//------------------------------// // Chapter 4: The Final Spirit // Story: A Hearth's Warming Carol // by Nocturnal Reverie //------------------------------// Snowfall trembled as the figure withdrew itself from the wall, the shadows themselves seeming to fall onto its figure and form its cloak. The hood it wore moved as it seemed to raise its eyes at Snowfall Frost. A long, slender horn protruded from its hood, a dark muzzle peeking out from its shadows. From deep within the veiling shadows of its hood, two cold, icy blue, slitted eyes returned Snowfall’s gaze. Legs trembling, Snowfall knelt as the figure approached, reverently bowing her head so as to avoid the chilling gaze. “Am…am I in the presence of The Spirit of Hearth’s Warmings Yet to Come?” She received no answer. Snowfall Frost swallowed the lump rising in her throat, and gathered what little courage she had to bring her eyes up to the Spirit, which now loomed over her, its piercing gaze cutting through to her very soul. “Spirit,” Snowfall gulped, “I must confess I fear you more than any of the other Spirits I’ve seen tonight. But I know…I know your visit is for my own good…s-so…I am ready to follow you wherever you so deem to lead me.” Snowfall forced her legs into motion, and brought herself to as precarious a stance as was possible. The Spirit of Hearth’s Warmings Yet to Come watched her rise, but offered no indication of having heard her. Its eyes seemed to slowly pulse with a radiating light, and regarded her coldly. Still, Snowfall insisted, “I…I am ready. Please, Spirit, lead on.” With an audible snap, the Spirit unfurled a feathery pair of wings. At its command, the world around Snowfall shrank away, overcome by the shadows from every corner and crevice. Snowfall raised a foreleg to shield herself from the tearing wind she suddenly found herself surrounded by, and at once looked about when she saw the Spirit seemed to have disappeared. Snowfall startled as right before her a city grew from the darkness building by building, shifting and creaking into place before darkness seeped away into the cracks of cobblestone she suddenly found beneath her hooves. The remaining wisps of shadow swirled, stretched, and morphed until they were the shapes of ponies, before these, too, gained depth and movement, painting a scene of a street with scarce milling-about ponies. A chill breathed down Snowfall’s left cheek, and she twisted to find the Spirit of Hearth’s Warmings Yet to Come standing behind her. An ornate, dark hoof rose from the cloak and pointed to Snowfall’s right. Upon following its direction, Snowfall’s eyes fell to a small group of ponies dressed in business garb. Their features unfamiliar to Snowfall, she approached, leaning in to listen to their quiet conversation. “I don’t really know what exactly happened, nor do I care!” chuckled a mint-green unicorn with a mint and white mane. “I just know she’s dead.” “Well, when did it happen?” asked a blue unicorn with a cobalt and grey mane. “Sometime on Hearth’s Warming,” replied the first. “I heard she died the same way as her old partner,” piped up a cream-colored earth pony with blue and pink mane. “Wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest,” mumbled a yellow earth pony with a curly orange mane. “She was rich, right? Where’s all her money going?” “Next of kin, more than likely,” shrugged the blue unicorn. “It’s not going to any of us, I’m sure.” The small group shared a laugh in the joke. “Will anypony even pay for the funeral? I don’t know of anypony who would actually want to go.” “I might go…” confessed the mint unicorn, much to the surprise of her friends; to which they gained clarity when she added, “If there’s a snack bar.” More uproarious laughter rose from the group, stunning Snowfall with appall. The ponies before they bid each other farewell with giggles upon their lips. Before Snowfall could question the Spirit about the bizarre conversation she had witnessed, shadows flurried about her vision, obscuring the town around her before quickly falling away again to reveal a pauper’s living room.  Snowfall looked about the space in confusion, eyes landing on a table lined neatly with folded sheets, outfits, bed curtains, and linens. A stallion trotted in, carrying a clipboard with a pencil gripped in between his teeth. He placed it down. “How much do you think we’ll get for the curtains?” “Window or bed?” came a voice from the other room. “Bed.” “Ha! Who knows? No telling how much she paid for them to begin with.” “I still can’t believe you actually took them while she was laying there,” said the stallion, looking over his shoulder toward his partner. The partner scoffed. “Why not? She doesn’t need them anymore. And you need to be willing to do the uncouth to go far in this business.” The stallion barked out a laugh. “There’s uncouth, and then there’s uncalled for!” The laugh was returned from the other room. “You should have seen what she put others through! You wanna talk about uncalled for—HA!” Snowfall gawked at the scene playing out before her, disbelief nearly paralyzing her very thoughts. “Spirit,” she spoke dryly, “I understand…whoever this pony was lived a dismal life and died an even more dismal death. The life I’ve lived thus far is on much the same path, and my death will be much the same if I do not change.” The Spirit’s eyes seemed to narrow, and it snapped open its wings. From them snuck about several tendrils of shadow, crawling and stretching and twisting until no more light pierced Snowfall’s vision. Snowfall shook, a pale beam breaking through the blackness and lighting upon a wooden floor, crawling across the dust until it climbed upon a bare four-post bed with nothing more than a plain sheet draping it. The light slid across the sheet, and Snowfall felt faint at what was revealed to her, a distressed gasp escaping her being. A mound lay upon the bed, covered head to hoof by the dreary sheet, obscuring the body from the prying eyes of those who may look upon it. No pony—not a friend, not a child, nor parent, nor sibling, nor spouse—stood or sat beside the body. No pony felt the need to give it company in death, nor did anypony feel the need to care for their belongings, the bedchamber dull, dark, and empty. The Spirit stretched out a hoof, gliding across the floor and coming to rest with its hoof directly over the head of the pony—a unicorn, if anything could be implied by the pointy bump where the pony’s head would be. “Spirit, please,” Snowfall breathed, “let’s leave this place. I believe I’ve seen enough.” The Spirit did not move, it’s hoof seeming to stretch closer to the sheet, its implication obvious. “I know what it is you want me to do,” Snowfall nearly cried. “But I can’t. Believe me, I know what it is you want me to know, and I won’t forget. Please, let us go.” The Spirit did not move. Snowfall swallowed against a rising lump of fearful dread, and looked back down upon the figure, legs beginning their trembling once again. “If…if there is anypony moved by this mare’s death, please…” Snowfall begged, “please show them to me.” The Spirit’s brow seem to crease in anger, and shadows flew at Snowfall, enveloping her at once, brushing her legs and tugging at her mane and coat. The shadows stretched, forming a long space before melting away into walls, and floor, and a ceiling. With a flap, the darkness converged into a single shape, and a grey pegasus with a blonde mane hovered about the hall, golden eyes looking about nervously, unable to uniformly focus on a single spot. The door at the end of the hall opened, and the mare rushed to the brown earth pony that had entered. “How’d it go?” she asked at once. “Are we going to be okay?” She received no immediate response, the stallion’s blue eyes alight with something nearly unreadable, a self-suppressed glee he almost could not hide. “Well?” the mare insisted. “Is it good news or bad news?” “Em…bad news, I suppose,” the stallion admitted. The mare landed in shock and worry. “Oh no…are we…are we going to…” “Now now, my dear,” the stallion soothed, taking her hooves in his. “It’s not that bad.” “A-are you sure?” she questioned. “Did she extend the deadline?” “The due date is dead,” the stallion said, the spark lighting up his eyes. “As is she.” The mare gasped in delight, her hooves flying to her mouth as she immediately chastised herself for such a reaction. “The debt wasn’t transferred to anypony?” “It will be,” continued the stallion with a smile. “But by then, we’ll have everything. And even if we don’t, no pony can be as cold-hearted as she. We can sleep easy tonight, my dear.” The mare shouted in joy, embracing the stallion. He returned it with a laugh of his own, the two spinning in delight in their hallway. “Please, Spirit!” Snowfall begged. “Isn’t there anypony connected to death in mourning?” The Spirit seemed to pause, before quickly plunging into shadow, darkness whipping around Snowfall as she fought to shield her eyes and maintain her bearings. The scene around Snowfall dissolved into mist, the ghostly vapors twisting and turning, morphing into the shapes of ponies before gaining depth. They solidified, the darkness rushing away to leave Snowfall Frost in a small living room. In stark contrast to the happy determination she had left, her ears perked to the sound of quiet weeping. For a moment, she was relieved the Ghost had found somepony who would mourn the one under the sheet, only to stop when she saw who it was that was crying. Her stomach sank with the dread that filled it, her heart forming a lump in her throat. Huddled together on the tattered couch sat four ponies, two mares and two fillies, holding each other tight through their tears. The dreadful air that filled the space between them chilled Snowfall to her very core. Leaning on each other, Rose Bloom and Carol Belle quietly wept in each other’s forelegs; their guardians, Merry and Flutterholly, silently wiped tears from their own cheeks as they tried to comfort their little sisters. Snowfall Frost tore her eyes away from the depressing sight with immense difficulty, setting her sights upon the Spirit of Hearth's Warmings Yet to Come. She opened her mouth to ask the dreaded question that plagued her mind, only for her voice to catch in her throat, entangling itself in the lump her heart had formed. The Spirit regarded her silently, its cold gaze piercing her from beneath its hood. Slowly, a dark hoof appeared from the cloak, raising and pointing it to a tiny staircase leading to the second floor of the tiny abode. Snowfall gulped, her stomach sinking to her hooves and effectively weighing them down to the point where she felt she would be unable to move them even if she wanted to. Not wanting to see what her mind was already telling her, she instead opted to ask: "Where is—" she was cut off by the opening door, the biting wind swirling flurries of gray snow into the small house, following the hooves of the pony who had made her way home. Snowdash’s eyes swept across the room, glistening from the outside chill as a strained smile pained her face. She took in the mournful faces of the mares and fillies making up the room, and met them all with a joy so plainly and terribly dying. "Come on, now," she spoke softly, her cheery voice carrying about the room emptily, as if the pegasus that stood before them were no more than a ghost, herself. "There won't be any of that on Hearth's Warming Eve." She regarded the four with the warmth of a fading ember in the midst of snow. As she stepped toward the tiny staircase, the glow within her flickered, and she swayed suddenly, catching herself on the wall. Flutterholly, letting go of Rose Bloom, made to meet with her at the base of the stairs, only to be stopped by a held-up hoof, the smile returning at half its first strength. Snowdash regained her composure, fragile as it was, and trudged up the stairs. Snowfall glanced at the pointed hoof of the Spirit, stepping silently, unseen, after her clerk. Snowdash came to a stop at the first door in the hall, hesitating. Pulling up the last of her resolve, she pushed open the cracked door to face what she was so afraid to see. She forced herself forward, each hoof seeming as heavy as each of Miracle's chains. With each step, her face and composure melted, her hooves stumbling until she collapsed onto the edge of the bed, clinging to the little hoof resting upon the chest that no longer held a breath. Snowfall watched on in astonishment, her own heart clenching at the wail that clawed its way out of the other mare’s throat. Snowdash gasped as if she were drowning, her body trembling under the weight of her own heartbreak. She allowed herself only a moment of weeping, her hoof traveling to the still, peaceful face of the filly. She planted a kiss on the forehead that would nevermore crinkle in a frown, nevermore crease in sorrow, nevermore furrow in pain. She pulled herself up, her smile returning, her warmth shimmering deep beneath the ice that had formed from the events of the day. "Don't worry, Scootaluge," she promised, "we'll have just as good a Hearth's Warming as we always do." Snowdash looked upon the little figure a final time, wiped the remaining tears from her eyes, and left the dismal room. Snowfall allowed the mare to pass through her, feeling a deadly numbness as nothing now kept her from a full view of the little pegasus in the bed. Snowfall nearly forgot how to breathe, her own tears blurring the peaceful smile she observed on the filly’s face. Finally, she closed her eyes, pulling her gaze away. She felt the chill of the presence of the Spirit of Hearth’s Warmings Yet to Come over her shoulder, and inquired, “Spirit…please…tell me who that pony was. Tell me what pony is connected to all the others you have shown me. Who, in their death, has affected them in this way? Who has this kind of influence?” She opened dripping eyes to look at the Spirit. Its robes stretched down and across the floor, enveloping the room from floor to ceiling in its shadows, before it, too, seemed to blur out of existence. Snowfall shivered, a flurry of white flakes passing over her eyes. With their motion, the shadows were pulled, chased away by the whipping wind and unfolding scene before her. Snowfall found herself following the moving curtain of shadow, the movement–and her gaze–ending upon a lonely slab of stone, marking a grave. Snowfall once more felt a trembling within her legs, a sickening dread like she had never before experienced overtaking every other emotion she could possibly feel. The Spirit of Hearth’s Warmings Yet to Come rose from behind the grave, glaring down at Snowfall Frost. Snowfall Frost forced herself to gaze down at the tombstone she stood before, seeing the name it bore was covered in a layer of snow. Shock numbing her legs, she fell to her haunches, tears beginning anew in her eyes as she brought them up to the Spirit. “Spirit,” she called over the howling wind, “before I reveal the name on this stone, please…tell me…” she gasped, “are the things I have seen as set in stone as the writing upon this grave, or are they simply the shadows of what could occur? Please, tell me these can be changed!” The only response the Spirit gave was an unfurling of its wings. With it, the wind’s direction was changed, and it attacked the grave, blowing away the snow to reveal the name of the pony it sat above: Snowfall Frost With a frightened cry, Snowfall Frost took in the carving. “No, Spirit! Was that…was that me under the sheet?! Please, Spirit!” The Spirit of Hearth’s Warmings Yet to Come offered no consolation, its icy eyes pulsing with a deadly luminescence. Snowfall Frost threw herself over the tombstone, gripping the cloak of the Spirit. “Spirit, I beg of you! I am not the pony I was! I will keep Hearth’s Warming in my heart all the year long. I will live in the Past, Present, and Future all the rest of my days. Please tell me, by doing so, I can change what I have seen. Please tell me that by changing myself I will change what is written on this stone!” She removed her face from the Spirit’s cloak, bringing her gaze to its face. The Spirit of Hearth’s Warmings Yet to Come looked upon her with eyes no longer slit. Its gaze having softened, a warm smile rose upon its muzzle. Snowfall braced against the onslaught of wind whipping about her, the shadows of the Spirit’s robes enveloping her once again. The Spirit’s robes morphed in her hooves, and Snowfall watched its face fade into the darkness, the shadows taking on a familiar pattern in the midst of their deepness. All at once, the shadows melted away, and Snowfall was met with the sight of her own bed curtains.