//------------------------------//
// 2: Polychromatic Life 
// Story: Bleeding Soul 
// by Rostok 
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I'd never had to endure a hospital stay before, but I'd heard stories from what passed for friends in school. The stories didn't do it justice. Perhaps because I didn't feel all that physically ill and was mostly dreading whatever repercussions would follow from my magical 'episode' it felt like some form of timeless purgatory. The anxiety and boredom flowed into each other, my mind racing until I wore myself out. The nurses bustled here and there, delivering me tasteless food and checking I was ok. There was no follow up from Dr Light until the afternoon.

She hurried into the ward, looking frazzled. It looked like I wasn't the only one with trouble sleeping.

"Hello Ms. Silverstreak, sorry to bother you. Could I ask you some more questions and do a few more magical tests? They won't be anything long or discomforting, I promise."

I considered her for a second. She really was actively agitated.

"That's fine, I suppose. Ask away."

She had to fumble with the charts she held in her magic, presumably to find the notes she needed.

I though back, trying to form a coherent account. Every time I tried to recollect some of what happened, the only memory that pierced through the pain was that unmistakeable, awful stink of burning fur. Now the shock was slowly wearing off, curiosity of what exactly had happened in the room was creeping in.

"How was the other doctor? Dr Purifier, was it?"

Dr Light did her best to prevent herself from automatically recoiling. She was clearly trained to deal with anything and everything but she couldn't stop the grief and tear droplets forming in her eyes. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, avoiding eye contact, but no sound emerged. Her eyes closed as she tried to carefully blink away the tears.

I froze, an awful chill sinking down through my torso and limbs. He was dead. Dead because of me, in a way.

"I'm so sorry!" I blabbed out, starting to cry myself, trembling at the macabre thoughts rushing unbidden through me.

Dr Light was managing to regain composure, choking back the grief rising like bile through her body.

"It... it was quick."

She visibly steeled herself, and restarted her sorting with slow deliberation.

"Can we proceed, if that's ok? I think we'd both like to get this over with." She gave a look filled with both grief and compassion. "It wasn't your fault. We're certain of that. We must have..." Her eyes closed for a second, resisting whatever heart-wrenching pain inside that threatened to overwhelm her, "...have made a mistake with our experiment."





The questions themselves were a blur, the tests too. Knowing that poor doctor had died a metre away from me was surrounding me like a numbing fog. Dr Light didn't ask anything about strange dreams or visions, and I didn't volunteer. The magical tests didn't feel any different to last time, and Dr Light didn't make any comment on them.

In the end, the reason for the papers became clear. I had to sign here, here, there and here to agree that I woudn't give out any of the important details about what had happened to anypony. Like a stallion laying dead, or a freak magical accident that contradicted all received wisdom.

There really wasn't anything untoward wrong with me, aside from the normal fatigue and soreness from magical overload, so they didn't stop me from discharging myself that evening, just as Bloomie arrived to visit. I was just heading out through the lobby when I spotted her hurrying in to see me.

"Silver!"

We rushed to each other and embraced in the middle of patients and medical ponies milling around. That familiar touch and smell of somepony you knew was an irreplaceable feeling. Once we broke apart Bloomie stared into my eyes, concern etched on her features.

"How do you feel?"

"Just a little tired and sore I guess, nothing too awful."

I tried to put a brave face on it. Overall, I felt like I was just getting over a nasty bout of flu so hardly peak condition, but hardly anywhere near as bad as it could have been given the circumstances. Bloomie didn't seem quite conviced, but was placated for now. Normally quite the chatterbox, she was uncharacteristically quiet as she led me back out the main entrance to the hospital onto the streets of Trottingham. She knew when a friend needed some space.

She hailed one of the cabs sitting outside. Part of me wanted to protest, the luxurious carts drawn by hunky stallions didn't come cheap and neither of us had a bit supply of bits to waste but then again, I felt pretty bad. I followed her into the plush interior and snuggled up beside her, resting my head against hers. We sat that way for a short while before she turned to me,

"So, what's the story? They didn't explain why you were ill."

"It was a magic reaction to the test, like I said." I replied cagily. I wasn't really sure exactly what I was allowed to say.

"Yeah, I know that, but it must have been serious cos they were taking it super seriously. Everypony seemed on edge about it."

I mulled it over for a second or so, but there was no other option than come clean. I looked back into her concerned eyes.

"Bloomie, they made me sign one of those non-disclosure things. I'm not really allowed to say anything about it."

She was aghast, mouth open but lost for words for a moment.

"Oh my word Silver, seriously?"

I nodded. For a while she just looked away, trying to take it in before wrapping me in another hug.

"You know, I'm just glad you're ok. That's all that matters."

"Thanks Bloomie."





We make our way back into the dorms after Bloomie insisted on paying for the fare. Immediately I sprawl onto my bed, collapsing into it's familiar warmth. There's a world of difference between lying in a hospital bed and one's own, it's barely possible to compare them. The fatigue and soreness and anxiety seemed further away now I was back in my environment, surrounded by ponies I knew. Peace of mind was starting to return at last.

Bloomie made us a lovely stew of vegetables for dinner. I wolfed it down, to the surprise of both of us. I'd felt drained all day, and hardly eaten much of the hospital food but it hadn't registered as hunger. I could tell something was gnawing at Bloomie, troubling her deeply.  She hadn't brought it up again, but not being able to discuss what happened to me was clearly not sitting right with her. It took me a while to work out the best way to bring it up.

"Look, Bloomie, I know it's wrong for them to cover it up. Let's call it a night, and discuss it tomorrow, when we're fresh?"

She looked at me, still pained.

"I guess that's sensible."

I trotted back over to her, and wrapped her in a tight hug.

"Thank you for coming to see me, and getting me home. I don't know what I'd do without you."

When we pulled apart, she was bashful and a little teary.

"Aw shucks Silver, thanks. You know what's best."

We said our goodnights, and turned in. She stayed up reading, but as soon as I felt my weary body wrapped in the duvet I felt consciousness slipping away.

Once more, I dreamed.





Freedom.

The scents of the forest.

The wind through my fur.

The sound of birds.

The soft grass and crackle of twigs underfoot.

The stretch and strain through sinew tightly corded muscle as I ran.

Freedom, and colour.

COLOUR.

So many colours.

The depth and subtlely of bark and soil took on new meanings, alongside the vibrant foliage.

Of the riotous variety of flowers, there was no peer.

Pure magnificence. A new sense, revealed in in all it's glory.

For a time I just bask in it, lying under the dying rays of the sun. It almost makes me forget the pain, deep in my tissues, gnawing at my guts. The hunger and thirst. The ache of atrophied muscles. And something deeper that barely feels like it's in my body at all, yet utterly consuming it.

So I rest and learn to love warmth and stillness and the sounds and smells of nature once again with this new revelation of colour.



The shadows lengthen, and the chirps of insects fill the air.

Twilight falls, and the colours fade away, back to the familiar murky gloom.

Fresh smells drift in through the trees, of nocturnal creatures starting to emerge. It's time to hunt.



My muscles are still weak and sore, so I creep between trees and plants following the scent of delicious morsels on the air.

The hunting instincts well up from deep in my bones, as I effortlessly become the slow, deliberate predator once again.



Each careful step in tune with the rhythm of the forest as I close on my prey.

As it comes into view, the adrenaline floods my body. Muscles prepare, hackles raise.

The moment it becomes distracted, far from it's home-hole, I explode.

Legs pound against earth.

My slavering jaws connect with the prey-thing's body.

That distinctive, thick taste of blood and mangy fur fills my mouth as my teeth press through tough hide. The unparalleled sensation of cracking and snapping bones through pliant flesh between my jaws. Assorted viscera each lending their own distinct note to the bloody gore. Nostrils filled with metallic haze of spraying blood.

I tear the carcass apart with glee, relishing each ripping bite of muscle and innards. Hardly a full feast, yet each bite feels like a hundred to my starving body. Warmth and satisfaction as my stomach fills, until there's nothing left but torn skin and ruined bones.

The congealing blood tickles the back of my throat as I lick up the remnants of the badger. The rank stench of death fills the air. Silence, save for the soft wind in the boughs. The forest has witnessed my kill. It knows fear.

I channel my whole body into a jubilant howl.

Freedom!





I slowly came to in the small hours of the morning, aware I was lying in the dark, warm comfort of my bed. The gruesome sights and sounds were imprinted in my mind, as clear as day, yet as much as my mind found them repellant there was no heaving stomach and physical revulsion. Instead, I felt invigorated. My aches and weariness had mostly faded, leaving behind echoes of that pleasant weariness after exercise.

Emotionally though, I was subdued. After so graphically experiencing the death of some poor creature first-hand, the fear and confusion crept in, seeping slowly through my limbs. It seems almost certain I'm seeing through the eyes of the diamong dog once trapped in the ruins, now presumably let loose upon the world. Whatever interaction between the magical bindings and the research spells must be at the root of it. Somehow, despite it all, I'm not panicking. I just slowly acclimatize to the cold, clear reality.

I'm so far out of my depth.

I mulled over each of the myriad implications in turn as I curled beneath my sheets, staring up into the blackness. Whatever series of events had led the diamond dog to be ensnared by such strange and powerful magic were clearly a long, long way out of the ordinary. The idea that the diamond dog would want revenge seemed very plausible. My mind shifted back to the image burned in my memory of that cruelly shaped sword that I touched all those years ago. I did my best not to envision what it's use in vengeance would look like.

But I probably will see it, some day.

A pit formed in my stomach at that. I could witness somepony being murdered. Not just witness, but experience it as if I was the murderer. Every sight, every sound, every smell. Every taste. Every thought. I lay there quivering, trying to process the concept that I, for all intents and purposes, could violently kill somepony and there was nothing I could do. My legs clutched the duvet to me, holding myself tight as I quietly wept at the thought.

It was impossible to judge how long I spent dealing with that macabre thought when another overcame me. The diamond dog's revenge might not be successful. I'd witnessed him beaten already. I could, in my dreams, experience a completely visceral and lifelike facsimile of my own death. Somehow, the thought of that slowed the tears. The idea of it was just so strange, so awful, that I couldn't really tell how I felt about it.

Whichever way it's story leads, I'll witness it first hand.

I'll witness it.

My heart suddenly started thumping in my chest even as cold fear soaked through my body. If the diamond dog is having the same experience, seeing life through my eyes, then it could know that I'm watching it. It could come hunting for me, and there would be nothing I could do about it. Except watch it happen.