There are two places in Equestria called “Hollow Shades.” One is the abandoned settlement of forgotten cults and unspeakable rituals, left to crumble until deeds and town have both been forgotten. Here is where the Pony of Shadows made its last stand, and here its memory has been left to rot like so many others.
Then there are the living Hollow Shades, not so much a settlement as a collection of hovels that happen to huddle together in an especially foul stretch of marshy pine barrens in northeastern Equestria. Officially speaking, the region has no name. To give it a name of its own would provide a nucleus to the dread power of the place, one it could use to build itself into an awareness that would make the Everfree Forest look like a quaintly interactive nature hike. Thus, the locals call it by the name of another place, one whose time has come and gone, in the hopes that the land stays relatively well behaved.
The Hollow Shades are not a nice place, nor are they populated by especially nice ponies. Cloud cover that no pegasus dares interfere with blocks out the sun and moon alike. Love and friendship are in short supply, especially now that the local changeling hive has abandoned generations of attempted social engineering to swear allegiance to Hive Thorax, so that they may learn the secrets of reformation.* Some students of sociology, thaumic symbolism, and similar disciplines believe that Flurry Heart’s alicorn domain can be inferred by studying what else the Shades lack. Few return from their field work.
* Thorax would have happily told them without demanding their fealty. However, Queen Labrum is a shameless and incurable drama queen, which is why her hive had been preying on the Shades in the first place.
Going by their logic, Flurry assuredly is not the alicorn of illicit goods. Anything that can’t, shouldn’t, or mustn’t be purchased elsewhere in Equestria can be found in the Shades for the right price. Some call Klugetown the greatest black market in the world. The Shades go through black to the colors on the other side, and that’s just in the art supply store.
One such example of this transpired in one of the town’s larger alleys. (Calling it a street would be giving it far too much credit, and probably get you shanked.) A cart in the shadow of one of the few brick buildings in town vented steam into the overcast sky, most of the greenish tint coming from the luminescent fungi that served as lampposts. Some sprouted from the ground, some adorned the buildings, and one appeared to grow out of the mane of the pony tending the cart.
A figure furtively moved from shadow to shadow, approaching the cart as indirectly as it could. This was less out of caution and more because it was hard to move any other way in the Hollow Shades, even when walking in a straight line. Eventually, the figure resolved itself into another pony, lean where the cart tender was wide, quick where he was slow, horned where he was earthen.
After a few frantic moments looking for danger around and in the cart, the newcomer said, “Greetings. I have need of a… carrot dog.”
“Do you?” The cart tender did not shift his attention from the cart, nor made any motion to procure anything from it. The cart itself did begin rattling until he gave it a smack. “And how should I… prepare it?”
Every meaningful pause came with a quick glance at their surroundings, ears perked for unwary hoofsteps or far more dangerous sounds. The unicorn's next words were no different. “Are you familiar with… Whinny City style?”
That got a phlegmy snort, disgusted as it was disgusting. “I am afraid I am not so… well-traveled as you, friend.” The cart tender said the last word the same way others might say “idiot” or “sewage.” “This humble cart can only offer so much.”
“Of course, of course." The unicorn nodded frantically, shifting from hoof to hoof, never letting himself get comfortable in one spot for too long. "Very well. I am not inflexible, nor am I desperate."
"Of course," the cart tender echoed with no less scorn than before.
"Perhaps… onions?”
With a surprised grunt, the cart tender straightened from his growing slouch. “What you speak of could indeed be procured… for a price.”
That got a solemn nod. “All things have their price. This I know well." The unicorn's sudden confidence vanished like smoke in the breeze. "And, perhaps… relish?”
Now the cart tender looked up, a hard stare peeking out through his stringy mane. “You tread dangerous ground, friend.”
The unicorn flinched back as though struck. “The onions will suffice.”
“They will.” With practiced motions, the cart tender pulled a carrot off the grill, placed it in a warm bun, and slathered it in diced onions until they were on the verge of spilling out. “Six bits.”
“They are yours,” said the unicorn, tossing a drawstring bag to the cart tender.
For a moment, the cart tender hesitated. The world seemed to hold its breath. At last, he nodded and held out the carrot dog. “Then the compact is sealed.” Only then did the unicorn take it in his magic.
Just before the first bite, a bright blue pegasus swooped down, smiling wider than five usual Hollowfolk put together. “Hey, can I get two with ketchup and mustard?”
The cart tender grunted and pulled the squeeze bottles out of their slots. “How goes your sociology thesis?”
“Nearly got it cracked!”
The unicorn rolled his eyes as he skittered away with his lunch. Out-of-towners never could capture the proper spirit of the white market.