//------------------------------//
// Behind An Archbishop's Wisdom 
// Story: Diprosopus 
// by WritingSpirit 
//------------------------------//

	"She cares of the plights of her citizens! She cares of the tumults from the northern beyond!"

"SHE CARES NOT!! NEIGH DOES THE MINISTRY!! NEIGH DOES THE CELESTIAL COMMONWEALTH OF TROTTINGHAM!! NEIGHSAYERS OF THE LAND OF EQUESTRIA!!"

A volley of cheers erupted, and soon the hooves of anarchy were raised, flags billowing and shouts resounding a cacophony of noise. Cries and jeers of folly filled the roadways of the once-illustrious town, where fear has erupted like a spring and showering stallions and mares alike in the curtain of enmity for the figure that they once heralded, parading her visage stained in incriminating splashes of red paint in the festivity of a crude rebellion.
They marched upon the fortress; the chapel where the flaming sun lighting their path was symbolized with the goddess that lifted it. The doors were barred, as were the windows, and as effigies of alicorns were being lit up outside, a small eye watches in horror from the cracks between the wooden boards up in the higher floors.

"Brother Ferrus!" he cried, robes fluttering in his frantic gallop down the spiral stairs. The twisted sounds of fear were louder once he reached the ground, his pale-green face turning white with horror at the sight of the rattling iron doors. With a small whimper, the priest scrambled towards the back rooms, surprised to see his fellow vicars circled with heads down, chanting the mantras they remembered hitherto from their youth.
"Brother Ferrus! They're breaking in!" he tried again, with all worried eyes turning to the archbishop, Ferrus Blithe, flourished in garments of Canterlotian glory. Luckily for the coven, he had never inherited its pride, only wisdom of old age, and it is with his wisdom that Trottingham had placed their faith in Princess Celestia, until now.

"Neither of us have the power to stop their rage, my dear child," came Archbishop Blithe's reply.
"Whatever darkness that swarms their heart, I pray it merciful to the common souls of them. Their fears had been realized to the extent that they believed their princess had abandoned them, however we try to convince them of the falsified words behind it. I concur that we place our faith in Her Majesty, for our ancestors have been her followers since her first dawn, and we will defend that faith in the prime of it all."

"But, Brother Ferrus--!"

"Let no words taint you, Brother Delius," he scolded sternly.
"Their mind had perceived a fog of ruthless acrimony, and I inhibit the same miasma to defile our minds with delirium over an enemy that Her Majesty herself would have the aptitude to vanquish the defiler back into the depths from whence it came! We're here because we placed our trust in the mare that striven for the prosperity of her own subjects as she has done so for the many generations past, and as broken as it may be the faiths of the rest, we're to see that it remains strong from the blasphemy that dares tarnish our nation!"

Silence filled the chapel, where even the sounds of brewing chaos outside had been shunned to muffled screams and cries underneath his booming voice of Ferrus. None dared question him for his actions, and none spoke of challenging his wisdom, and it was with them that Delius Hazelthorn swallowed, and he knelt with them, clutching his hooves together with the first recitals of a prayer.
The archbishop rose first from the antediluvian floors of stone, stepping out of the common prayers and towards the room rumbling of Trottingham's uproar. He creased his brows at the trembling iron doors, all straining to pummel them open. It would be soon before swarms of rioters would storm the church walls, and he could only hope their princess would come down at save them, but he knew it was not meant to be.

"I pray for forgiveness, for the sins thou hath seen thy subject commit," he mumbled, crumbling to his knees.
"Let thou'est eternal sun shine thy healing rays on the body and soul I hath given-"

"They never heal, Archbishop."

Ferrus Blithe turned at the foreign voice, letting out a low growl at the sight of a unicorn, tainted black with eyes red with the yearn for death. Her stature, although slimmer than most, was of perfect build for a mare, and her tail flicked around the holy domain that was the chapel with only malevolence to spare for both the faithful and the dissident.
"The rays never will enlighten nor nourish. Stand in them too long, and you will only earn the blisters of a sunburn. She has never forgave, and perhaps never enlightened, for she is but only a mere fool blessed with immortality."

"How dare you voice your heretic words against Her Majesty--!"

"Her-- wrongly phrased, your! Majesty had never been one to bother about your affairs. However overt your actions may be for her entertainment, she bothers merely her introverted, lifeless self with a narcissist's pride. What happened when I came to stop by for the night? You prayed to her, did you not, in the days prior to this?"

The black mare smiled, watching him shrink back into the carpets that he had prospered over with grand speeches once lauded by the town. Regret washed over him, stripping away the honor of archbishop and leaving in place a senile, old colt, crippled with guilt and remorse.
"Did she come, Ferrus?" she slipped out the torturous words.
"Did she come when I invaded this monastery?"

"N-n... no..."

"And did she come? When I twist your binds tighter with every passing day, archbishop? When I left behind scars of a chain pressed into your filthy ankles?"

Ferrus shuffled his robes, covering the said incriminating marks with a shiver. Its sting was still fresh like on the night it was made, and the words Servus ad Tyrannus (servant to tyrant) singed into them only made him turn away in embarrassment.
"No," his reply came, more firm but still quivering.

"And where is she now?" she shouted with a laugh.
"When Trottingham is burning down to the hell it was built from by its own children?! When the chapel is assaulted by the violence thrashing in their minds?! When the respected archbishop became another mere, useless piece of trash to be tossed like the many pawns of your alicorn superiors? WHERE IS SHE?!!"

"Canterlot!" he spat out, mind surrendering.
"She's still at her be-damned palace of hers! She's still living her luxurious life in that treacherous tower! SHE DOESN'T CARE OF HER SUBJECTS, NO MATTER THE LOYALTY THEY BESTOW!!"

At those words, Archbishop Blithe, in his deranged panting, became just another stallion, broken in mind and soul. Beads of moisture filled his eyes, torn from broken faith and, unwillingly, called over the vicars from the other room.
"Br-brother Ferrus...?" came a murmur, all of them watching in horror at their fallen superior underneath the shroud of the pony in black. A laugh emanated from her, resounding an echo like the brass bells overhead as she trotted towards the door, her horn lustrous a sovereign cloud of red.

"How odd, per say," she cackled, gazing at the iron doors.
"That it only takes one pony's misery to light up the fears of one glorious town. But of course, to say something so poetic...perhaps you prefer the company of many to join your demise?"

"No... you.. you promised... they were never in this!" the former archbishop muttered, rising from his grief.
"NO!!"

The door smashed open, the jet-black mare disappearing into the crowd as the mass of ponies swarmed in, wearing the darkest frowns and carrying torches, unaware of the danger that they stepped into.
Ferrus Blithe spent his last moments being knocked back down, facing the brass bells in the ceiling where, stuck in its sonorous interior, was a small clock, with wires sprawling out over the metal, spiral down the old columns and twist into the cellar, where, no doubt, it would end in a cargo of dynamite, just waiting for the right time to blow.

The time came soon, and he clutched his hooves together, closing his eyes as he prepared for fate's cruelest hit that would send hundreds flying across the town of Trottingham, leaving behind a crater of smoke, twisted iron and singed bodies; a message of heretic victory to the sisters of Canterlot.
They will be consumed by flames, tossed into an inferno of embers and trudged upon by falling debris and the city will shudder at the loudest sound Trottingham will ever hear. And what will they do?

What can they do?

"C-C-Celest-tia," his voice began, shivering with tears falling.
"Thy taketh myself into your glory-"

*BOOM*




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"Spike, this bunch has to go under, then over. Any different and it would look like an inconsistent, ropy mess!"

"Well, as you can see, I'm a dragon, and dragons don't... braid their scales."

Sweetie Belle stifled a giggle, muffled out by the inessential bickering over the weaving of her long mane. The contenders, which were evidently Rarity and Spike, fussing over her coiffure only made it seem like a romance/comedy excerpt from a film, and she practically fawned over her sister's love for the dragon and how romantic it was, even if she had missed it out entirely during their fiasco in Pendant Lakes.
"It's not like I'm asking you to braid your scales at all!" came her sister's voice.
"I never expected you to grasp a pair of scissors! Just braiding her mane would do, and even that you have an uncanny knack to mess it all up!"

"Number one, the scales were used as a figure of speech," Spike declared.
"And number two, I'm built for moving books, spitting flame, and kicking apple trees and the butts of Diamond Dogs. Did you see these claws hold a pair of scissors before? Did Twilight wear an orange coconut on her head on every single one of her birthdays? No!"

That was the last straw that made the teenage mare burst out with laughter, nearly twisting her mane out of its braided self if not for Rarity's tight grip. The older mare had scrunched up her face at that point, before glancing away with a harrumph of displeasure.
"See you at the theater, Sweetie," the dragon said with a grin, giving the filly a departing hug.
"Gotta get yourself ready for the audition now, young lady!"

Sweetie Belle gave an earnest nod and, with a wink, Spike slipped out the door, closing it quietly. Rarity sighed at that exact moment, guiding a small hairband towards her younger sister's mane with a swirl of magic.
"Males these days..." she mumbled, loud enough for the other pony to hear.
"Always trying to act virtuous and humble..."

"I thought you liked him for that," Sweetie asked.
"Maybe he just wants to make you see that he's... responsible? Independent, I think?"

"His efforts exaggerate far from that."
The hairband stretched at full force, remaining taut as it grabbed the strands of the teenager's double-hued mane in an elegant chokehold, forming a small ponytail dangling from the side of her head.
"I'm already his marefriend," Rarity quipped, shuffling through the drawers.
"What more does he want to extort from me?"

"Extort?"
Her sister cringed at the use of the word. She knew Rarity was as sophisticated with her effort in language as much as her articulation in fashion sense, but extort? Really?
"He just wants a little attention from you, right?" she pursued the question.
"Maybe spend some mare-to-dragon time together for once?"

"Oh please, we have every night to spare for that."

"But my contest doesn't come up every night," Sweetie Belle added.
"Who knows, maybe you just spent a little more time that he could ever expected with me instead because of this? Maybe he's a little... jealous, that I'm having more time with you right now?"

"Dragons aren't known for their jealousy, so I'm afraid I can't support with you on that bit."
Rarity's eyes sparkled with glee once she found the jewel of the hoard: a brooch in the shape of a lily decorated with hundreds of small, glittering diamonds. She knew it from the first day she saw it on display at the Crystal Empire that it would surely come in handy, even if it wasn't meant for her to wear.
"There we go," she muttered, clipping it onto her sister's mane.
"The icing on the cake!"

Sweetie Belle just blinked at herself at the mirror, where the reflection she envisioned was now replaced by a different mare. There was more grace, more beauty even, what with the braided mane combed down her neck and face whiter than the makeup artist that placed her effort into it, almost gleaming like metal.
She nearly rose to the tip of her hooves, her jaw steadily falling before curling up into a smile. All the powdering and braiding was worth it, and Rarity could only wear a smile beside her, proud at both her work and her sister.

"Wow......" she could only gasp.
"Is that r-really... me?"

"None other than my little sister," said the older mare wistfully.
"You look ready to take the stage, darling. I suggest you make most of it!"

With a giggle, Sweetie Belle shifted herself from the oval vanity mirror, instead facing at the varied dresses waiting for her approval. Rarity just settled back onto the bed, waiting as her sister slipped behind a bamboo screen, trying the first attire out of many.
The fashion designer smiled at a few prudent mutters from behind the screen, reminded of how much she has grown. She could remember her sister's admittedly gullible behavior to her fashion sense, especially when it included occasions such as an important audition. To see the changes in her now...

"So Rarity," the teenage mare chirped suddenly, snapping her attention back.
"When's Spike gonna move in? As in, permanently?"

If she was drinking (which she felt fortunate she wasn't), Rarity would've choked and sputtered it all over the floor. Yes, Spike's stay was long-term, but it was only temporary. It was just recently after Twilight's too-short-for-comfort return that he moved out again, much to her disappointment.
"Unless Twilight decides for another long stay here or someplace else," she clarified.
"He has to move back to the library. Of course, there are some exceptions..."

"Like~?"

"Enough with your curiosity, Sweetie dear," the older mare deadpanned.
"Onward to the theater! We must be punctual!"

"Aww..."
With a pout, Sweetie Belle skipped out of the room, flaunting in her furnished appearance and light blue, sparkling dress that Rarity know would leave the rest of them stunned with amazement. The fashion designer was never more excited to know that her younger sister was finally on the first step to stardom; a sight she had been yearning to see.
Her intrusion into Spike's stay was a little too inappropriate, however. Whatever her interests were, Rarity wasn't keen on explaining the details, especially when it involves her relationship with the dragon. She mustn't pursue the topic any further.

"A permanent stay..." she caught herself muttering. So much for not pursuing the topic.
Like her, she secretly wished that he could continue staying in the boutique, though she knew a lot of ponies wouldn't see to it, especially Twilight herself. Marriage was the only option that could provide a viable reason for him, but the thought of them becoming husband and wife was premature. She always reminded herself of the taboos of love before marriage, despite having already broke some of them. Even Spike said he was uncertain about what might happen if the rest of them find out what they did at night sometimes.

"What took you so long?"

Twilight's voice snapped her again from her thoughts, finding herself in the front doors under the bask of sunlight. She smiled at the sight of all four of her friends with their spouses, all eyes glued to the starlet of the group.
Sweetie Belle twirled in her glittering dress, much to the awe of Apple Bloom and, with lesser enthusiasm, Scootaloo. Whatever their amount of eagerness, both were anticipating their friend's possible first step to her future, and like Rarity, placed their utmost faith to see it happen.

"That took quite awhile," Spike's voice spoke suddenly, wheeling to his marefriend's side and giving her a nudge, to which the white mare rolled her eyes at.
"So where are we heading?"

"To the grandest theater of Canterlot," was her reply.
Rarity couldn't help but stifle a giggle. The thought of finally stepping into the auditorium of auditoriums; a haven for lovers of the creative arts where only the best perform and attend at the same time! And to see her sister having the chance to even stand the stage for one second... there will never be a more memorable experience.
A dreamy sigh escaped her lips, her vision surrounded by imaginings of the grand stage, with spotlights down on the star of the show, Sweetie Belle, the sensational singing extraordinaire, at the greatest place the world of art will ever know: one which she echoed out in surreal bliss:

"The Fase di Armonia."




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"How far is the exit?"

"Supposedly three more hours away."
The shepherd knew these paths better than the seven of his travelling band of wanderers, and Phoenix Mellow placed all of his trust in the judgement of Parish Plow. Despite the luminescent crystals that grew out from every inch of their rocky hive, be it from ground or ceiling, they would still be blind from the paths they were twisting and turning through.
It was like a hall of mirrors, where every trail deeper into the dark, glowing confines just seemed like an endless loop instead. The only sign of progress was the humidity, to which only Fleetywit had the ability to detect. Then again, sprite dragons weren't what he would call the most energetic of its species.

What happened the day before, however, was the one he was worried about. The sound of gunfire was still freshly ringing even after the incident, his heart still thrashing wildly in his chest. Everything was still clear: the bullets bouncing off rock and dirt, the shouts their commander was giving, and he knew it wouldn't be the last he will see of them.
Motive, however, was unclear. Velvet had already pressured himself into tracing their origins with what they have. The rest were tasked with calming down the terribly shaken pilgrims. None of them had never met with death at such a close distance, and most, if not all, of their morale had been shattered. Even the vicious wolves; the canine counterparts of the pilgrims, spent all night whimpering, unable to be coaxed out from their shock by their owners. There was only one lead to the start of this and, unfortunately, it was a broken one.

With only a grimace to spare, Phoenix slid back into the crowd, careful not to bump into shoulders as he soon spotted Pinkie trotting down to him, her face hung low by melancholic guilt. The only pony that bothered trying to cheer her up was Selena and, despite Ollivander's advice to give her some time alone, was determined on bringing the old, bubbly Pinkie Pie back. For their sake.
Somepony once said, a smile in the darkest cave can light up an empire. If that were true, and the caravan would agree, Pinkie's smile could rival Celestia's sun. However, whatever genius never accounted on pegasi fleets with machine guns, Phoenix surmised.

"How is she?" he asked once Pinkie slipped away from view, leaving only him and Selena alone.

"Utterly depressed, ignorant at other pony's words and..." her voice halted suddenly.

"And...?" he pressed on.

"A little furious at herself."

"It's not entirely her fault," Phoenix said grimly.
"What's the chance that somepony that woke up with amnesia would be hunted down by an army of bandits spraying bullets that'll riddle you like a pincushion? I wouldn't blame her for putting us into this danger, no, because she doesn't know about it. She's a part of this band like all of you are."

A gloomy sigh left his lips as the stallion reached down into satchel, overwhelmed with the urge to smoke. Selena just watched as he leaned against a pillar of crystal, flicking his tail and lighting up the tip of his pipe whilst cocking his rifle to the side.
"Go on ahead," he said.
"I'll wait up for her."

With a hesitant nod, the yellow mare flapped her wings, hovering over the snake of pilgrims and careful to avoid any stalactites sticking out from the roof of the cave. It was then that Phoenix blew out a ring of smoke, his tail playfully catching it and tossing it around in some sort of circus act.
The smell of tobacco fused into the damp cavern air, and it wasn't long before he fished out, with cunning intention, Pinkie from her solitary plight. She wrinkled her snout as she neared him, being never the fond fan of smoking, though her gaze deflected from his grin, prompting him to sigh.

Settling down onto the cave floor, Pinkie just glanced downward, counting the many branches stemming out from a small fissure on the ground. Silence remained taut and firm between them, and lasted until the pilgrims settled down to rest their tired hooves, all busy in their conversations.
"Look," Phoenix spoke first.
"About what happened yesterday, I know you're blaming yourself for it, alright? They want to hunt you down, put you behind bars for something you could've done earlier... it all just comes crashing in suddenly and... and you don't know what to do with--"

"Why are we talking about this?"

Eyes shimmering with moisture, Pinkie gazed up at him and his flustered expression. There was no answer that he could force out to save his tail, and her demanding, treacherous look, fitted with her mane cloaking a side of her face, only severed the last tendons of confidence in his limbs.
"P-Pinkie," he began once more.
"Listen, these pegasi are after you. I don't know what their reason is but they're determined to hunt you down for something you did in the past--"

"In the past! It always have to be 'in the past' with you, isn't it, Phoenix Mellow?"

The loud outburst was enough to conjure unwanted attention, and many, if not all, pairs of eyes were glued to them. Their breaths were stilled in the pin-drop silence that followed, though it wasn't long before the pink mare spoke again with a tremble in her voice:
"You think the past; my past, is all that matters, is it? What if I tell you I never want to learn about it? What if I tell you that I'm happier now than I was back then? What if, when I found out about my Celestia-be-damned past, that I killed somepony with my bare hooves? And those pegasi shooting their useless trash from their guns are actually the police sent to find me? What would you think then, about saving a CRIMINAL?! HUH?!!"

"You're NOT A CRIMINAL!!"

Equally loud and feared came Phoenix's booming voice, his tail flaring up dangerously and defiantly. The heat from the argument, their glowering faces and his burning tail fueled only tension, and both stallion and mare snarled at each other, neither wanting to stand down.
"You're not a bloody criminal," he rephrased, his tone softening.
"At least, not to us. If you were one, you would kill again, but no, you made each day seem better than before. You made us happier, and I would swear with a blasted rifle to my head that you've done the same in the past."

Pinkie's frown quelled into an expression of confusion as the words slowly sank into her head. The rest of the caravan just watched with furrowed brows, their fear outmatched by the spirit of determination.
"I want to understand your past is because," Phoenix stopped for a second, letting out a quick sigh.
"Our past makes up our present, and decides our future. I believed back then, you were happier, cheerful, and not the Pinkie Pie you are now. Don't you want to know a past such as that?"

The pink mare stopped, and for a moment there Phoenix thought he saw an apology mumbling at her quivering lips, though she suddenly and scornfully turned her head away, stomping off with hooves shaking the cavern like a rattler at her stubborn rage.
"You tried, Finn," Ollivander said, patting his disgruntled friend on the shoulder once they were convinced she was out of their view.
"She might come around sooner or later. Give you a real apology. Needs to have a moment to think about it, that lass, t'is all."

"She's Pinkie Pie, Ollie," the gryphon's marefriend quipped.
"Not some random mare from next door."

"And Pinkie Pies expect an apology from you instead," Dapple added.
"Perhaps she might demand a small payment for you getting on her nerves as well. Not a good thing at all, if you ask me."

"Small payments..."
Phoenix was never one of an economical mind, though those two words flickered something in his head. He would never imagine getting a mere 'apology accepted' after an argument, but if there was a gift involved, it might be a different matter entirely. Might be.
There was one thing in his mind. It wasn't exactly what he would call payment, but he knew Pinkie would graciously accept it. He grinned at the idea, much to the bewilderment of the rest while the tides turn into his favor.
"I've got something in mind," he voiced his thoughts aloud, only furthering their confusion.

"Something Pinkie Pie would never say no to."




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"Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation,
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination;
Silently the senses abandon their defenses..."



Fase di Armonia, the realm of luxury and domain of creativity, blossomed underneath the majesty of an aural sun. The sweetness of her voice were gentle enough to blossom the flowers in their hearts, the ferocity and versatility simmering with radiant passion, striking out in an array of harmonic melodies from the core of its star: Sweetie Belle.
Her audience were like the planets, revolving around each syllable she sang. Powerful with the control of an opera singer, yet vulnerable with the shiver of a lonely nightingale; her rhapsody tingled every eardrum that received her, every soul that faced her, and swallow them into the tides of her song.

Twilight Sparkle was there, along with the rest of them, watching her performance with only amazement to give. It was only the beginning, yet already some ponies had begun applauding. The creepy, underlying tone was what stopped her from her waning thoughts of recent events, instead carting her off into a world of vintage controversy at her stunning cover of The Music Of The Night, from the acclaimed play The Phantom Of The Opera.

Rarity was on her left, smiling proudly at her younger sister standing in her own dimension. Tears were glittering in her eyes, and the scholar herself would have them too if she saw a younger sibling doing her best. Spike wouldn't get the honor of that, a part of her snickered mischievously.
"She's amazing," her ears heard one of the judge's low mutters. There were a trio (always a trio) of them, all capable and diverse in the field of art and ready for the purpose of their presence. Twilight trusted their judgement, especially since she knew one of them personally.

Seated on the far left was none other than Crimson Lux de Cavalle, more commonly known to her as Octavia's coltfriend. The red stallion had already rose to the edge of his seat, and the sight of him bobbing his head in a quirky manner, his eyes lulled to a close in a sense of absorbed fascination, was the best sign that he was already enjoying Sweetie Belle's performance. Rarity had planned for a personal meetup with him after the auditions, mostly to catch up with things in Ponyville, especially Octavia's slight distress of his absence.



"Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor;
Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender.
Turn your face away from the garish light of day;
Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light,
And listen to the music of the night..."



"Ya seen Scootaloo?" Apple Bloom whispered suddenly, tweaking Twilight's attention to the yellow mare talking to her elder sister. Applejack wasn't keen on it, as she muttered something inaudible with a grim frown, silencing the younger mare immediately. That, however, only piqued her curiosity. Come to think of it, where was Scootaloo anyway?
Twilight slowly glanced around the seats, unable to see the pegasus anywhere in the theater. The troubled teenager did notify of her leeway trip to the toilet, though she wouldn't think it would take that long!

"Hey guys?" she called to her friends.
"I'm going to look for Scootaloo, okay?"

A wave of murmurs chorused, forcing out a sigh from her. They were obviously too absorbed in Sweetie Belle's singing to bother, even if she fell into a chasm filled with two hundred hydras! At this rate, the filly should really consider taking up a job as a hypnotist instead!
Rising from her seat, Twilight strode to the aisle, quietly descending down the steps to the door that, no doubt, leads to the toilet and, indirectly, backstage. A quick peek made her conclude that the lavatory was empty, prompting her to glance around the meager corridors of balsa wood and latex, the sound of the minstrel's voice bouncing off and distorting it with an echo.



"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams,
Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before;
Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar,
And you live as you've never lived before..."



Sweetie Belle's voice soon warped once she stepped inside, with now a hollow emptiness accompanying her in her song, as if she was singing in a well. Without further ado, Twilight ventured deeper into the tight confines of the corridor, taking care not to trip over buckets of paint and bundles of robe.
She ducked down a few times, her horn barely grazing a few sacks hanging from the top. She never imagined she had to do this just to find the missing pegasus, while the rest just sat there in their comfortable, luxurious seats, enjoying what might be a spectacle to admire and, unfortunately, one she might have to miss.



"Softly, deftly, music shall caress you;
Hear it, feel it secretly possess you.
Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind,
In this darkness that you know you cannot fight:
The darkness of the music of the night..."



"Ah, Twilight Sparkle..."

The violet unicorn gasped silently at the familiar voice, rich with intrigued mystery and precarious flair. There was only one pony who would possess such a voice, and despite a premature first encounter, she knew entirely who it was.
Hesitantly, she turned around, meeting face-to-face with the infamous caper: the Masque of Canterlot, hanging from the edge of a rope, his cape pulled down like a blue curtain. Despite the mask, she could see his lips smiling down at her, as if amused at her predicament.
"You..." she muttered.

"It iz I, once again," he smoothly replied.
"Surprised? Don't be, mademoiselle, for I am a big fan of ze s'eater. All those plays and stories of daring lovers engaged in the darkest pitfalls of conflict... shows a rogue like me can appreciate a lot."

Twilight just shuffled away with uncertainty, though that only coaxed him to settle onto the ground, instead trotting back up to her.
"You might be wondering of ze filly, oui?" he began, halting her in her tracks.
"Ze one you call... Scootaloo? Is it?"



"Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world;
Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before!
Let your soul take you where you long to be;
Only then can you belong to me..."



"H-how... how did you--"

"Simply put, we had a small talk."

That small sentence, however innocent it was, brought out the delirium stirring in Twilight's head. Rage and disbelief seethed through her veins at the ridiculous thought. Scootaloo? And him? A complete stranger with no relationship to them whatsoever and wanted by the Canterlot Royal Guard?
Twilight suddenly pinned him to the ground with a soft thud, gritting her teeth at the pony below her, who was utterly bewildered by her suddenly rash behavior.
"What did you say to her?," she hissed her question.
"What the heck did you say?!"

"Nothing malicious, of course."

Suddenly, Twilight felt her hooves gave away, swiped by the Masque's cape as she felt herself falling backwards, only to be caught by the stallion's hooves, the two frozen in a waltz position. She glanced up wide-eyed at him, suppressing a loud yelp of surprise as he grimly stared back down at her, his stern demeanor starting to harden.
"She said you never bothered to communicate with her even after my visit," he rasped haughtily.
"What happened to taking my advice, Miss Sparkle? She needs somepony to help her, and all you do is take my rose for granted? You think it's a funny trick now, don't you? Just another ploy I have up my sleeve?"



"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication;
Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation.
Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in,
To the power of the music that I write:
The power of the music of the night..."



"I..." she stammered.
"I was a little tired that night--"

"Don't think you could fool me with your hideous Canterlot trickery!"
It was soft enough for only the both of them to hear, but loud enough for his message to be sent across. Twilight cringed at the harshness of his voice, turning away with a bout of regret stinging in her heart.
"I understand what she went through, mademoiselle," he said, stopping her in surprise.
"And I am utterly disappointed at the result. There are some words in these world, no matter of their allegiance, that would make one wiser, and I suggest you start listening to one of them now, understand?"

Twilight gave a small, quivering nod. With that, she settled herself down from his hooves and watched with shattered confidence as he gripped one of the ropes, hoisting himself up before launching out of a small window and back onto the rooftops from where he came.
What disturbed her more was that Scootaloo placed her trust into him more than the rest of them. It might just be a story he concocted to excuse some elaborate plot in the making, but if it were true, she still wanted to verify it, and there was only one thing that might tell her the answer.

Dusting herself, she hurried back down the hallway, trying to maintain her cool as she slipped back into the seats, to which the rest of them were too captivated by her performance to notice. It would finish sooner or later, but that doesn't matter to her now.
She glanced around her row of friends, sighing with relief once she saw Scootaloo seated on the other end. Unlike the rest, however, her attention was diverted away by something else, the sight of which prodded at the bookish unicorn's curiosity.



"You alone can make my song take flight;
Help me make the music of the night."



As Sweetie Belle finished the last sentence, the crowd (which was slightly small) erupted into a round of applause, the singer's face beaming with every quick bow she gave. Twilight instinctively stood up as well, yet her gaze remained taut to Scootaloo, who had slipped the item into the folds of her gamboge wings.
She had a small glimpse of it, but a small glimpse was enough. It realized Twilight's doubts in the spark of that instant; that the Masque's words were true. That Scootaloo believed in him, and he rewarded it so with the very same item that she herself had received, and hid from the others.

A scarlet rose.