tales’. In it, the author had brought together myths and legends from different cultures about creatures that looked a little like hairless monkeys with manes and no tails. There were differences in each story, depending on where they had come from – the zebra myth depicted humans as dark-skinned warriors who lived on the plains, while griffins said they were fair, made helmets from cow horns and sailed the world in ships looking for battle. However, whatever the differences, some basic features remained and the illustrator of the book had lovingly painted a different picture at the start of each tale. Fleur’s memory immediately returned to these when she saw the robed figure’s face. She had seen faces just like it in her foalhood book, and yet no matter how beautifully the illustrator had painted them, none could compare with this one. 

The bipedal demon was gorgeous, even by pony standards. While her face was as pale as the griffin stories said, the mane she shook out from the back of her robe was sable and shone almost blue-black in the poor light. She touched her own cheeks and twirled around, laughing delightedly.

“Don’t waste the energy you only just stole, Somnambula,” boomed a voice.

As one, every foal seemed to gasp. Fleur had never heard it before, but the power carried in just those words seemed to crackle up her spine and into her throat, provoking a gasp from her as well. The maggot-mane demons stepped robotically aside to let the new speaker enter the dungeon, bringing with it an atmosphere that squashed the previous one so completely it was all Fleur could do not to throw herself on the ground and cover her head with her hooves. 

The robed demon, however, glared up at the newcomer and pouted her full red lips. “It’s been so long since I drank this much. Can’t you let me enjoy it for even a second?”

“We have work to do.”

“It’s always work with you. The plan won’t fail just because I like to savour things a little.”

The demon at the top of the stairs narrowed its eyes at her. She pretended to yawn, shaking out one slender hand from the folds of her sleeve to cover her mouth. 

“It will if you waste energy on things like that.” 

The dog growled.

“This energy allows me to make my illusions real,” the female demon replied, bending to stroke it. “You can’t blame me for wanting to test it out before putting it into practise in this plan of yours.” She rolled her eyes and scratched the dog’s ears as if it was a playful puppy, not a slobbering hellhound. “It wouldn’t do anyone any good if my constructs failed just because I saved everything for them and didn’t test my powers out first. It’s common sense. I would have thought you’d know that.” There was a challenge in her words and in the way she paid so little attention to the powerhouse above her. 

The new demon snarled. “You’re done here. Leave the ponies to feed.” It tossed its massive head at the dead filly. “Bring that with you. It’ll be useful.”

“Waste not want not,” the female demon sighed. She gestured and the dog picked up the filly’s body between its teeth, being careful not to damage it further. 

They climbed the steps, pausing at the top while the maggot-mane creatures descended and emptied their buckets into the long metal troughs against each wall. They fetched two more buckets from the corridor, and then another two filled with water, which they used to fill a last trough. They moved mindlessly, completing their task and leaving without stopping or speaking. The door shut behind them. The sound of the lock sliding home echoed like a knell in the now silent dungeon.

It was several minutes before the oppressive atmosphere departed and several more before anypony spoke. Fleur had never experienced a death before. Both her parents and all her grandparents were still alive. For her first encounter to be so violent, and for it to have happened to one so young, was traumatic in ways she could not name. Her throat quivered as if she was going to throw up. She retched, but it had been several days since she had eaten and she had nothing to bring back. She hung her head, legs still locked into position as her gagging noises broke the spell and the foals started to move again.

“What … was that … thing?” Fleur wheezed.

“That was Somnambula.” Dewberry, hiding behind her, spoke up. “She comes down here sometimes and … does that.” 

“What … did she … do to … that poor filly?” 

“She’s really old, so she steals the youth from others to make herself young again.”

“And so she can make those glowy things real enough to hurt you,” added Petal tearfully. “Poor Light Charmer. She was the youngest of us. Somnambula likes the youngest ...” She started to cry softly. 

Fleur felt like crying herself. “And the … other one?” 

“We don’t know his name,” Dewberry said faintly. He inched closer and put his forelegs around Petal. “He doesn’t come down here very often.”

“I want to go home,” Petal gulped. “I hate it here s-so much. I w-want to go hooooome.”

All the strength went out of Fleur’s legs. She flopped down like a marionette with all its strings cut, but as she did, she had the presence of mind to pull both foals towards her into a hug. She wasn’t family, didn’t know them all that well, and wasn’t exactly the motherly type, but in that moment it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to hold them close and let Petal sob uncontrollably into her chest while Dewberry held back his tears and tried to be brave.

“Can … I have a hug too?” 

Fleur turned to see the older colt who had tried to fight the dog. All pretenses at maturity were gone as he looked at Fleur with big amber eyes. His horn was streaked with dirt and his cheeks would have been filthy too, if not for the tear tracks. 

She opened her embrace to include him.

“Me too!” said a navy blue filly.

“And me!” added a green colt.

“I want a hug!”

“Please! Please can I have one?”

In no time at all, Fleur found herself swamped by tiny, scared unicorn foals, all looking for comfort and reassurance from the only adult among them. She experiences a moment of panic that anypony would ever look to her for reassurance. She wasn’t responsible enough for that! She was renowned for being flighty and superficial. She was Fleur de Lis, fashion model, socialite and … and …

“I want my mom,” whimpered the older colt, so softly Fleur suspected she wasn’t actually meant to hear.

Something bubbled up inside her; something warm she had never felt before. She didn’t know any of these foals, was in just as bad a position as them, and yet …

And yet.

She allowed them to crawl all over her, holding tight to as many as she could get her hooves around, as if somehow that could keep them all safe from the things outside their prison. 





Luna glanced at the sky. “Time waits for nopony.”

Zecora paused in stirring her cauldron. She was the first zebra Luna had ever encountered and, as far as her species went, she had made an excellent first impression. “She will be here, rest assured. I have some books if you are bored.”

“No, thank you. I am content to simply speak with you.”

“I have no problem with conversing, though I suspect Bon-Bon’s traversing through the forest as speak. She’s eager to hear your critique and learn all you can clarify, teach, spar, help and verify.”

“As I am eager to do those things.”

Luna understood that not all zebras controlled magic the way Zecora could – a precursory look at a few books in Canterlot Castle’s library had told her that much. She also understood that magic as Equestrians understood it was not quite the same as zebras did, but her efforts to acclimatise herself to this modern era had not stretched much into other cultures. She knew enough to not embarrass herself or her sister during visits from emissaries of other nations but there had never been any zebra ambassadors since she had returned. From what Celestia said, the Pride Lands were a collection of warring states constantly beset by civil wars as different tribes tried to conquer each other. Zebras were only a small part of the whole collection and a rather mysterious one at that. She had not explained how Zecora came to be in Equestria today and Luna sensed that she would not no matter how much she was pushed. The more time Luna spent with her, the more she came to realise that Zecora deserved to have her privacy respected, no matter how much Luna wanted to know why she talked in rhyme the way she did.

“What is that you are stirring?” she asked instead.

Zecora levered up the paddle. On it rested a bangle that glistened with moisture. “I must ensure that they are clean, or I don’t want them to be seen. My jewelry is very dear and so from dirt I keep it clear.” She let the bangle drop back into the liquid, which Luna now recognised smelled of lemons. 

Something prickled in the back of Luna’s mind. Trying to tune into it was like trying to pinch a candle flame between her hooves, though once upon a time she had read it as easily as she had drawn breath. She waited until the reaction increased enough for her to be sure. “I believe the Slayer approaches.”

“Princess, I’ve been meaning to say, I know that you’re used to your way and truly do not mean offence, so I will tell you straight and hence: though Slayer is what she became, please say ‘Bon-Bon’ as it’s her name.”

Luna blinked at Zecora. “She has not corrected me whenever I have called her by her title.”

“Her title, yes, but not her name. Though she is both, they’re not the same. If you wish to become her friend, Princess, please try to comprehend, each pony is a combination of dreams, hopes, loves and then vocation. If you call Bon-Bon only ‘Slayer’, you ignore every other layer. It is the same, you have to see, as calling you just ‘Majesty’. She told me this name does not appeal, as it makes you feel … less than real.” Zecora appeared to be choosing her words carefully. “It is the same for Bon-Bon too. What applies to her, applies to you.”

Luna listened with dawning realisation. Inwardly she cursed herself for doing the very thing she had found irritating since her return: ponies seeing her as just a title and the memory of a monster, not a pony. The Slayer was a monster only to the demons she hunted, but calling her only by the title she had inherited … Luna was not a mare to blush easily but she felt heat creep into her cheeks now at her own thoughtlessness. 

“I will take the matter under advisement,” she said cagily, unwilling to reveal how wrong-footed she was. “For now, she draws close. I can already sense the sword’s anticipation of her arrival.”

Zecora glanced at the seemingly inert sword on her workbench. Luna did not need to be tuned into her emotions to know what they were. Dislike was written clearly across Zecora’s face. Fortunately it cleared a few seconds later when somepony knocked the door. Bon-Bon had arrived.

“Sorry,” she apologised before she had even set hoof inside. “I got held up with something. Is there still time for a lesson?”

Luna pushed to her feet and walked towards her. “Indeed there is,” she adjusted her words, “Bon-Bon.”

Bon-Bon looked a little surprised at the emphasis placed on her name. Luna cursed inwardly again. When would she get these sorts of things right? Would it take another thousand years before she was as good at interacting with citizens as Celestia? 

“Okay,” Bon-Bon said, cutting into her thoughts. “So what are we doing first?”

“I believe I said meditation is the first step,” Luna said quickly. “So I shall teach you the proper way to meditate.”

“Um … actually, Princess, I think we can skip that step. Zecora’s majorly into meditation too and she already taught me how to do it.”

“She has?” Luna cleared her throat. “Ah, yes, well, I suppose that makes sense. Well then, we shall indeed move on to the second stage of what I had planned. First, however, let us engage in clearing your mind a little …”





Bon-Bon did not find meditation easy. She could do it, but letting go of her thoughts and allowing her mind to drift was not easy straightforward. She would think she had finally entered fugue state when some invasive little worry would dash across her brain like a streaker at a football game. It was only there for a brief instant but it was enough to throw off her whole groove and make her have to start over. So when she told Princess Luna that she knew how to meditate, part of her hoped she would not have to demonstrate in the little time they had left before Luna had to leave to raise the moon. 

No such luck. Luna sat out on the patch of ground usually reserved for training sessions, eyes closed as if she was asleep. Her mane billowed in a breeze that could not penetrate the closely knit-trees, the only indication she was not a statue. Bon-Bon cracked each eye open several times, looking at Luna, the scabbard on the ground between them, back to Luna, around at the forest, over to Zecora, back to Luna, then the sword … switching her mind off was the last thing she felt she could do in the wake of her conversation with Lyra, yet she was still expected to put her personal issues aside for now and concentrate on the task at hoof. 

Focus, she told herself. This could mean the difference between you having the Lunar Sword and not even being able to touch the thing. 
 
The moment she had picked up the scabbard she had been assaulted by the sword’s demands to know why she had not taken it home with her and whether they were going to go fight demons now. Luna had levitated it out here while Bon-Bon reflected that the volume of its ‘voice’ was ten times worse than it had been when Luna first transferred ownership to her. 

“The sword is becoming more attuned to you with each passing day,” Luna had explained. “If you do not assert yourself as its true master, it will run roughshod over you the moment you are within range. You must show it who is master and keep reminding it, or your bond will be too one-sided to ever be practical in battle.”

So Bon-Bon obediently sat and tried to meditate, no matter how hard it was with the memory of Lyra’s confessions about her foalhood still ringing in her ears. Eventually she shoved that down enough for her conscious mind to focus on other things and, even more eventually, she felt her muscles relax and her things start to drift into comfortable nothingness.

“Now,” said Luna softly. Anypony who had heard her on Nightmare Night would never have guessed she was capable of speaking so quietly. “I have spent the last day and night pondering this and I believe the best way for you to reach an auspicious resolution if to abandon words. You told me you talk to the sword as I did when I bestowed it upon you and tried to reason with it. That method has not worked, therefore we must show it what you want instead. Are you familiar with the term ‘visualisation’?”

“Um … do you mean imagining pictures in my head?”

“Somewhat. Simply picturing things is something anypony can do. True visualisation is different though detail and resolve. One must infuse each separate thing one visualises with intent towards a specific goal. You must not simply think what you want, you must feel it also.”

“I think I understand.”

“This is a basic underpinning of spellcasting taught to all young unicorns. It involves much practise and diligence. Each detail of what you want must be clear in one’s mind before magic is added – or, in your case, before you show it to the Lunar Sword. Do you think you will be able to do this?”

“I’m willing to try it.” 

“Good. Can you feel your connection to the sword? Not the sword itself, just the connection.”

Bon-Bon sought it out in her mind. It felt like a nub of thought, like the suspicion of leaving the oven on or knowing you were supposed to do something but not knowing what. “Yes.”

“That connection is the key. At present it flows both ways, from you into the sword and from the sword into you. You must cease the sword flowing into you, if only for a second. This may take several tries. Block the connection, Bon-Bon.”

“How?”

“Visualise yourself placing a hoof over it, stemming the flow, as you might a wellspring.”

“Um … okay.” Eyes, closed, Bon-Bon visualised her own hoof and the leg attached. Once the pale limb took proper shape in her mind, she took that image to the connection. The moment she tried to cover it, however, panic and indignation surged from the sword. Bon-Bon grimaced. 

“Maintain your focus,” said Luna. “Do not yield. Seal the connection. Prove to the sword that you are the one in control.”

Bon-Bon gamely did as she was asked. The sword’s presence was not completely removed but, against all expectations, it was muffled. Bon-Bon heard it as if from far away and breathed out in relief.

“Already?” Luna sounded surprised. “Impressive, but do not be disheartened if it breaks through. You are new to this and the sword is strong. It does not like that,” she added. “I can feel it.”

“So what should I do next?”

“In a moment you will remove that hoof and imagine yourself holding the sword. It is imperative that you mould the sword’s presence into that image in your mind. Learning to control it is first learning to visualise that control. It is easier if one possesses unicorn magic, as unicorns naturally visualise what they want their magic to do before they perform even elementary spells like telekinesis. Often success is determined by how well a unicorn can visualise the outcome ahead of time. Though you are not a unicorn, you must use the same technique with the same determination. Visualise what you want your relationship with the sword to be and assert that image over its attempts to switch your places so that it is the dominant one.”

Bon-Bon thought she understood. She summoned an image of herself holding the sword in her right hoof, her stance relaxed but poised with readiness. She remembered the feel of the hilt, the swoop of the metalwork and the shine of the blade when she had drawn it beneath Canterlot Castle. She imagined bringing the short version to bear, running through a few kata in which it extended to its full length and then sheathing it again, all without a flicker of doubt on her face. Envisioning her own face was the hardest part but she managed it, repeating the series of images a few times.

“I think I’m ready,” she said.

“Are you sure? You have visualised both your wish and your mastery?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Very well.” Luna sounded doubtful but Bon-Bon figured there was no point in putting it off. At the very least, she would know how much more practise at visualisation she would need before she could get it under control.

She hesitated only a moment before removing the visualised hoof from the connection. The sword’s presence rushed into her, more like a geyser now than a wellspring. Bon-Bon gritted her teeth and brought up the series of images like a shield, the way she used to replay songs in her head to block out the sound of her History teacher’s voice in school. The pattern of visualisations went off just as she had practised: ready stance, bringing to bear, kata and sheathing. She repeated the images over and over, though the sword’s mental volume threatened to overwhelm her. After what seemed like an age, it finally began to decrease and she felt the sword start to pay attention, receiving instead of just broadcasting all the time. It recognised itself in her visualisation and watched as she repeated the little role-play again.

This was what she wanted? But it had been doing that all along! It wanted to be a weapon for her to use! Why was she showing it this when they should be agreed already and fighting together like true warrior and weapon?

“Repetition,” Luna said from someplace far away. “Show it what you mean until it understands.”

Ready stance, bringing to bear, kata and sheathing. Ready stance, bringing to bear, kata and sheathing. Ready stance, bringing to bear, kata and sheathing. Bon-Bon felt like a stuck record but kept going. Ready stance, bringing to bear, kata and sheathing. Ready stance, bringing to bear, kata and sheathing. She emphasised her facial expression as if with a spotlight on a stage, showing how there was no stiffness to it. She was not fighting the sword or fighting to hear herself think over the sword. Ready stance, bringing to bear, kata and sheathing, a series of movements gracefully executed like two dancers in synch with each other. 

The sword watched. She felt it home in on the serenity of her expression. It didn’t understand. She had never looked this way while holding it before. Not even in the beginning, when it was weak from its transformation and still getting used to its new form. Not even when their connection was fragile and new. This was what she wanted from it? But it was a sword. It was meant for fighting against enemies, not just showing off like this. Kata were all well and good but she needed a weapon to use against demons, not empty air.

Again, Bon-Bon showed it her expression, but this time she imagined a demon in front of them. It was the creature with the face like a dead baby bird. The sword watched as she adopted a ready stance, brought the sword to bear as the demon came at them, dispatched it with a few quick thrusts, wiped the blade on a patch of grass and then sheathed it. She repeated the images twice more, each time putting more detail in her facial expression and grip than the actual moves used on the demon. She added the patch of grass moment as a courtesy, sensing the sword would not appreciate being sheathed while dirty with demon ichor. She would respect it if it respected her as its master.

Understanding blossomed from the connection. Oh, this was what she wanted. She visualised the image of herself nodding. The sword swirled around the image like a dog sniffing at something it wasn’t sure it liked. She stood straight and tall, her grip on the hilt firm. This was the way things had to be or else … She imagined herself without the sword, fighting the demon with a tree branch as she had done in reality, except that this time she was not even wearing the scabbard. She could not use it if it was not willing to be ruled.

Ruled? It chewed on that word for a moment. It had been used by a ruler before. It understood that, though it preferred Bon-Bon to being squashed by another’s will as forcibly as it had been then. It seemed to consider for a moment and then a sense of acquiescence washed over her. It smelled like hot metal and tasted of iron filings. The sword would comply. It would become part of her, the way these images suggested. It liked the way she moved as if it was an extension of her foreleg. It would like that to be a reality. It definitely did not wish to go back into the lonely darkness. 

“Bon-Bon.”

Bon-Bon opened her eyes to find Luna staring at her. The princess was smiling. It softened her entire face, especially since it reached her eyes. “You were successful.” It wasn’t a question. Of course not. She had sensed it all, hadn’t she? “Skillfully done. You were correct: your Watcher has taught you well in the ways of meditation. Did she also teach you unicorn visualisation techniques?”

“Uh, no.” Bon-Bon felt out the connection to the sword like she was poking a loose tooth with her tongue. Instead of finding an unsound, bleeding problem, however, she discovered something solid and reassuring. 

“Then you are truly a gifted earth pony,” Luna proclaimed. “I have never felt anypony become so proficient in such a short time. Perhaps this is more of your Slayer abilities at work.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” Bon-Bon replied, still distracted. 

“Or perhaps you are simply talented at this sort of thing.” Luna watched her for a moment. “You are pleased with your progress?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Yes, I am. I’m just … wow. Just appreciating the quiet, that’s all.”

Luna smiled again. She looked up at the sky, which had darkened from bright blue to apricot. Celestia was painting the horizon with the start of what promised to be a beautiful sunset. “I had wished to test your connection with a sparring match, but alas, I do not think there is time.” She sounded genuinely disappointed. 

“You could … come back again sometimes,” Bon-Bon suggested, looking to Zecora for confirmation. Zecora had stayed in the shade of an overhanging tree throughout their lesson, unwilling to leave in case she was needed but unable to help in the actual teaching since she wasn’t connected to the Lunar Sword. 

She nodded now. “I would have not one objection if you worked on this ‘connection’. The Lunar Sword would be an asset, but only if this test, you pass it.”

“Then it is agreed.” Luna nodded, the movement wreathed in determination. “I shall return tomorrow afternoon and we shall continue our lessons then.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes. You are unhappy with this arrangement?”

“No, I just … It’s a lot sooner than I expected, that’s all.”

“Speed is not a bad thing in this circumstance, I feel. The faster we enable you to use the sword, the faster you may lay waste to the forces of darkness without fear of your own weapon.”

“I guess so.”