//------------------------------//
// Chapter 14: Put Out Your Eyes 
// Story: Sisters of Willowbrook 
// by Starscribe 
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Iris Vale should not have felt nervous leaving her home in the middle of the night. Her husband wasn't around to discover the absence and worry about her loyalty. The filly was asleep now, or so the servants watching her said. 

That should mean the night was hers to do with as she pleased. She could go out and celebrate her victory. She had either done the gods a great service by allowing them to continue to live in the world they moved—or else she had just saved the lives of two foals who had no idea where they were, or how they'd gotten there.

That victory was not one she could celebrate, however. The worshipers of the true gods would be watching her everywhere, particularly on the winding path to the Cyan Mines. If the Watcher thought that she was taking too much pride in her victory, he might take it away out of spite.

It didn't matter what she'd grown up believing about how he was a perfect and just witness for the old gods, sent to return them to their kingdoms of glory—she knew the truth. The gods might be perfect, but the Watcher was mortal.

But after spending an evening with Purple, she knew that wasn't true either. She was a cute little filly, inquisitive and clever. She might make for a promising witch one day, if she were a unicorn. But a goddess? No.

What if we're wrong about what we can do with them? Maybe there's no way to bring them back to Equestria in their glory. The ancient traitors won another victory.

Cyan Mines loomed over her like a pair of gaping jaws cut into the ground. Willowbrook was mostly flat, so the line didn't cut through a hill. A pony wouldn't even see it was here, without already knowing. The abandoned mine was no longer marked on any maps, and had been erased from all the city's historical records. When the oldest ponies in town finally passed, they would take the final knowledge of its location with them to the beyond.

Just because it wasn't producing anymore didn't mean it was abandoned, though. A pair of coventry-dressed Watchponies waited just inside, through a wooden barricade and warning signs that were meant to look impassible, but could be easily pushed aside from the proper angle.

She only saw one of the two guards, doing their best to stay hidden from sight. A decent effort perhaps, but unfortunately she knew where to look. They also knew her, so made no effort to interfere with her.

She wandered a seemingly random path through the mine, lit only by the glow of her own horn. There were subtle signs, however—faint markings that would look like meaningless scratches, pointing her downward towards the sacred gatherplace.

She found another figure lingering in the hallway. Up here, no one would have the proper robes and vestments—their true faces were uncovered for all the world to see.

Normally this was a pony that she barely even noticed—his work infiltrating the Skywatcher Society and reporting any interesting finds to the waters was incidental to her. He was a servant to the cult, while she kept watch in the inner-circle. 

Yet he had volunteered when nopony else would. You risked your life at the whims of a god, and the anger of Watcher to take this position. Her respect for him had grown by orders of magnitude, even if he did linger in the Cyan Mines' ancient passages, like he might be about to take a wrong turn at any moment.

"Lady Vale." He lowered his head as she approached—whether from her rank in the cult, or her greater significance in Willowbrook, it didn't really matter. "Please go ahead. I'm sorry to obstruct you."

She would've, until tonight. "Watcher called for you, Dusty?" she asked. "To discuss your first day with Orange?"

He nodded. "I've come up with a better nickname than that—Firefly. She seemed to enjoy having them around tonight. I can't imagine what would interest a goddess, but... better naming her something than a color."

Iris nodded once. She didn't continue past him, but lingered in the hallway, gesturing for him to continue. I should think about a proper name as well. Without a name, I wouldn't feel like a real pony either.

Dust Storm seemed nervous about her company. But his timidity also meant he didn't have the courage to argue with her, and soon they were walking together. 

"What do you think about her... Firefly?"

"Instrument of holy will," he recited. "Rightful ruler of Equestria, honored in her domain. Greatest and most capable of ancients—"

He could probably keep going like that, and would have if she didn't clear her throat. "Yes, of course. But that isn't what I mean. We are not dealing with the gods as we worship them, in times of old. We view only the imperfect... reflections, we managed to cast into the world around us."

She lowered her voice. "I will not judge you for speaking frankly of ‘Firefly,’ and you should not expect me to treat Purple as though she is beyond reproach. When she comes onto her throne, inheriting her power—then I will prostrate myself. But we don't even know if that's possible. For all we know they are two thirds of an entire god, who cannot be united without their unicorn self.”

The pegasus ignored her invitation at first. He seemed to be looking around the tunnel, checking for other observers.

But she remained stubbornly silent, letting the pressure of the underground make him squirm. Eventually it worked, and Dusty finally spoke.

"You may be right. But did you think that they might be hiding, in disguise? Coming here helpless would be a perfect way to test our loyalty. If we do not act to please them, then they bring down their wrath."

She shrugged. They were getting close to the sanctum now, where they had doubtless both been summoned tonight. She would have to hurry, or else risk being overheard by the next group of Witnesses waiting in the tunnel.

"Even the gods must have had parents, yes? No creature grows without careful nourishment. I will try to act as the mother of a goddess. If this one is in disguise, she cannot possibly fault me for trying to nurture her in her current form.

She lowered her voice, just in case. "And if I'm right, and she's such an incomplete goddess as to be practically mortal, then my care may be what keeps her alive long enough to ascend back to her throne. She will reward me either way."

"I have not been a parent before," Dusty said. "It is not... physically possible for me." He could try to stay stoic and emotionless all day long, but there was no hiding his pain when he said things like that.

What Lovely told those fillies was no lie—Dusty did want to raise a child. But his selfish ends had been enough to let her save their lives. She could forgive a little selfishness there.

"I have read about it," he continued. "She does not seem different from the books. If I see anything, it is... trauma. Firefly has wounds that she will not speak of."

"Dim echoes of her banishment from her ancient throne, perhaps," Iris said. "Mortal creatures like us can hardly imagine the strain it must cause to somepony's mind, dying and being reborn like this. Obviously that strain was very serious."

"Or maybe the difficulty of the life she had in the world below," Dusty said. "A world without magic, without love, without hope."

She didn't correct him on the last point, though Watcher would have. It was blasphemy to suggest that the true gods did not know of their inevitable victory. The stars would be right, and they would rule. Mortal ponies did not help because they needed mortal subjects. Mortals helped because it was their rightful place in the universe, and service was its own reward.

But strict obedience to their doctrine was not her concern. Their doctrine wanted to destroy these imperfect bodies, sending the souls inside back to the hell they had been banished to.

"What about yours? Purple the earth pony—did you learn her true name?"

"No." Iris waved a dismissive hoof. "The geas upon her mind prevents this. Yet she did have... some recognition of her position. Vague, perhaps distant and muddled. She knows she came from another world, but is unable to articulate details. She sometimes seemed to recognize me as one of her worshipers, and other times not."

"Oh." Dusty shuddered. "Firefly didn't act that way at all. She knew she was lost and wanted to go back someplace, but it might as well be another city."

"They could be gods of different ranks," Iris suggested. "Or the process damaged one more than the other. They are immortals, in any case. An injury that would cause a pony permanent insanity should slough away from them in time."

Dusty shuffled nervously again, eyeing her. "I know that Firefly is eager to see Purple again, when it pleases you. The two of them seem deeply connected to me. Whether as rivals, or lovers, or friends, I don't know. She might not remember."

More strange truths for Iris to work into her worldview, somehow. Yet it should not seem that strange that the gods would have relationships like mortals—in stories, they had the same range of emotions that ponies did. Richer, if anything.

But there was no more time to discuss, not without lingering in the passage here. If the two of them were to have a private conversation about their charge, sheltered from the administration of the Watchers, this was not the place.

Iris fell silent as she walked the rest of the way, following behind Dusty. She was too high a rank to enter with him, that would imply a working relationship that didn't exist. But she couldn't just leave him here, or else damage a future source of information.

They seperated once they reached the sanctum's upper levels, dressing in the sacred vestments and covering their faces. She didn't see Dusty again until she reached her destination, and the office of the Watcher. 

He was already there, waiting for her.

Of course Watcher wanted to know many of the same things that she had inquired of Dusty. But she gave far less detail, and so did he. 

Without ever agreeing it so, neither volunteered much. Their ponies seemed to be healthy, they were far-advanced mentally for their apparent age. They showed faint memories of another place, memories that were largely suppressed by the geas upon them.

To her surprise, Watcher did not seem terribly interested in all that. He kept gesturing for her to speed up, barely even listening. Only when she had finally finished did he rise from his ritual throne.

The chair was carved right from the stone, with hundreds of eyes painted. All were different colors, but all seemed to watch the viewer. It didn't matter if Iris was in the room with another pony, she felt like they never looked away from her.

"Your goal at this stage is not only to keep them from discovery," Watcher said. "That is paramount, Equestria must not know. But it is the least you must do. There is more."

Dusty lowered his head submissively. "Whatever the Watcher demands of me, I will perform. For the glory of the true gods."

Iris felt far less need to grovel. "What is it?"

"Extract as much as you can from these memories," Watcher said. "We must know from what manner of world they come. We must know the arrangement of its substance. With this knowledge, we may strengthen the bridge. We must make it wide enough to bring a soul intact next time."

Iris nodded. She could see the wisdom in it—opening a portal, even a portal that led down into the fathomless depths of thaumically-dead Abbadon, required sympathy. Every true thing they knew could create more, making conditions on this side more like the world they wanted to reach.

"Do we lift the geas, then?" she asked. "I fear we may be working at cross purposes, binding their minds, but probing them."

"No!" Watcher snapped, so intently that Dusty actually jumped. "Do not question me, sister. You will not tamper with that spell. Do what I require, or I will find a pony who can."

She bowed, so shallow it was almost a nod. "I will do as the gods command."