//------------------------------// // Visions and Sensibilities // Story: The Ash // by Raging Mouse //------------------------------// Chapter 20: Visions and Sensibilities Rarity smoothed out a crease in the lacework. Then she backed up and regarded the ponnequin for a while. If she searched her feelings she knew she’d find the satisfaction of a completed project somewhere in there... ...Somewhere behind her horror at what she’d made. A muse, Rarity considered, is a fickle thing, and their every whisper should be caught and retold by the artist, lest the muse take offense and find somepony more willing to be her hooves and horn. Rarity could of course produce dresses according to the demands of a customer, a task that rarely if ever required the blessings of a muse, but she had never ever considered being such a mere seamstress, content to make dresses that some other pony had designed. Dressmaking was her way of expressing herself, and would she have been a more superstitious pony then there’d have been an altar to her muse somewhere in the boutique. She felt she would grieve less if she lost her ability to speak than if her inspiration, her muse, left her. There were times when her muse was sulking, of course. It invariably meant Rarity would be driven to distraction and hysterics looking at her bare ponnequins. She fancied that this display of how she depended on her muse, and couldn’t function without her, always served as an apology for whatever had offended her inspiration. The opposite could also be true. Rarity’s muse could also whisper into her mind so many designs that they swarmed in her thoughts and danced in her dreams. She’d wake up and find that she’d tried to make a ball gown out of her bedsheets in her sleep. Even so she accepted it with stoicism and gratefulness. If her cup runneth over then she wasn’t imbibing the wine of inspiration quickly enough. Never before something like this, though. Rarity felt she knew the unwritten rules she and her muse agreed upon. Once inspiration struck there had to be a dress, and it had to be complete. To do less was to sin and risk her muse’s wrath. But never before had she been inspired by her nightmares. Never before had she feared that creating something would be an affront against the good and the kind things of the world. There was of course an aesthetic to it, but it was the kind you appreciated by recoiling in horror. Never before had her muse poured poison into her ear. The thing on the ponnequin wasn’t bad. No, it was most definitely one of her greatest works, and now that it was finished she could move on. Already there were whispers of a more benevolent kind from her muse: she fancied that she was being congratulated on performing a difficult but necessary task, and that she was given a promise of a return to the status quo. All that remained was to decide what to do with her creation. Now that her inspiration had been given a form she thought she could dispose of the result as she saw fit. On one hoof she’d rather forget all about this. On the other hoof it could serve as a template of sorts, maybe for Nightmare Night costumes, if properly filtered and toned down. Besides, the ensemble was quite tough: dismantling it would take considerable effort. In fact, it might have been more efficient to simply lug the entire ponnequin outdoors and light it on fire, though that would be bound to raise questions. She considered her predicament for a moment before arriving at her decision with a shrug. Let them ask. Let them talk! She could do with her name on ponies’ lips in Canterlot. The mystique would probably do her good. She gripped the ponnequin with her magic and lifted it. She put the ponnequin down and released it. It was quite heavy, especially so with her latest work on it, but she was no slouch when it came to telekinesis. That wasn’t the problem, though. She’d felt something. An incompleteness. There was one step missing. Her mental spawn had a purpose, and her muse would not let her off the hook before it had been fulfilled. The thought filled her with both dread and manic anticipation. Normally her heart would sing at this stage, but though it did beat quickly it was not from anything positive. Rarity shut her eyes, leaned her head against the ponnequin and sobbed. She was trapped. Going back was as unthinkable to her as going forward. Tears splashed onto the carpet and her frame shook as she cried bitterly. Her creation wasn’t bad. It was evil. A feeling slowly wormed its way into Rarity’s frayed consciousness, a sense that she was no longer alone. She cursed herself mentally; she should have remembered she wasn’t in her own boutique, but in Canterlot Castle. There was no bell on her door, and she’d forgot to close and lock it anyway. She didn’t want to turn around and check in her current state, though, even if she doubted anypony really had entered her chambers without announcing themselves. So she swallowed her sobs, stilled her shaking and dried her tears with a hoof before turning around and meeting the gaze of a pair of burning, purple eyes. She shrieked, darted into a corner of the room and collapsed into a quivering pile. She heard Twilight’s voice. “I’m sorry, Rarity! I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. It’s just that I heard you crying from the hallway and when I went to check on you I was distracted by this... dress.” A hoof applied a gentle pressure on one of her legs, causing her to flinch and pull them tighter against her. “Rarity? Please, speak to me. What’s the matter? Why were you crying?” Rarity had nowhere to go. For a moment she toyed with the urge to break down completely and wail like never before, wail until somepony would declare her insane and give her some medicine to calm her nerves so she could sleep. She didn’t do that though. It would only be stalling things. So she relaxed her legs and brought them underneath her in order to stand up. Twilight was standing in front of her but she must have seen something unsettling as Rarity rose since she backed away. Rarity looked into the purple fire of her friend’s eyes and sniffed at the irony. “Rarity, you... you look terrible. I’m sorry, but you do. Please, is there anything I can do to help?” A laugh and a sob fought over Rarity’s windpipe for a moment before she re-established control. She needed to keep it together now. “I... I feel terrible, Twilight. But... Maybe you could be willing to help.” “I just said so, didn’t I?” Rarity sighed, gaining strength now as she was moving forward again. “You’ve asked about my inspiration – my muse – before and I’ve told you all you want to hear. So you remember that I believe I have a contract of sorts? What I envision must come to fruition. Therefore... this.” She waved a hoof at the ponnequin and Twilight turned to regard it again. “Its name is ashen regalia.” The – for lack of a better word – dress had started life as a full set of war barding. The steel was colored a dull black and had a nasty, insectile quality in its shaping that couldn’t have originated from any smith. Any sane smith at least. It didn’t intimidate with spikes, instead working a much subtler form of dread. “Did... did you shape the metal?” Twilight stared at the champron. It had a rondel of sorts, but instead of a central spike there were a fringe of various arachnid metal fangs and feeder manipulators surrounding a central hole. “Oh yes. I have spells for working with nearly any suitable material you’d care to mention.” The parts of the ponnequin not covered by metal was obscured by vertical strands of tough cloth. The thick and rigid materials were colored with blues, dark grays and purples in chaotic patterns, looking like a moving line of ember glow on a piece of charcoal or like a dark aurora borealis. Large iron studs dangled near the lower ends of the cloth. “This is... This is because of what you experienced in Canterlot Hospital, isn’t it?” Rarity smiled in spite of the situation, caught herself and found the smile becoming a giggle. “You are right, of course. At first I felt only pity and revulsion as I watched the patients. Their injuries were churning my guts, they truly were. But it was the ones in the closed wards that affected me the hardest even though their injuries often were lighter, if more unfortunately located. I started having... dreams. Dreams of this dress. They were only snippets, vague visions of a terrible shape.” On the back of the dress was a riot of lace shaped like two black wings, partially unfurled like a swan. The lace gave the wings an impression of being faceted, making them look subtly alien. Twilight stared at them for a moment before looking at their creator. “I thought you could dismiss your ideas if they were too vague, Rarity.” “I did dismiss them. I unloaded my sorrow and my disgust together with Applejack and Pinkie Pie and it helped. Then... I saw a pony in the hospital and the next night I dreamed of the whole dress. I woke up and knew every single part of it, and also that there was no escape now. I had to make it. The barding was easy to get, actually. There’s plenty of discarded things in the castle stores and the quartermaster was actually delighted that I’d take it off her hooves. The rest of the material I just had to ask for. Now... now it’s finished.” “Shouldn’t you be relieved then? You can move on and forget about this. I could dispose of it for you.” “Oh Twilight. Thank you for the offer, but no. I don’t think I’ll ever truly forget this even though I wish to with all of my heart. As for moving on... well... there’s one tiny little detail left.” “What’s that?” “Well, when I met that pony in the hospital... Afterwards I always dreamed of the dress being worn. So... I need to present this dress to her. I – I need her to wear it, Twilight.” “Moon and Sun. What did she do to affect you so?” Rarity looked away, unable to meet Twilight’s gaze. “The patients in the hospital... I pitied them. I sometimes felt disgusted by them or surprised and angry when they refused our help. This pony, though. This one pony. She was the only one – the only one in a hospital filled with terror – who truly frightened me.” “Wow. She must be pretty scary! Who is it? You indicate it’s not one of the patients. One of the doctors? A visitor? I can’t imagine you got many visitors: the one time I came to see you you were... so... scared...” Rarity hung her head and lowered herself slowly to the floor, still looking away from Twilight. She mumbled. “Everypony else is scrambling to deal with this crisis as best they can. This one mare also took it badly at first, but then... she coped. She... found her place, her center. She has talents she could use and resources at her disposal to let her use them. She wears the catastrophe of the falling mountain like a coat. So I made an outfit of it for her to wear. Other ponies also notice this air around her, you know. I’ve talked to them. I have to, because in my head I am screaming and raging at myself for being so terrified. Knowing I am not the only one helps a bit, but only makes the question of why so much more urgent.” “Uh, Rarity... when we met... at the hospital. You... you said I’d frightened you. But you’d just forgotten that, right? You’re really talking about somepony else... I don’t really scare you, right?” Rarity turned to look at Twilight. She gazed deep into the purple fire of Twilight’s eyes and felt the ice gather in her stomach. “I’m very very sorry, Twilight. You terrify me as few things have before. I don’t know why, I really don’t. It’s not your eyes. Even ponies who meet you in bright daylight, when their fire is invisible, feel at least vague unease in your presence. I think I am one of the most affected, actually. I blame my – ah – artistic sensibilities. Let it be a fact that you are still my friend! We are all still your friends. We can’t help it and we don’t know why, but we all do fear you at least a bit. Fluttershy... for some reason that normally so terrified pony doesn’t feel more than a bit of discomfort around you! Applejack is much the same. Pinkie and I... We’re the opposite from those two, really. I haven’t asked Rainbow Dash: I haven’t seen her yet since she returned yesterday.” Twilight sat down on her haunches. “So you made this dress for...” “For you!” Rarity squeaked and hid her face with her hooves, shuddering where she lay on the floor. She heard Twilight move and heard the chink of metal armor against ponnequin. “Um, Rarity? How would I even wear this? I don’t see any clasps or buckles on here.” She didn’t move more than necessary to lift her head a bit off the floor so her jaws were free, allowing her to speak. “I... I tried to incorporate that, but whenever I did it felt wrong somehow. In the end... I just assembled the dress around the ponnequin.” A thought struck Rarity and she removed her hooves from her eyes, gazing hopefully up at Twilight. “It means it’s impossible for you to don it, doesn’t it? In that case I can declare it a failure and move on... destroy it... Twilight?” Twilight was looking at the dress while chewing her lower lip. Rarity’s question took a couple of seconds to register. Then Twilight glanced at her took a breath and moved her lips soundlessly before answering. “It means it’s tricky but not impossible for me to get into. I’m just worrying what all this is leading to. I can feel a certain pull from this dress. It scares me, Rarity, but somehow I know I’ll be wearing it. That hints at some kind of enchantment at play, but I should be protected against magic like that unless it’s something very powerful indeed. In any case, I don’t see the point with all this if it turns out to actually be some spell cast on us all. Is something trying to drive a wedge between me and the rest of you? There are probably easier ways to do that.” “Twilight, I almost wish it was an enchantment. I would have something to blame then. Or it could end, robbing me of all memory of this. That would be so relieving that my soul aches for it.” Twilight raised an eyebrow at this. Then her horn flashed, enveloping Twilight and the ponnequin in a burst of her purple magic. When the magic faded the ponnequin was bare and Twilight was— Rarity wasn’t consciously aware of scrambling back into the corner. She wasn’t aware of much except two flaming eyes, filled with compassion, pouring liquid terror into her mind. Then all was black. ~~~~~ Rarity opened her eyes and stretched luxuriously. She didn’t remember going to bed but considering how well-rested she felt she had surely needed the sleep. She pushed back the duvet and slid out of bed, heading for the bathroom. On the way she passed her bare ponnequin. The maids down at the cloth stores had been kind enough to lend it to her, and already her mind was filling with ideas for dresses to clothe it with. She turned them over in her head while washing off the sleep and getting her mane in order. She was obviously recovered from her ordeal in the hospital since her inspiration had returned. The last week now felt like a dream, all those days of worrying her muse had left her as not a single design entered her mind, though she supposed she was never truly awake unless she had some inspiration to translate into fabrics and designs. When she went to clean up her bed she noticed there was a note on the bedstand. She brought it in front of her face with her magic and saw Twilight’s neat text. Hello Rarity, I came by but you were asleep. I wanted to invite you to a little get-together, so that all six of us could celebrate. The occasion is of course tomorrow’s test of our combined Elements as well as (on Pinkie’s insistence) a waking up party for Welder, our alien, which will take place after the tests. It will happen tonight, two hours after Moon’s Rising, at the ballroom. See you there! Love and friendship, Twilight. This delighted Rarity. Maybe a party would be just the thing to dispel that silly nervosity that had struck her whenever Twilight was near. It didn’t do to be frightened of one of your best friends after all. Now she needed to decide what to wear, of course! And knowing the rest they’d just appear without any formal wear at all! That wouldn’t do either, naturally, so it befell her to choose and bring along dresses for her friends as well. She wondered briefly why she hadn’t designed anything for her friends’ stay in Canterlot before now, but dismissed the thought almost immediately. Her muse was inscrutable sometimes. She trilled a happy tune and trotted over to her wardrobe.