//------------------------------//
// Part 11: Nightmare Night 
// Story: True Harmony 
// by Saturni_Rose 
//------------------------------//

“Nightmare night! What a fright! Give us something sweet to bite!” 
Everywhere they went, the children gave the same rehearsed chant. The last leaves of autumnal browns and reds flitted on the breeze and scattered across the cobbles as they excitedly dashed to the next set of row houses, piling in to pester one apartment dweller after another in hopes of getting sweets and treats. Watching them go, Luna felt she could begin to understand the fun behind it. 
Foals—along with the very occasional griff-chick—filled the streets, all dressed up as their favorite monsters and villains and heroes, be they of myth or more contemporary tales. No fool she, the odd Nightmare Moon costume stuck out in the crowds to Luna’s weary eye. Thus far, it was the only part that bothered her. A child dressed like a chimera she’d faced in battle once, that was one thing. But as the monster she once was? It was more disturbing than she’d like to admit. 
All the same, it was pleasant watching the parents and chaperones playing along. A child would hop down the last few steps of a stoop or porch with a monstrous roar, or heroic call, and they’d jump back, pretending to be in awe. It was a sweet scene every time, despite the subject matter… and the reason this holiday existed. Some small part of Luna thought it might be quite amusing to lose her own disguise and start saying “You’re welcome” as she strutted about town. 
None of her friends had it in them this year to go for a full Nightmare Night experience, taking the shadows at night exchanging scares and sweets. But they all agreed they needed one good thing to take their minds off things. So together, they made for the town square. What their expectations for the play were, varied from pony to pony, but they all agreed it would be easier than hoofing it all through town in full costume. Not that those full costumes had as much effort put in as they might under better circumstances.
Hope and Ruby wore tiny black cloaks that barely covered more than their shoulders, and had cheap fang inserts to give just enough of an impression they were supposed to be vampires. Dash had on a blue hoodie with Wonderbolt decals on the sides, along with a pair of flight goggles loosely dangling round her neck. Fluttershy paced along by her side, nervous at the encroaching dark, wearing a seafoam hoodie with floppy bunny ears hanging down by either shoulder. 
Applejack was scratching herself with every other step. She’d pulled an old itchy shirt down from her attic and stuffed it with old itchy hay. The painted on stitch marks around her lips pulled with her frown, and she almost lost her hat. She promised herself to never be a scarecrow again. Though she likely looked the best out of the bunch, it was decidedly not worth it. 
Applejack had also let Trixie tag along while her brother took Applebloom and her friends trick-or-treating. Trixie was, for once, the only one not in costume. Her little white lie about not wanting to be recognized and steal the thunder out from other costumers convinced none of them. 
Even Rarity was nowhere near as dressed as she tended to be for any given event. Her dress was fairly humble, same as her hairstyle. She’d wanted to emulate a noblemare from Luna’s era; before that unfortunate lunar banishment business of course. Luna had to admire her accuracy to the period. 
Luna, meanwhile… she wanted as little recognition as possible. Lest anyone request an encore performance of Nightmare Moon, in the true spirit of the holiday. She’d put on her Moonshadow disguise from Summer Sun, along with a simple black hood and blank white mask, just for good measure. 
Surprise of surprises, she was recognized, but not in a way she’d ever have expected. A grayish stallion dressed as a lumberjack flagged her down, a simple sheet ghost following along close behind him. “Beggin’ your pardon, there. Don’t want to keep you guys, but we’re not from around here and were just hoping for directions to the square.” 
“We’re actually heading there now.” said Luna as he craned his head to look up at her glowering red eyes peeking through the mask that muffled her speech. She nodded to the group. “You’re welcome to follow us.” 
“Hey that’s dandy.” he said before squinting up at her much harder. “Ya know—and sorry if this is a weird thing to say—but your voice is mighty familiar, stranger. Have we met before?” 
Pausing, Luna considered him. Something about him was vaguely familiar. “Perhaps?” 
The ghost stepped forth, pointing at Luna’s leg. “Mason, look at that purple coat. It’s that apple merchant we met on the outskirts at the Summer Sun Celebration.” When the white hem flew up, there was a pinkish mare beneath with dark hair, all smiles. “It’s me, Harley. Fancy running into you again.” 
Luna’s illusory red eyes gawked at them through the mask before shutting tight as her head flew back with laughter. “Sorry, sorry, that’s simply quite the coincidence.” 
“I’ll say!” hooted Mason, laughing with his wife, who hollered near as loud. Their bouts echoed down the street. 
“We never did get your name though, darling.” said Harley, letting the ghost costume fall back down. “If that’d be alright, of course.”
“It’s Luna.” said Luna, and the two of them went quiet. The apparition and timberman looked at each other, then back to her. 
“You’re yankin’ my chain.” said Mason, dumbstruck. 
“Do be reasonable, darling.” said Harley, nuzzling against him ever so slightly. “She could be named for her.” 
“B-but she’s so tall.” he stammered, turning to his wife. “And she was here that day—she and her friends defeated Nightmare Moon.” 
Harley looked at the friends, several of whom pleasantly waved. Then back up at Luna, whose eyes flashed from red to blue, then back again with a wink. “Oh.” she said. “Oh dear. I disrespected royalty.” 
“You were hardly disrespectful. And I’m not royalty.” Luna scoffed. She stepped aside, sweeping her hoof to her gathered friends. Introductions were shared, hooves were shaken, and the couple gladly accepted her invitation to join them. 
Singing danced on the winds and down the streets, long before she and her entourage ever reached the square. The voice drifted above the chatter of the coming, going, and growing crowd, faint and enticing, drawing them closer, closer still. The sun would be gone soon. 
When they pushed through the final intersection, they could just make out an opportunistic busker squatting in front of the stage. He was costumed like an undead bard of olden days—Luna’s era, in fact. His costume was inaccurate to the period in a number of ways she thought it best to let go of for now. 
His grotesque makeup stretched when he belted out the next verse, sonorous voice howling about being cautious, this being the season of the witch. He sang slow and strummed his guitar fast. It was a feast for the ears. Members of the passing crowd tipped him before moving on to find somewhere among the laid out benches to sit for the coming show. 
Luna stared at him through the crowd. Something about his voice touched her. Turning to the group, she said: “I’m going to go toss our bard a coin.” She picked out Rainbow, given she was the most assertive. “Could you find us a large enough empty space so we can all sit together?” 
“You got it, girl.” she said and took off. 
Before the rest of the group could split and see about concessions or show pamphlets, Luna was given a few more coins from others also appreciating the preshow. By the time she swam through the shifting ponies to get to him, the song was long since done. She found him resting a moment, drinking some water. 
Perhaps she might have smiled, but the mask concealed it away. So she simply inclined her head quite deeply and let the small clutch of coins fall into his floppy hat laid out before him. 
He almost sputtered his water. His red eyes sparkled and his grin widened. “Thank you kindly, stranger. Any requests for the generous patron of the arts?” 
Luna was already in the process of turning to move on, but thought on this. Shrugging, she said: “How about something as moody as I’m feeling these days?” 
“Vague,” he chuckled, his voice raspy and wisened, “I like that. Perfect for the season.” He winked at her and off she went. 
Behind her, strumming started back up, and he began to sing a solemn tune about patient nights and starry fields. Luna paused her trek, drinking it in, breathing the crisp autumn air, calmly, slowly. For the first time in a while, she felt at peace. 
As the sun went down, stage hooves came out of the tents far on the opposite side of the stage, where doubtless more waited alongside the thespians of the evening. The undead bard finished out his set, seeing his turn was nearly over. He poured the coins he’d earned from hat to pouch, pulling it tight, then took a long, dramatic bow, sweeping said hat across the cobbles. 
A round of applause gently washed over the crowd, and Trixie made a point of turning toward their group, hooves crossed but voice low, to say: “If I had known warming up the crowd was allowed, I would have stolen the show.” She tapped her chin, watching him take his leave through the main path through the benches. “I wonder if he’d be open to collaborating.” 
As he passed them by, he noticed the white mask and stepped up over to Luna on the edge of the bench with a smile. “I do hope my pick was satisfactory to the lady’s request.” 
“Absolutely.” Luna told him pleasantly, smiling with her eyes as much as she could so he’d notice through the mask. “You have a lovely singing voice, serrah.” 
His hoof went to his chest, humbled, smiling warmly despite the makeup making him look all the more a cold cadaver. “You’re too kind.” 
Trixie was leaning across AJ and Rarity’s laps, quietly going: “Psst. Ask him for me.” 
“Is that the Trixie the illusionist I spy?” he said, red eyes wandering over. 
Sitting up, prim, proper, proud, Trixie said: “The one and only great and powerful.” 
“Wonderful to meet you. I caught some of your show on the tail end of summer. Pretty entertaining stuff.” He shook his head even as her eyes lit up. “A shame that griffin saw fit to end it early for you.” 
Trixie’s mood sank in heartbeat. “Ah, right. Not my proudest moment.” 
“Oh, I’ll bet.” His expression was a mix of amusement and sympathy. It had been a touch funny, even if it was too far for a joke. “So imagine my surprise when none other than that exact griffin passes me by earlier as part of tonight’s production.” 
“What?” blurted Rainbow, spinning around in her seat. She quieted down when other patrons eyed them. Leaning into the conversation, she said: “The Gilda I know would never get into something like this.” 
The bard pondered her before shrugging. “Perhaps she’s had a change of heart. Performance can be a joyous thing.” 
“Can I see that real quick?” Rainbow asked Rarity, pointing to the program she’d been reading. When passed along, she honed in on the page for the main cast. Her eyes locked into place. Sure enough. “‘Gilda of Griffinstone in her debut performance as viscount Elouisa?’ I don’t believe it.” 
Flummoxed looks fixed on faces all around. Most confused of all were Mason and Harley, so Fluttershy politely leaned over to quietly bring them up to speed. 
“I haven’t seen or heard from her since she stormed off in the summer.” Dash’s face was crinkled with confusion. “Now she’s acting?” 
“In a starring role no less.” added Trixie in a most suspicious tone. “Top billing alongside Rena Belle as Philomena. If this is true, it’s quite the turn around.” 
“I dare say this evening just became far more interesting.” spoke Ratity trying to steal an early peek at the ensemble past props and backdrops being established. 
“Oh, honey, I do concur.” added Harley with a rich little bout of laughter. 
“Aw, dear,” chided Mason from beside her, “you are incorrigible.” 
Applejack had a mortified look on her face, mumbling: “Oh my gosh, there’s two of ‘em.” 
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Rarity, turning upon her, tone as dry as a bitter white wine. 
Luna remained quiet as the chatter, wondering, and bickering happened around her. The gears were turning. This seemed such a huge coincidence, that perhaps… 
No. she told herself. It couldn’t be the shadow’s doing. It’s far too preposterous and unproductive. Eyeing the painted backdrop of a decrepit manor far away on a bleak hill, she gulped. But it would be quite cruel. 
“Looks like the show is about to start.” spoke the bard as mayor Mare took the stage. “Sorry to stir something up I probably shouldn’t have. Hope everyone here has a good rest of your evening. And happy Nightmare Night.” 
Luna watched him walk away, his puffy sleeves and floppy hat disappearing from the soft edges of the lights pointed stageward. Into the dark he went, seemingly in search of the next spot he could play in. She hoped to see him again, to toss another coin and hear another lovely song. Part of her, however, wondered if she might not ever again get to hear his guitar. 
“So without further ado,” said Mare up on stage, drawing her back around, “join me in a night of debuts. This is the first complete work of our mysterious new playwright, and the first major roles for many of our actors. Thus I present: ‘The Haunting of Harpy Hills.’”
The opening scene saw a lone spotlight upon Rena as Philomena, narrating a letter she was writing. Behind her was a facade of stacked boards, and stage hooves off to the side used devices to imitate creaking, and flicked little white gobbets of foam at her to imitate splash and spray of the salty brine. She explained that her final, desperate effort to find work saw her riding across the seas to Harpy Hills, a bluff side community rich in history; and hopefully rich in actual riches. 
The lights went out, the seaworthy facade lost, and she stood by logs stood upright with thick ropes of hemp connecting them. It was a dock, Luna realized. She had to admit, she appreciated the little details the props created. 
The only sailor she’d apparently befriended gave her all the advice he could muster about the old town. Most noteworthy of all, he pointed to the manor in the painted distance, telling her to stay well away. Viscount Elouisa lived there, and every scrap of wealth in the entire province went through her miserly claws. And, he told her, dramatic caution heavy on his words, “she were no mere descendent of the first Harpy Count. She’s one and the same.”
Philomena halfheartedly chuckled aloud. “But how would such a thing even be possible?”
He leaned in real close. “She’s a vampire, o’ course.” Looking around nervously, he added: “But you never heard such a nasty rumor from me, hey?” 
She rolled her eyes, stifling another laugh. “Rumor indeed, Pete. You take care. And thanks again for all your help.” 
“Aye, you too.” He winked and added: “Take care especially with rumors that haunt old towns like this.” 
When the lights went out for another major scene change, Rena and a few other actors spoke to each other aloud over the hustle of the stage hooves. She asked them each for a job, sounding more desperate each time. And every time she asked, the answer was some variation of “no.” 
The lights came back on, dimmer now to imply lateness. Philomena wandered down a dim alleyway, counting out her clinking prop coins. “I’ve just enough to eat and sleep for a few more nights. Sun and moon above, though, I need to find work or… I simply don’t know what will become of me.” 
The backdrop rolled as she slowly meandered across stage, changing to a cobble street at night. Prop handlers snuck by under the lip of the stage, setting up buckets they quickly placed dry ice into to give her a little fog to get lost in. From stage right, a figure dressed all in black entered, moving briskly. Naturally, the two collided. 
Of the two, Philomena was the one bowled over onto her side, but she quickly got up to apologize. “I’m so very sorry, I wasn’t quite watching where I was going.” 
“I should say so, my good lady.” She turned to say it, and there was Gilda, dressed like a brooding lord from centuries ago. This seemed after Luna’s time, though, so she couldn’t comment on period accuracy this time. 
Her friend group exchanged looks, consternated or confounded, still otherwise surprised it was her. It was almost more surprising how well she was doing. Her mannerisms, her speech, even her accent—she was wholly transformed. Rainbow couldn’t take her eyes off her, or un-gape her jaw. 
“I-it’s you. The viscount.” stammered Philomena. 
Far more coyly, Elouisa said: “Ah, so my good reputation still precedes me. Well, I suppose there is no harm done.” She dusted off Philomena’s dress. “Let’s see this doesn’t happen again and we can let bygones be bygones. Good evening to you.” 
Philomena watched her tip her expensive looking hat and begin to depart. “Wait. Sorry, it’s rather… you wouldn’t happen to need any work done on your estate? Would you?” 
Looking back at her, most shrewdly, the viscount said: “Hardly, my good lady. Now, good evening. I’ve affairs to attend to yet.” 
“Oh but please, give me a chance.” She practically threw herself in front of the noble griffin. 
“Bit of friendly advice, while I’m still amicable. Desperation is most unbecoming.” She threw her beak up in disgust and walked briskly on. 
Philomena monologued a tad longer before the scene was over. With no dialogue happening, the group exchanged approval of things so far. Luna herself eased much more. She wasn’t sure what she’d been so worried about. 





Worry crept back in as the story unfolded. Oh, the actors were doing well, and the prop and set teams were outdoing themselves with each new scene. But the story was simply too familiar for her liking. 
Philomena did start working for Elouisa, after asserting herself more confidently, as per her advice. She began by cleaning the entire manor, top to bottom. This would take days within the fiction. It was established that the viscount usually took care of this herself, but hadn’t as of late, feeling all too sorry for herself to so much as lift a feather duster. 
It took about thirty minutes worth of scenes for their bond to grow before Elouisa revealed the rumors were true: she was a vampire. Philomena had had her growing suspicions, but loved having her trust her enough to say so. Only, Elouisa was no victim of circumstance, stricken by a curse she never asked for. She revealed having been a tyrant of a vampire lord, one who claimed the very province of Harpy Hills through ruthless acts. 
Philomena told her the past didn’t need to define her, that she was always welcome to change and be better. That’s when the two of them noticed their claws and hooves tenderly meeting. The two broke away, embarrassed, and agreed to meet on her next day of work. They left at opposite ends of the stage. 
Mare took the stage again, declaring an intermission and the end of part one. As folks shuffled about to stretch their legs or seek the latrine or see about refreshing their confessions, Luna looked about the crowd. Disguise or no, she wanted to see if someone—or something—recognized her and was itching to see her reaction thus far. No eyes of any kind seemed to be stuck on her for any reason than briefly gawking at the extra tall unicorn, as far as she could tell. 
She got a small paper cup of water from the vendors and went off to one side. Removing her mask, she splashed a few drops across her face. Perhaps she was being paranoid. The similarities to her own life could be an extraordinary coincidence. It would be an even bigger one, she realized, that the two primary characters had names similar to Pinkie’s and that of the persona she met her under. One she wore even now… 
Luna looked over the dark purple coat, how it faded into the night around her. She was hiding again. It had seemed somewhat reasonable, at first. Now, she wasn’t so sure. So before rejoining the others, she shook off the coat of purple, letting her navy blue feathers slip out from her cloak. Whatever may spot her tonight, let it. 





Part two of the story felt like it moved along quicker, despite actually being much longer. This was where the exciting things happened. Hunters of the supernatural arrived in town to interrogate the budding couple as they grew only closer by the day. But as the hunters got closer to the truth, the vampiric viscount became more irritable and despondent. She wanted to be with Philomena, but every day it was a new reminder of the monster she’d been—the blood on her claws and fangs. 
Enough came to be enough. The phase of puppy love between them had been sweet, but all too brief. When Philomena thought to chide her again, Elouisa bared her fangs and told her to be gone. It was a neat trick, since none of them had seen Gilda slip the pointed fangs into place. 
The next scene saw the townsfolk noticing the torn sleeve on Philomena’s dress and assuming the worst. The hunters gathered them, and the whole cast pretended to march up that hill to confront the monster. No matter how she pleaded with them, how she screamed that Elouisa could change, it fell upon deaf ears. 
Philomena managed to sneak through side entrances they didn’t know about while the chanting crowd fretted over breaking down the front gate. Here they were, in Elouisa’s chambers, one last time. 
“I thought you knew better than to enter a home without express permission.” The doomed viscount stared daggers at her over her shoulder from where she hunched above her desk. She’d been in the middle of finalizing her last will and testament. 
“We don’t have time for etiquette. Those people refuse to leave here until… u-until you’re dead or all of them are.” 
Turning back around, wings shifting, Elouisa flatly told her: “Then so be it.” 
Philomena shook her head, drawing closer to more pathetically beg of her. “It doesn’t have to be this way. We could run away. Just you and me. Start over somewhere else.” 
“And how am I to flee through the midday sun?” She shook her head. “Philomena. You are the cleverest, most earnest and charming lady I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. So surely you can see there is no third option here.” 
Philomena bristled, getting angry now. “And what happened to the regret and sorrow you cried out onto my shoulder? You would play the slaughterer once more? You won’t.” 
“You’re exactly right.” That’s when Elouisa grabbed an object from her desk, flinging it across the floor between them. It shone and flickered in the dim light before clattering to a stop at Philomena’s hooves. 
“Is this a sick joke?” asked Philomena bitterly, presenting the dagger for the audience. 
“It’s silvered.” explained Elouisa flatly. “Perfect for cutting a life short, even if it’s supernaturally long.” 
Philomena nearly dropped it. She shook her head. “I won’t. No. There has to be another way.” 
“I’ll spare them their lives, but those hunters doubtless have silver as well. It’s either going to be them or you. I should rather have it be you.” She put her claws on Philomena’s shaking shoulders. 
Again she shook her head. “There has to be another way, there just has to be. We’ll cover you head to tail in thick cloth to cover you up from the sun, and you can outrun them, surely.” 
“You know it doesn’t work that way.” Banging sounded off from stage right. Their time was growing short. Locking eyes with her, Elouisa told her: “What did I say before? Desperation is most unbecoming.” 
Before Philomena might protest any further, Elouisa dipped her into a kiss, and all went silent. Eyes closed, they stayed like that for what felt like minutes. Then, it happened. The end of the knife stuck through the back of Elouisa’s cloak, drawing a soft gasp rippling from the audience. 
Elouisa gasped too, going pale, her eyes shaking. A dry chuckle escaped her. “You have my thanks, Philomena. For reminding me that… there are still things in this world worth ch—” she coughed, spitting up from the pellet of fake blood she’d snuck into her beak, “cherishing.” 
Philomena choked up as the grip on her shoulders loosened and Elouisa collapsed to the floor, dagger slipped between her chest and leg so it would stick in place from the right angle. When the hunters burst in on the scene they paused, finding her sobbing over her lost love. A well dressed gray earth mare had been waiting for this moment in the ensemble below the stage. Her bow ran across her cello, humming out a solemn tune, low and heavy with sorrow. 
Rainbow found this schmaltzy, and AJ muttered she shouldn’t have expected a happy ending, given the season and subject matter. Fluttershy and Rarity chided them respectively, both sniffling. Ruby leaned on Hope’s shoulder, hiccuping. Mason pat his wife’s shoulder, joking that the good thing about a classic sheet-ghost costume was having a built-in kerchief ready to go. 
As the musical number went on, the stage lights dimmed more and more. The scene grew darker, until the only light was being shed by a lit candelabra. One of the hunters slowly went over and blew out the flames in time with the final notes of the sad solo piece. 
Applause. 
In time, the lights came back on. Philomena was on the dock again, stealing one last, longing, pained glance at the manor on the hill. Turning back to the false churning of the sea, she began to narrate a new letter. 
“My time in Harpy Hills has been… enlightening. And though in this year, I have managed to earn enough money to continue on for now, I find I cannot stay here any longer. And I wouldn’t either; not if it was the only place that would have me in the whole wide world. This is…” She wavered before drawing a breath to press on. “This place is haunted. By too many memories, both lovely and terrible. My only remaining hope is that in time, I too can be reminded that some things in life are worth cherishing.” 
A horn blew, signaling the arrival of her vessel for home. She lingered, unable to help but look back one last time. Then, her steps were stiff and filled with remorse as she exited the scene. The lights went out one last time. It was over, so there came another round of applause. On it went as the lights came on to reveal the entire cast standing together, poised, ready, and taking a bow. From somewhere in the crowd, bouquets flew onto the stage before the two leads. 
Still clapping, Trixie leaned over to tell the group: “Alright, not bad, not bad.” 
They began speaking about the parts they liked, the surprisingly great fits to certain roles, the exceptional prop work. It all washed over Luna, her azure eyes darting this way and that. This couldn’t be it. There had to be a trick somewhere in all of it, waiting to be sprung on her, or her friends, or—heavens above forbid it—the fine folk of Ponyville thinking they were being treated to a free show for the holiday. The shadow had to have some sick twist planned, just like with the last holiday she was dragged into, her name smeared across its legend. She knew it—and the mysterious playwright not showing herself proved it. Her eyes stayed narrow and her teeth stayed gritted. 
Was it Gilda? Pinkie surely loathed her. She must be here for Luna to watch them do to her what she refused to. What torture had been planned, what grotesqueries ready to capitalize on exactly this holiday so ripe for horror? Her breathing rattled under her mask. 





The walk home had been exhausting. Luna barely remembered leaving the square. Nothing had happened. Nothing continued to happen. Rainbow wanted to catch up with Gilda, so she let her. She had figured there were fewer ponies more apt to getting her away from danger, or, barring that, coming and getting her to deal with the supernatural more rapidly. Trixie and Fluttershy going with her further put her at ease. 
The group had shed members as they walked back through town, chill growing on the wind. There were no more children running about and chanting for treats any longer. Only the breeze and idle background chatter of a town late at night on a holiday, various parties on various blocks losing their momentum or winding down all together. Luna scarcely recalled when they had bid their farewells to the last of their friends and acquaintances, but found herself unlocking the front door, Ruby yawning in tow. 
Inside, Marble quietly awaited their return. Setting aside a book she was occupying her time with, she told there was nothing of note to report while she’d been looking out from upstairs. She offered to put on some tea, and Ruby said she’d get the cups. Luna thanked them, heading upstairs to try and clear her head. What she left out was that it ached; it ached terribly. 
The staircase, so simple a path, became a trek for her, the pressure seemingly mounting in her skull with each heavy step. Turning on the light to her bedroom filled her with immediate regret, but she left it, tossing aside the mask and cloak to make for her bathroom. A few splashes of cold water would hopefully dull this foul malaise. In she went, ran the faucet, and doused her face. 
When she was drying her face, she heard a click. Like a door closing. 
Wrenching her face up from a dampened towel, one eye shot open to break through her bangs matted with sweat. The only light pouring in was from the bedroom, and nothing stood where she could see it past the frame. She took one tentative step forward. Then another. Her mind raced, thinking of spells she might be ready to cast to defend herself. But defend against what? Not knowing meant she could easily choose the wrong spell. 
Another step forward. 
If she chose the wrong spell, it could have little to no effect on her assailant. Wait, how asinine of her—she was overthinking this, it was obvious what awaited her—she thought about light spells, but which one to use?
Another step. 
There were flashes and stunners and magelights and illusory candle flames and—
“Boo!” yelled a figure swinging down from above the door frame. 
Luna yelped, a harmless magelight sparking off her horn and bouncing off into her bedroom beyond as she tumbled backwards. Sitting up, she backed against the far wall of her bathroom, looking at the figure swing in place, cackling with laughter at her expense. A gold mask smiled at her, and limp magenta hair brushed the floor. Luna’s heart sank far and away into some dark abyss in her chest. “No,” she mewled, a pathetic creature in the end, “it got you. Oh no, Pinkie.” 
“You should see the look on your face.” taunted the thing called Pinkie. She let go of the frame, spinning in the air with ease to land upright. One confident step after another brought her into the dark little room, light fading away behind her fast. Her white jacket crinkled as she moved, and the blue teardrop stone in her mask sparkled in the shadow. “What’s the matter, Luna? What has you soooooo tense?” 
Hot, furious breath hissed through Luna’s clenching teeth. “Let her go. Your trouble is with me.” 
“And lose getting to see how you’re looking at me now? Fat chance, princess.” She chuckled as Luna fumed harder. One smile flashed through the other. “So? Having a hard time deciding if you want to kill me or kiss me?” 
Luna bristled up at that, cheeks flushing. 
“Go on.” said “Pinkie,” drawing closer before she could think up a response. She placed a firm hoof upon Luna’s horn, lifting her chin to aim it right for her neck. “Do it.” 
Mouth hanging open, Luna stared at her. Again, her words caught in her throat. 
“‘It’s either going to be them or you.’” she cooed, cupping Luna’s cheeks. “‘I should rather have it be you.’” 
“That was your doing.” Luna’s saddened eyes tightened back with a fury. “What’s your plan—what are you going to do to those innocent people?!” She got no words in response, but those blue eyes smiled more deviously by the second. “Answer me!” 
The possessed Pinkie Pie tut-tutted her, practically ashamed. In the blink of an eye, her smiling mask became a crying mask, golden facade wracked with grief and anguish. “Where would the drama be if I told you the twist so easily?” 
“Fie, monster!” spat Luna, her blood boiling. 
“Ah, ah, ah, princess. Best watch that temper of yours, else your precious jester will never love you again.” Lifting the mask just enough, she freed her snout to kiss Luna on the nose. “Or have you so easily forgotten the oath you swore?” 
A single tear formed at the corner of Luna’s eye. She loved that little peck; and she hated herself for that. The feeling of being loved was something she still craved, how the desire ached all round the chamber containing her heart. But when that heart thudded, shaking its housing, she knew she was being selfish. And it was time to change. 
“You’re right,” she sighed, “I did swear an oath. There’s just one problem.” She reached up and hugged Pinkie, yanking her masked face against her shoulder. “My oath keeper isn’t technically here right now.” 
“Wh—” she began, before very rudely being cut off by a white hot blast of magic. She flew right through the frame, thudding hard against the far wall, and falling onto the pink sheets of Luna’s own bed. It was not altogether too unpleasant a landing, actually. She spun into a far more relaxed, almost enticing position upon it, her mask smiling again. “Weird way to invite me to bed, but okay.” 
Luna stepped into the smoldering door frame, moon white flames dancing around her, bowing to the glorious return of their lunar princess of might and power. Energy crackled between her horn and glowering eyes. “How very dare you use her against me. And how dare you threaten my other friends, and their friends besides. Monstrous scum, I shall eradicate your every kind that dares leave the plane of my namesake!” 
Nightmare Pinkie clapped her hooves, positively giddy. “There she is! There’s the magic warrior I fell in love with and missed so much!” Rising upon her hooves, she arched her back; the white jacket seemed to tear to shreds of its own accord with bony clicks and sickening snaps. It transformed into newfound limbs, spreading wide into pale, bat-like wings. “You want to play?” she cried out in joyous excitement. “Let’s play!”