//------------------------------// // Epiphany, Part 2 // Story: Siren Song // by GaPJaxie //------------------------------// Screaming. I remember screaming. Clinging to Epiphany. Angry voices. Rarity’s orderlies, grabbing me, dragging me from the room. My hooves scrabbling on stone. A needle in my shoulder. Pain. After that, it gets a little fuzzy. I don’t... I don’t feel well. I should be running, should be screaming, but I’m just sitting here. I don’t think I can move. The room is blurry. No, not blurry, I can see it clearly, but... muted? Distant. Like I was seeing it from far away. It’s so strange. Everything feels so intense. The pressure of my weight on the floor, the sensation of my mane falling over my neck, so sharp, so clear. There’s a buzz in my ears, like insects, but I can still hear the lights pounding under it. I think something is wrong with me. There’s something in front of me. Rarity’s little table. From her office. I’m in her office. Rarity is there now, but I didn’t see her arrive. She was not there one moment, and there the next. Things have appeared on the table as well—a pot of tea, a cup. “Aww. There’s no need to look so forlorn,” Rarity says, reaching out to hold my cheek, tilting my head up. I can feel every ripple and contour on her hoof so perfectly, but something is different. Her hooves feel... empty. Absent. Everything in this room has little protrusions, little scratches, and I can feel them all so clearly. But her hoof is flawless, so smooth I can hardly sense it. I can only tell it’s there because of those hoof caps, and they feel... sharp. They have an edge to them. A real knife edge, dragging over my cheek. “How are you feeling? A bit calmer I hope?” I nod. Slowly, evenly. I don’t want her to cut me. “That’s good. You had me worried there for a moment,” Rarity says with a quiet chuckle. “You had my ears ringing, for that matter,” she adds, brushing her mane back and giving a little toss of her head. “You certainly know how to make yourself heard, don’t you?” “Please don’t kill me,” I say. My voice sounds so rough, so scratchy, weak and torn. Rarity only laughs. “Kill you? Oh, my dear Siren, why would I ever do that? You’re my guest, remember?” Her hoof gives my cheek a little stroke. “My protégé,” she says, smoothing out the last word as she straightens my mane with her magic, just a little tug. “I think what we have here is a simple misunderstanding. Is that what happened, dear? You saw my masterpiece and thought I’d murdered dear Epiphany?” I nod, and that makes her smile. Something is wrong with her face. I know that smile is light and amused, but she seems... angular somehow. Jagged. “Oh darling, don’t be absurd. What use would I have for a corpse?” she asks, with a smirk and a little half-laugh, shaking her head. “You touched her, as I recall. Did she feel like a corpse to you?” “She... she felt like...” I say, quiet and shaky. I don’t know what she wants me to say. What can I possibly say? But somehow, I keep speaking anyway, my mouth running along without me. “Crystal. But not a rock. There was... give in it. Somehow. I felt like I was hugging a living thing.” A living thing you wanted to hurt. “I couldn't leave her.” “Well, of course,” Rarity says, with an approving nod. “Crystal ponies are living things, after all. Thinking of imperial crystal as stone is like thinking of flesh as a pile of carbon. Technically true, but...” She pours a cup of the tea, taking in the coppery scent with a long breath, shutting her eyes to properly savor it. “You lose the wonderful subtleties.” “Sh-she’s a crystal pony?” I ask, staring up at her. The tea looks different, like Rarity looks different. It’s not scalding, it’s boiling, churning angrily in the cup—but the air around it is frigid, like the steam was an arctic wind. “Mmhmm,” Rarity nods. “Far better than simple petrification. It’s actually quite easy to physically transform one pony breed into another. Well, easy if you’re me, anyway,” she clarifies with a little wave of her hoof. “The problem is that a physical transformation alone is useless. I can cut off a pegasus’s wings and give him a horn, but he’s still a pegasus. His spirit remembers that its essence flows out of his wings...” She makes a slow gesture with one hoof, as though reaching out to capture something, and then spreading it out to one side. “Even if his body has forgotten. Her body thinks it’s a crystal pony, but her spirit knows better. She’s a pony of the earth, and her magic will not animate the stone. And so, she sleeps. Living in that moment forever.” “I...” I look down at the table. I know. I knew. I saw it in her eyes, felt it when I touched her. “She was my friend.” “She is your friend, and so much more,” Rarity says, reaching out to tilt my head back up, looking me in the eye. “You have the gift, Siren. She couldn't see you, but you could see her in that glorious moment. And now, you’ll have eternity to study her, appreciate her, watch the light sparkle through her and come to know every nuance of her being. You will understand and love her as nopony ever has. It’s a wonderful gift you’ve given her, Siren.” “She...” I try to look down, but Rarity’s hoof is still under my chin, and I feel the silver cap press into me. It’s so sharp I don’t dare move, pinned in place by that knife’s edge. Is this what Green felt in the lift? Is this why she couldn’t move when Rarity touched her? “She didn’t want that.” “Oh, don’t be silly, Siren!” Rarity laughs. “What else would you have done? Release her? So she can decay and mutate and go mad like the others? Turn into a mockery of all she once was?” Her laugh runs through her words, but slowly trails away, replaced by a quieter smile. “No. You and I both know that this is better. This is the way things should be.” I don’t say anything, and after a little while, Rarity’s smile grows thin. It never fades completely though, never becomes open displeasure. She can be patient with her pupil, when that pupil is being a bit slow. “Tell me you disagree, Siren. Tell me that this isn’t more valuable than anything else she might have done with her life.” “I...” My breath is coming in starts, weak and trembling. “That’s not the point.” “Evading the question is poor form, Siren,” Rarity tsks. “But tell me then, what is the point? That Celestia wouldn't approve?” Silence. My breath catches in my throat. “Oh, don’t give me that look.” She laughs, a deep and amused chuckle. “Of course I knew. Really, how stupid did you think I was?” she asks with a playful, though somewhat irritated air. Tolerating me. “Trixie’s supposed to have been caring for you your whole life, but you obviously hate her; you never asked after any foster parents or friends; you’re wholly ignorant of the most basic facets of life here; and you showed up right after a ship from Equestria sunk in our waters. I somehow managed to put two and two together. You’re a gifted creator, Siren, but you’re... well. A bit easy to read.” I... I don’t... She lets out a little hiss of breath, pushing her hoof up under my chin, that knife edge forcing me to sit up straight—to move as she indicates if I don’t want my throat cut open. “You’ve learned very well, Siren, to your credit. The veil is parted from your eyes now, but you will never see clearly while you still cling to these ridiculous notions. I do have to admire Celestia’s work—she tried very hard to turn you into something you’re not. That mask is starting to slip though”—she flicks her other hoof, as though to knock something away—“and it’s time it was done away with.” I’m not... “Drink your tea, Siren,” she orders, pushing the cup towards me. The only cup on the table. “To those who seek the truth are all truths revealed. Drink it, and wish to know who you truly are.” I reach down for the cup. “I’m not in trouble, am I?” I ask for the third time, as Ms. Spring Breeze leads me into her office. She’s the orphanage matron, or ‘administrator,’ but I always think of her as the matron. She’s got that nice-old-pony feel around her and she smiles when I smile at her and she’s got a jar in her office full of sourballs and she doesn't mind if you take two. I’m always really careful to stay on her good side, and I’ve never had to come into her office like this before. Well, except that one time, but everypony told her that Fig Leaf started it, so I got away with that. “No, Siren, you aren’t in any trouble,” she says, guiding me to the pillow in front of her desk. She’s one of those ponies who gets back pain in chairs, so she just has something soft to sit on instead. I mean, I think that’s good. I’m not really in trouble. I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m probably in her office for other reason. I’m not in any trouble. “You want a sourball, Siren?” she asks, sweetly. I’m in trouble. “Um. No, Ms. Spring Breeze,” I say, shaking my head and looking at the floor. What did I do? I haven't done anything wrong! Recently. That she can prove. I bet it was Rock. He blabbed about that time we made Glow Stick eat a glowstick. She didn’t even throw up that much. And she’s a jerk, so she had it coming! “Siren, I—” “It said non-toxic on the box!” I say quickly, and very, very innocently. She looks at me for a while. A long, careful glance. I kind of want that sourball now. But I shouldn't. “Siren,” she says, starting again. “Ms. Dog Ear said that something came up during your trip to the library, which she wanted me to talk to you about. I’m pretty sure it’s a misunderstanding though. You’re not in any trouble. Okay?” she asks sweetly, and I nod, even though it’s not true. I’m in the worst kind of trouble. The kind where you messed up so bad they’re worried about you. That’s the kind of trouble that gets you held back a year in school or sent off to another home. I don’t want to have to go away! I have friends here! “Now, can you tell me what happened at the library?” “Um. Yes,” I say, trying to think. What happened? I didn’t do anything unusual or get in any fights. I actually did exactly what I was supposed to! “We had an hour to look through the Young Readers section and pick our favorite story. Then we had to say what we liked about it and what we would change if we wrote it.” “And what story did you pick?” she asks. “Did I pick the wrong story? I can totally pick a different one!” I say, quickly. It wasn’t that good a story anyway. I can just do The Mare in the Moon. Half the group did that one because everypony knows it, so you don’t have to actually read it, and you can say that if you wrote it, Princess Luna would get over her jealousy right away instead of being banished. “Siren, you’re not in trouble,” she says, reaching across to brush my mane out of my eyes. A unicorn could have done it with magic, but she’s an earth pony, so she has to lean all the way over. I bet that hurts her back. “Please, tell me what story you picked?” “Um. I picked, The Daughters of the Unicorn King. It’s an old faerie tale,” I say.  She doesn't seem all that mad. I bet Ms. Dog Ear just told her stories or something. She always hated me. “And what happens in the story?” she asks, sitting back down behind her desk. “Well, in it, the unicorn king has two daughters,” I say. Maybe Ms. Dog Ear was upset that I didn’t pick a foal’s story? I’m a really good reader. “The older sister is charming and beautiful, and the younger is a powerful wizard, but ugly. The younger sister is engaged to a knight, but even though he loves her, she constantly worries that he likes her beautiful older sister. So, one night, she curses her sister, transforming her into a hideous monster. But the knight sees that the monster isn’t evil, realizes what the younger daughter did, and disgusted, leaves her. She realizes that everypony loved her because of what was inside and not what was outside, and cures her sister.” “Mmmhmm,” Ms. Spring Breeze says, nodding. “And what did you say about it?” “I said that I liked it because the evil wizard is actually punished for her actions, instead of just realizing what she did wrong and everything goes back to normal,” I say. She’ll like that, particularly since I’m supposed to be in trouble. That does seem to go over well, and she nods for me to keep going. “I mean, it makes the story feel more real.” “And did you tell Ms. Dog Ear that?” Ms. Spring Breeze asks, but she doesn't sound so upset. I knew it! Ms. Dog Ear was making stuff up about me like she always does. “Yes, Ms. Spring Breeze. I don’t think I said it exactly that way though. Maybe she misunderstood me,” I say, a little more cheerful now. I relax a little too, and look extra cute, and Ms. Spring Breeze smiles at me. “I think she must have, Siren,” Ms. Spring Breeze says, relaxing as well. Phew! That was close, but no harm done. “And, what did you say you’d change if you wrote it?” “That I’d have the knight kill the older sister instead,” I say. She pauses at that, going a little stiff, looking down at me more closely. Puzzled. Like she wasn’t quite sure what I said. Did I say something wrong? “I mean, when she’s a monster,” I clarify. “I’d have him slay her when he thinks she’s a monster.” “You don’t think that’s a little sad, Siren?” she asks, but her voice isn’t relaxed anymore. It’s... guarded? Tense? I’ve never heard her talk that way before. What did I say? “Well, I guess, but right now, the younger sister is only punished because she got caught. So, really, she’s only sorry that she didn’t get away with it,” I say, quickly. She’ll like that, right? Teachers love it when you talk about being really sorry instead of just sorry you were caught. “So, I thought it would be better if she never gets caught, but the knight kills her sister and she realizes that she’s murdered her only sibling. That way, her marriage is ruined and she lives in guilt for the rest of her life and it’s all her fault.” What did I say? I’ve never seen a grown-up look at me that way before. Stiff, tense. Not angry now, not worried, something else. She fiddles with the papers on her desk, even though I know none of that’s important. “Did anypony suggest that to you, Siren? Or did you get it from another story?” “N-no. It just seemed more fun that way,” I say. I say it really quiet. Timid, worried. She should reach across the desk and tell me that it’s all okay. But she doesn't. She only gives me that stiff look. Why is she looking at me that way? “What did I do wrong?” “Nothing, Siren,” she says, after a moment, letting out a tight breath, reaching into her desk to pull something out. Not random fiddling this time. A form. “I’m going to make an appointment for you tomorrow to see Doctor Ink Blot. Do you remember him? He was the nice stallion who—” “You’re sending me to the psychologist!?” I ask, and she flinches. She thought she could slip that past me but... why!? I didn’t do anything wrong! “I’m sorry, Ms. Spring Breeze. I can just pick a different story!” I say, but she ignores me. She never ignores me! Why is she looking at me that way? “Going to the doctor is not a punishment, Siren,” she says, but she’s lying and I can hear that she’s lying! I sound frightened—I’m tearing up! She should be rushing around her desk to give me a hug and tell me it’ll be okay and she’s just staring at me! “We only want to make sure you’re completely... alright.” Rarity refills my teacup. “It’s not true,” I whisper, looking at the table. There’s blood on it, dripping off of Rarity’s hooves. Is that mine? I don’t feel hurt. “They said I was normal.” “I didn’t choose where you went, Siren,” Rarity says, shaking her head. “But tell me, is the story better that way?” “That’s not the point,” I answer. “What is the point?” she asks. “It’s not okay to torment ponies for your own enjoyment,” I say, still looking at the table. I don’t think that blood is actually there. It drips and drips but never seems to pool or congeal. “Artistic works about happiness and friendship are just as meaningful as works about pain.” “I suppose you would know,” Rarity agrees. “As the Princess’s student, you must have learned a great deal about the power of friendship.” I don’t... I don’t want to... “Show me,” Rarity orders. “Show me the truth, Siren.” I pick up the cup. “I just wish you’d be a little nicer to me!” Cirrus Cloud yells, and it’s a herculean effort not to roll my eyes. I mean, I manage it, of course—I’m good that way—but she can be so childish sometimes. I wish she’d be a little more mature, but for now, there’s nothing I can do but look sympathetic and worried. It’ll calm her down faster. Besides, satisfying as it might be to yell back, I’m the Princess’s student. I can’t be seen shouting in the palace halls like some spoiled noble’s foal. “Cirrus...” I ask, leaning over to her. I reach a foreleg out, like I was going to put it over her shoulder, but then I stop, returning it to the ground. The hesitation fits my expression well enough—a little unsure, a little concerned. “When was I mean to you?” “All the time!” she yells, petulant and angry, and I make myself look hurt. The things we go through for our friends. “You always take credit for everything I do, and we always do what you want! Letting the foals from the city come and see the empty parts of the palace was my idea, but everypony thinks it was your idea and that you’re just so sweet!” She actually sneers down at me as she finishes speaking, letting out a snort and turning her head away. “I know that was your idea,” I say, pulling away a little, glancing at the floor. She leans towards me on impulse, a reflex I doubt she’s aware of. “And I told Princess Celestia it was your idea. Lots of times. You heard me say it.” “It was the way you said it,” she insists, but she’s not yelling now. Instead, she’s trying to hold a glare, her stare flicking between me and the floor. “Oh,” I say, quiet, still—weighty but flat. A short pause and scratching the back of my head with a hoof sells it, and I quietly ask, “How did I say it?” “The same way you say everything! You always say things were my idea, but all the adults think you did it! And nothing is ever your fault! Ever!” She’s shouting again, but her voice is increasingly unsteady as she starts to realize how absurd she’s being. “You keep taking my stuff and not giving it back, and whenever we get into a fight about it, I end up apologizing to you! You... you say things and I get all tongue tied and somehow you’re always right!” “I uh... I didn’t realize...” Eyes to the floor, ears folded back. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Cirrus. I asked if I could borrow your things, and I didn’t think you...” And trail off like so, half turn away, tail down, move to walk off but don’t actually take the step. “I’ll just bring them back.” Finish the motion, walk off down the hall, start down the steps, but before I can get out of sight... “Siren, wait,” she says, stepping after me. Thank you, Cirrus, you almost missed your cue there. “Look I’m... I’m not really that mad. You just can’t keep taking advantage of me.” “I didn’t know you thought I was!” I shoot back, and yeah, okay, it’s a little emotional for an argument in the palace halls, but it’s not like anypony is around right now. Besides, I sound hurt, not petty, and turning to face her with that intense, wide-eyed look really nails it. “How long have you felt this way?” “It’s not—no, Siren,” she says, stepping after me. “Maybe taking advantage was too strong. But you... you kind of always get your way, you know? It’s tiring. I know I said you could borrow my things, but that doesn't mean I really want you to!” Silence is the best answer to that, with a hint of reservation in the eyes. Confusion, hesitance, stiffness in the legs. Show her that I think that’s absurd, but of course, I couldn't possibly say that to her. Not when she’s so clearly distressed. “Just, sometimes ponies get badgered into things, you know? They agree to stuff when they don’t really mean it.” “Oh,” I say, scuffing the stairs with a hoof. “I badger ponies?” Wait, beat of silence, speak right when she’s about to respond, “Do the others... I mean, does everypony think I’m...” “No! Siren, no,” she says. Now she has her wing around me, trying to tug me over to her as I look away. “I’m... sorry I exaggerated. I was upset. You don’t badger ponies. But you’re... you know. Pretty and clever and nice. You make things sound good,” she says. Cirrus Cloud can be childish, but she always comes back to her senses soon enough. She’s a good friend that way. “Sometimes when you say stuff, I agree to it without thinking and regret it later.” “You could tell me. Instead of letting it build up this way,” I say, and when she nudges me with her wing, I finally turn back to her.  It’s a little awkward on the stairwell, but she makes the effort, and soon, we’re hugging. “I will, Siren. I’m sorry. Let’s... let’s just put this behind us, okay?” she asks, forcing a smile onto her face. “Yeah... hey. If you want more credit for things, I was supposed to meet Princess Celestia later. Why don’t you come with me?” I suggest. I’m a little hesitant, but when she looks at me, I smile back. “You can tell her what you learned about friendship. That always makes her happy.” “Oh, Siren,” she says, a little embarrassed, looking down and shaking her head. “I couldn't do that. I know how much Princess Celestia’s approval means to you. You should—” “No, Cirrus... really,” I say, tilting her chin up. “I mean it.” She smiles at me. Soft and warm. Dealing with Cirrus when she’s like this is frustrating, but it is nice when she comes back around. Princess Celestia will be really happy when she hears I was able to teach one of my friends such a valuable friendship lesson. “It’s not true,” I say, tears welling up in my eyes. Cirrus. I’d forgotten her. “It didn’t happen that way.” “Was the vision inaccurate?” Rarity asks. She’s... wearing something. Glittering gold. But it won’t come into focus. Laurels rest on her head, of red and blue flowers. The decorations in the room are there, but it’s so hard to see them. I only see the walls. An empty, perfect, sterile box. “That’s not the point,” I say. “What is the point?” she asks. “Everypony has moments of weakness. When they’re cruel or selfish or... or dishonest,” I say. “What matters is that they make things right. That they learn from what they did wrong and become a better pony.” “Ah, and I suppose you did become a better pony after that. Learned from the experience,” Rarity says with a nod. I don’t... no. I don’t want to. No! Not again! “Understanding comes upon us if we would wish it or not, Siren,” Rarity says, letting out a disapproving tut. My hooves move like I’m a puppet on strings. I’m trying to pull away, trying to press them flat, but my body jerks forward without me, forcing me down, forcing me to pick up the cup, my mouth craning open. “Don’t make excuses, Luna!” Princess Celestia bellows. I’ve never heard her shout like that, never seen her lose her temper. She pulled Luna away, of course—told me to wait outside and went off to some private room. But it’s not private enough—not if you know the little places in the castle where sound pools and lurks. “Your behavior out there was outrageous! You’re the Princess of the Night, and you berated a child until she cried!” “Perhaps she deserves to weep,” Luna answers, quiet and even. I can’t see her, but I know she’s scowling. I rub the tears off my cheeks. She always hated me. Her voice carries through the old stone to the little nook in the wall I’m curled up in. It’s outside, behind the rose bushes, but with a little magic, you can hear the entire south wing of the palace from here, clear as a bell. “Luna, you—” Princess Celestia snaps, momentarily left at a loss for words. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing!” she finally yells, shock and anger running together in equal measure. “She meant well, Luna. Even if her gift was a bit personal, you’ve no right to—” “Her gift did not offend me,” Luna says, cool and controlled tones cutting off her sister’s hot and quick words. “It was the most thoughtful gift I have received since my return to Equestria—a reminder of better times and sweet memories I had thought lost. I am angry, sister, because she did not have good intentions.” “She wants you to like her, Luna!” Celestia insists. That’s right, I did! “She’s a very bright young filly and—” “It is that intelligence that I fear, sister,” Luna answers smoothly. “Her cleverness is hard and unkind, a thing of cogs and springs steeped in an oily mix of arrogance and prejudice. You have given her the knowledge of compassion, but it has only made her cynical, and she used that knowledge against me today. I would not bow to her wishes, and so she shaped my memories into a weapon—a weakness she could exploit to destroy me.” That... that’s not true! I just wanted something that would make her smile. “For the stars’ sake, Luna!” Celestia shouts, exasperated at how stupid her sister is being! “It was a birthday gift! She’s only a child!” “She’s only one pony,” Luna answers. Her tone is strange, like she was agreeing with Celestia. “What can she possibly do?” Silence. I couldn't say what makes one silence different from another, but I can tell them apart. I can see Celestia step back, her hoof hitting the ground, her face flat. She’ll step up now! She’ll step up and start yelling and tell Luna she can’t talk about me that way! Luna can make up all the lies she likes—the Princess will never believe her! “This isn’t like that,” Celestia answers. She’s no longer bellowing, and she sounds... uncertain. It’s not like what? It’s not like what, Princess? “Do you question her ability?” Luna asks curtly. “No, I—” “Do you question her will?” Luna asks again. “That’s not the point!” Celestia snaps, left on the defensive. What’s not the point, Princess? “Given the right circumstances,” Luna says, slowly and carefully, “she’d kill Equestria just for the pleasure of watching it die.” What? Where is she getting this from? From a birthday gift? I can imagine Celestia’s face, wide and confused, wondering if her sister has gone insane. She’ll back out of the room now. Make her excuses. Go figure out what to do, that’s it! Celestia says nothing for a while, drawing a breath. “I know.” What? “Yes, under the right circumstances, she could turn into a monster,” Celestia says. What? No, I couldn't! “But there are lots of ponies with the potential to do harm, if the circumstances were right. I cannot, I will not condemn any of my subjects for things they might do.” Her tone is firm, but her voice is shaky, uncertain. “I’d expect a pony with your history to understand.” “It is because of my history you should listen to me! You could not believe that your own sister would turn against you, and all of Equestria nearly paid the ultimate price for your inaction! The crystal ponies endured a generation of slavery because you could not accept that the foal you knew would grow to become a tyrant. Equestria starved and burned because you refused to... to believe that...” Luna trails off, and I hear the rustle of feathers. Something happening between them. When she continues, her voice is gentler. “You love your little ponies too much. It blinds you to what they’re becoming.” Celestia says nothing. “Sister...” Princess Luna mutters, so quiet I have to cast the spell again. Why isn’t Princess Celestia saying anything!? “Siren is not Twilight. You’re not the only one who misses her, and you’re not the only one who bears the blame. I should have been there. I should have been by your side. But I was a fool and let myself be manipulated, and I did nothing as my kingdom burned. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish I’d acted differently. But Siren isn’t her. Cut her hair, dress her up, teach her to be a wizard, it will not bring back what you’ve lost. She doesn't deserve Twilight’s place.” “I know,” Celestia says. W-what? “But I can’t keep Equestria safe by sacrificing what it stands for. I won’t, Luna. Siren deserves the same chance as anypony...” Celestia is saying more, but I’m already running, out of the little nook, through the bushes, and off into the palace grounds, tears streaming down my face. My stomach hurts so much, twisted into angry, painful knots. The room seems to be spinning, swaying back and forth. I can see Quick March by the door, but his uniform is gone—and his wings too, like he was an earth pony. Instead, he’s wearing a cloak made out of knives, long shards of jagged metal. Rarity is different too. Her outfit is gone, and instead, her coat is a pure snow white, without a single blemish or cutie mark to be seen. It’s like staring at a glacier in the sun, an infinite sheet of white. Her hooves are made of silver, and come to a sharp, bloodied edge. She still wears her laurels of blue and red flowers, and something around her neck—a golden necklace. A golden necklace with a bright purple stone in the middle, cut into the shape of a diamond. It looks old, and tarnished, and the gem in the middle is cracked. “It’s not true,” I mutter, trying to stay up straight. So disoriented, so confused. What’s happening? “Luna hates me. She’d say anything about me!” “But didn’t Celestia agree with her?” Rarity asks sweetly. “That’s not the point!” I shout, grabbing my stomach with both hooves as a spasm passes through me, tears running in rivers down my face. “What’s happening to me?” “You’re beginning to see things as they truly are,” Rarity says, gentle and sweet. “To perceive that which has been hidden from mundane senses.” “What... what is that?” I ask, pointing at her necklace. I know what it is. But it can’t be! “It’s the Element of Generosity, dear,” she says, tapping it with a hoof, silver on gold producing a clear ring. “The Element of Generosity is in Canterlot! It’s sitting in a display case! I’ve seen it!” I shout, but Rarity only laughs. “You saw a necklace with a purple stone in a display case, but how would you know if it was real?” she asks, smiling, amused by the thought. “This one though...” She reaches out to take my hoof, pressing it to the necklace. I can feel it pulse, hum with power. It’s like the subtle tension when I use my horn, but magnified a thousand times. Like feeling the shake of an oncoming train, like touching a dam and knowing the weight of the water behind it. “How does it feel?” It... “It feels good,” I say, the pain in my stomach seeming to subside. “I don’t understand.” “I’m getting old, Siren. Oh, I’ve a few good years left in me, but stress and mantles have been unkind to my health,” she says, brushing my hoof over the gold. “The time when I must pass this torch to another will be soon upon me. I’ve seen it in you, Siren. You can give the ponies of Vision the most wonderful gifts, bestowing meaning and beauty into their otherwise empty lives.” “No... no. Celestia wouldn't want that,” I say, and Rarity slaps my hoof away. At once, the pain returns, doubling me over and leaving me on the floor, curled around myself in agony. “Celestia this, Celestia that! What does Siren want?” she demands, leaning over the table. The lights around us seem harsher now, and every time they beat, they casts her face into long, dark shadows. “I don’t know!” I scream. “You don’t know, or you don’t want to know?” Rarity asks, yanking me up. “Seek the truth, Siren, and it will be revealed to you.” No no, please not again! “Show me what you desire most in the world!” Hot liquid rushes down my throat... I don’t understand. “Who’s there?” Green asks. She’s lying back on a hard table, held in place by thin wires that cut into her flesh whenever she struggles against them. There’s no room around her—just darkness in which lurking figures can be half-seen, half-heard, whispering to each other in the gloom. She is alone in the center of it all, her head fixed in a brace so she can only look straight up, directly into the spotlight that shines down upon her. “It’s me, Green,” I say, leaning over her so she can see me. Her eyes are red, bloodshot and wild, but they focus on me. “I’m here.” “Siren?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at me. Her voice is weak, confused, but she focuses in on me. “What are you doing here?” “I don’t know,” I say, shutting my eyes. Tears run down my face, burning my cheeks as they go, and my voice cracks when I try to speak. “I’m so sorry, Green. I should have listened to you. I should have listened.” “Slow down, Sweetheart. What’s happening?” she asks. I can tell she’s tired, but she’s making herself listen. She wants to reach for me, but even that instinctive little motion cuts her, a fresh wave of blood running out onto the steel. “Rarity... she’s...” I can’t say it. How can I say what she’s done without sounding like the weakest, most pathetic sort of creature? How can I say I betrayed my only friend? “I don’t know what to do, Green. I don’t know what to do. She made me drink this potion. I’m supposed to see what I want. I don’t know why it brought me here.” “I don’t know what you want, Sweetheart,” Green says. She sounds so weary, shutting her eyes and stilling her body as she tries to gather enough strength to talk. “But if you drank anything Rarity gave you, what you need is to puke right now.” “I’m serious, Green!” I shout. “She thinks I could be the next Element of Generosity! She... she wants me to take her place! She thinks I have it in me!” “Come now, Sweetheart,” Green says, opening her eyes again, looking up at me. She’s trying to reassure me, forcing a calm little smile onto her face, under those bloodshot eyes. “Do you really think you’re a monster like—” “YES!” I scream, voice ragged, starting to sob. “Yes, Green! I am! I am and she’s right!” I cry out, barely comprehensible. “I could be her! I could run this awful place and I’d enjoy it! I’d be beautiful and powerful and everypony would adore me or die! I want it, Green. It’s horrible but I want it,” I say, looking down at her. “Help me,” I whisper, and my voice is as strong as glass. She’s strapped to the table, but I’m the one at her mercy, staring into her eyes, begging. For a moment, Green stares back at me, not sure what to say. Then she lets her head fall back, looking up into the light. “You got it all backwards,” she says, drawing a weak breath, trying to stop the wires from cutting into her barrel. “Ponies don’t do terrible things because they’re monsters. They’re monsters because they do terrible things. I would know,” she says, shutting her eyes. “It’s your choices that make you, Sweetheart. I’ll believe that you might be a little... screwed up in the head but... who cares?” she asks, with a derisive sneer, a snort of breath. “You’ve got a lot of bad habits to break, Siren. Starting with the idea that the universe gives a care what makes you happy.” She forces herself to draw a breath, wincing into the cuts. “You know what you need to do! You just wanted somepony to push you into it. Quit whining and do it!” I don’t... “NOW!” I reach under the table. I find the spot where her restraints connect to the metal, and I slide them off. They come free with a loud pop, the wires going slack. My horn glows, a telekinetic nudge down my throat... ...and I twist over Rarity’s table, heaving as I puke up her awful tea. It comes up black, like tar, splattering on her china set and oozing over the table. “You wretched little brat!” Rarity screams. I see motion, and then her hoof cracks into the side of my face. Pain courses through my jaw, and I go flying back to the floor, hitting the carpet hard. My vision is swimming, but the room and its inhabitants are back to normal. I can’t see the Element of Generosity anymore, but on the table, whatever I puked up hisses and spits like an angry serpent, corroding its way through the wood and sending up thick rolls of black smog. “It’s my curse,” Rarity says with a sigh and a heavy shake of her head. “It’s my eternal curse!” she shouts, voice raising the more she talks, becoming more hysteric with every word. “I give, and I give, and I give, but for all my generosity, I’m surrounded by INGRATES!” she screams the word so loud her voice cracks, taking on a rough, scratchy quality. I try to crawl away, but her horn glows, and she picks me up like I was a child’s toy, hurling me into the wall. I hit hard, feel the wood smash into my sides. There’s a flash of pain, the wind knocked out of me as I crumple to the floor, my breath coming in sickly wheezes. “I gave you understanding! Purpose! Meaning! Joy! I offered you freedom! I offered you happiness!” I try to get up, but her hoof connects with my face again before I can, smashing my head back against the wood. This time, the pain is sharp, my ears ringing as the room wobbles and spins. “I gave you everything!” she screams, lifting me up to look her in the eye. “You...” I say. It’s hard to speak. Like my mouth was full of mud, slurring the words together. “Epiphany...” “What? Her? She’s why you’re doing this!?” Rarity shouts. “If I hadn’t found her, she would have died in her little box, nameless and forgotten! Now, future generations will stare at her in wonder. If I hadn’t found her, she would have died small, and meek, and cowardly! Just another face in the crowd. I gave her strength. I gave her beauty! I gave her greatness! I bestowed upon her wonders she could never have imagined. I wrought perfection in this unworthy world!” she shouts, her voice screeching, her hoof slamming to the floor to emphasize her words. She stares at me, wide-eyed, nostrils flaring as she pants for breath. “And you,” she says, her voice sinking to a growl. I try to lean away, but there’s nowhere to go, her magic holding me hard in place. “You. You gazed upon my works and knew them for what they were. I gave you more beauty than you will ever again behold. And you repaid me with treachery.” I... didn’t... no... “And for what? So you could go crawling back to Green! Like a kicked dog.” She spits the words out. “I know what you’re thinking. ‘Aww, that poor misunderstood creature. She only wanted to escape Rarity. Who can blame her for doing what she needed to do to survive?’” Rarity says, mocking me with a high, nasal, whining tone. She snorts. “She slit a mare’s throat for getting better reviews than her. That’s your company. That’s who you’re siding with against the pony who gave you everything!” I try to speak, try to say, but it’s like my mouth is full of glue. I can’t find the words, everything is just so fast, so loud, coming all at once. I’m sorry, Rarity! “Do you think she’s going to save you? You stupid child! How do you think she escaped last time?” Rarity demands. “Waiting until I’m busy, getting some poor victim to hold my attention? Right now she’s running out the back and leaving you to die!” No, no she wouldn't! She... she wouldn't. She... “Do you even understand what you’ve done? Who you’ve spurned? The magnitude of your crime!?” Rarity shouts. I... I just wanted to do the right thing. You do the right thing and it all works out! That’s how it’s supposed to work! Gradually, Rarity stills. Her wild motions and sharp gestures slow, her yelling stopping as her breath comes in pants. Her wide eyes narrow, fixing me with her gaze as her muzzle twists into a sneer. “Beg for your life,” Rarity orders me. “Beg for your life you miserable stain, and maybe I won’t skin you alive and turn you into a coat!” “Please don’t kill me,” I say, trying to pull away from her, trying to break her stare. “What was that!?” “Please don’t kill me!” I say, sobbing the words out, trying to get away from her. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do! “I want to live!” “Too bad!” Rarity snarls, her horn shining. I can feel that same tension as when she fixed my shoulder, the knife point under my flesh, traveling all across my body. A pony screams, a stallion. Rarity turns her head, looking to the sound. The door to her office crashes open, one of her orderlies flying through it. He’s dead, you can tell by how he lands, twisting up around himself and sprawling out over the floor. Quick March flares out his wings, turning to face the entrance. “Green!” I cry out. She’s here! She’s going to save me! She’s... she’s limping and covered in blood and armed with one of the guard’s clubs and a broken bottle, but she’s here! She looks at Quick March, but fixes her gaze on Rarity. “Leave her alone,” Green says, her hooves set apart, braced for action, her horn glowing. She’s going to fight for me! “I can kill her from here,” Quick March says. There’s something off about his wings. They flex too much, and the feathers are too straight. When he flares his wings like that, they seem to come to points, bent at the tips. Green turns to face him, ready to fight, but Rarity... laughs. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” she says, waving him off. “This is a pleasant surprise, Green. I didn’t think you cared.” “I—” “I did not say you could speak,” Rarity says, shaking her head, and Green falls silent, her jaw snapping shut with a click. “It’s actually good that you’re here though, Green. You can make some suggestions about just what I’m going to do to both of you. Now, I have been on a transmutative kick recently, but for the two of you, I was thinking of bringing back the table.” She claps her hooves together, so excited. “Do you remember the table, Green?” I hear the faintest of gasps, and Green’s sides go still as she holds her breath. The glow fades from her horn, her weapons fall to the floor, and Rarity smiles. No, no. Green, no! You can take her! “You do remember the table! Oh, those were some good times,” she says, with a lighthearted laugh. “Of course, surgical techniques have improved since then, but I still have my old scalpel collection.” She says it all sing-song, like it was an enticement. Green is trembling, her tail tucked up under her. “Remember all the fun we had there? You just wouldn't hold still no matter how much I yelled at you.” Rarity says with a cheerful little smile. Green’s trembles have turned into shaking, like she was shivering uncontrolably, shrinking back away from Rarity. “Do you want to go back to the table, Green?” “N-no,” Green whispers. Her voice so quiet. Her ears are folded tight against her head, her body scrunched in around itself. “Tell me what happens when you struggle, Green,” Rarity orders. “Struggling makes it hurt,” Green whispers, her voice cracking. I hear a quiet thump below her. Tears hitting the carpet. The table, the wires... she... the whole time I left her there. “Yes. Yes it does,” Rarity agrees, glancing back at me and... and smiling. Thinking of what’s to become of me. “Do you want it to hurt?” “No, Rarity,” she whispers, with the faintest shake of her head. “No.” “Well then, you’re in luck. Turn around, and leave the Pavilion, and I’ll spare you, Green,” she says with a chuckle. “I’m bored of you. Run back to Trixie.” Green turns, takes a step towards the door. Then, she stops, turns back to Rarity, shaking like a leaf in the wind as she raises her head. “No.” For a moment, nopony says anything. Rarity looks up. “What?” Rarity asks. She doesn't even seem offended. Just... confused, angry, and surprised. Staring at Green through narrow, disbelieving eyes. “I said... no,” Green repeats, and she raises a trembling leg to point at me. “Trade. Siren for me.” “A trade? And why would I make any sort of deal with you when I can kill both of you here and now?” she demands, giving Green her most incredulous look and flicking her gaze between the two of us. “Because if I die, your first work is always a failure,” she says, forcing the words out, heavy and slow. “Your... legacy. All those future generations of foals cracking open books to read about you. And page one, picture one, is me. Always me. That’s what they’ll remember you by. And every time somepony praises your work, another will point at me and say, ‘Oh but she wasn’t always perfect.’” “You’re unfixable, Green!” Rarity snaps, dropping me to the floor as Green wholly takes her attention. The carpet slams against my rear, and I crumple. “I tried to make you beautiful, but you always turned out wrong!” Green looks at me for a moment. A long look. “Maybe she’s better than you.” Rarity looks at Green. Looks at me. Green, what are you doing? I see it in her eyes. Just a moment before Rarity does. “No! Don’t!” I shout. But Green only looks at me, and shakes her head. What starts as an “aaah” in Rarity’s throat soon builds to a high-pitched squeal, and she claps her hooves together like an overexcited school filly. “Oh my goodness, I can’t believe this is happening! Oh, this is so perfectly beautifully tragic. The horrible monster redeems herself for the love of this sniveling little stain! I could have done better, granted”—she makes a little circular motion of her hoof, a wide and open gesture—“but it’s a first work. History will forgive me for that. Oh, yes! Unbroken record!” she grins, drawing a breath in between clenched teeth. “Deal.” “What?” Quick March asks, quickly stepping away from Green. “Ms. Rarity, this... do we really have to? Surely the intent to do the right thing is enough. We don’t have to actually let Siren go! You can’t let her go after she—” “Not now, Quick March!” Rarity snarls, and he backs away sharply, like from a dangerous animal. She turns her gaze back to Green and holds up two hooves as though to frame a shot. “Yes... yes. I’ll take it. Say goodbye, Green.” Green doesn't look at me then. She looks at Rarity, shuts her eyes. “Goodbye.” Rarity’s horn shines, and a brilliant blue beam lances out, striking Green in the chest. There’s a terrible whine, like cracking glass, and her flesh turns to crystal around the point of impact. At first, it’s like her coat is shimmering a bit, but then it spreads outwards, and outwards, through her body, down her legs, up to her head. ...It only takes a second. Maybe two. Then... she’s still. Glittering there, her last moment preserved forever. She just looks so sad. “Quick March, get rid of Siren,” Rarity orders, trotting up to Green and running a hoof down over her side, nuzzling against her stone-cold cheek. “Mmm. I need to go appreciate the moment.” He quickly nods his head, trotting over to me. I try to pull away, but there’s a wall behind me, and then he’s grabbing me, dragging me through the halls. I’m shouting and screaming and dragging my hooves over the stone and ponies are staring but none of them help me! None of them help me. I feel open air above us, and we’re flying. Flying high over the concourse. Towards the main gates. Past the shops and the tram stations. Then we’re past the gate, and he drops me, still in the air. I try to land on my hooves, but my legs go stiff on impact and crumple under me. I come down at an angle, my shoulder slamming into the white stone. My head hits the floor, and pain runs through me, coursing all up and down my side. “I trusted you. She trusted you, you cowering little parasite,” he snarls. He doesn’t land, hovering above me. For a second, he seems to debate killing me anyway, his feathers flexing in that unnatural way as he glares down at me. Finally, he just snorts. “I hope security rapes you.” A sharp flap of his wings carries him off, back over the gates. I’m able to push myself up, and I turn to watch him go. I watch him through the bars of the wide gates until he’s lost to sight, and the concourse is empty again. It’s quiet.