//------------------------------//
// Promised Landing 
// Story: Book 1 - The Behemoth came to Canterlot 
// by Equimorto 
//------------------------------//

Sweetie Belle weakly raised her head from her pillow. "I... I think it's over," she feebly said. "Can I get some water?" Her words came out dry, almost like hissing.
Zecora walked up to her with a jug. "You were looking quite ill. Four whole buckets you did fill." She passed the jug to Sweetie who first tried to grasp it in her magic, then took it with her hooves instead and drank from it. Seeing that, Zecora asked, "Does it still hurt your head? And would you like some bread?"
Sweetie took another sip, then thought about it, one hoof to her stomach and one to her temple. "No bread yet, but you can bring some, I'll eat it later. Head's doing a little better."
Zecora nodded, and left the jug there in case Sweetie wished to drink again. Walking away, she was careful not to step into the fifth of the aforementioned buckets, still thankfully mostly empty. "Were it not so grim it would be rather silly," she commented to the doctor there in the room, "to think so much could come out of such a small filly."
The doctor adjusted his glasses. "It was a lot, yeah." It was true. He wasn't even sure it was physically possible, not like that was in any way a measure of what could and couldn't happen in the world they lived in anymore. Magical diseases had always been a thing, anyway, but the more relatively recent developments often outweirded even those by a fair margin.
Sweetie Belle took another small sip, while Zecora walked out of the room. She didn't feel like vomiting anymore, and that was a massive improvement over the previous however many hours it had been. It had started out bad in the morning already, and she'd gotten intrusive visions about the battle the whole day, but at one point things had just gotten out of control.
As far as she could tell from what she remembered of what she'd understood of what she'd been forced to see, it all had happened around the time Nightmare Moon, or what really looked like Nightmare Moon but also didn't quite look like her, had screamed really really loud. Loud enough to give Sweetie even more of a headache, though maybe that was also the way she'd been forced to hear it.
She had been forced to endure visions all day, but those she could deal with. The contents were anything but pleasant, but she could mostly tune them out. The deaths she'd seen she could pretend to have ignored, and things mostly worked out even if it made her stomach churn, for sheer disgust rather than any medical reasons. Not after the scream. Not while she was forced to see multiple things at a time.
The sheer amount of information would have been enough to get her nauseous, simply too much for one single brain to process. But the contents hadn't helped, far from it. She'd have nightmares about the whole thing, she knew it. Probably until she died.