"I'm really worried," Spike whispered. It was very late, how late exactly I wasn't sure, but you couldn't see a foot in front of your snout.
I rolled over to face Spike, "About what?"
"I don't know-- everything, I guess. I don't feel like myself. There's this feeling in the pit of my stomach: like there's a snake in it or something. And I don't know what to do with my wings, and I can't get used to being so much bigger than I was," he sighed, "I'm just-- confused."
Deep inside, I realized that this was my fault. I was the one who had turned him into an disturbing freak-of-nature, I was the one who'd muddled his feelings to the point where he couldn't tell the difference between pain and bliss. I had turned him into a monster, and there was no kind way to reverse that.
"I know what you're thinking," Spike interrupted my thoughts, "And it isn't true. You weren't trying to do this, so it's not your fault. I don't blame you."
"I wish I could say that the feeling was mutual. I can't stop thinking about you."
Spike's eyes lit up, "I didn't mean it like that," I said, "Well... I mean... maybe I sort of did. But--"
I really couldn't tell you for sure what happened next, or who started it. I just know that for the next minute or two, the lips of a dragon were pressed against mine, and that I was happy about it. Very happy.
~~~~~
Unfortunately, that was the end of my happiness for the foreseeable future. I woke up to a bed empty except for me and a few blackened dragon scales. I jumped out of bed, getting myself tangled in the sheets and crashing to the floor. I heard the scrabbling steps of Spike, as he struggled to make it around a corner.
"Are you okay?" he asked, sound frazzled.
"I'm fine, dear," I waved a hoof in the air, afterwards using it to pull me off of the floor.
Spike breathed a sigh of relief, "Good. Um... I... I have something to tell you."
"Well, what is it?"
"I was cooking breakfast, and I went to get Sweetie Bell, and... she was gone.
Several quick images flashed through my mind, ones that would not be ladylike to speak of, which terrified me. Images a Sweetie Bell...
I shook my head and blinked hard, trying to clear my mind.
"What is it?" Spike asked.
"N-nothing. Just... nightmare. She probably snuck out earlier to go crusading," I went to the mirror, trying to fix my mane.
I pulled a lock in front of my face, catching a glimpse of something brown in it. I got a closer look at it, trying to figure out what it was.
I couldn't, so I got it out of my hair as fast as possible, then turned to Spike, "Don't worry, I'm sure she's fine."
I was about to walk past Spike and into the kitchen, preparing to join in on cooking breakfast, when I saw something on his cheek. It was the same color as what was in my hair; a dried-on, crusty, Celestia-knows-what.
"Spike, there's something on your face, dear. Wash it off before you keep cooking."
Spike went to the mirror, and started scraping away at the spot with his claw. His sniffed the residue, and jumped back, flying into the hoof-board.
He was muttering something under his breath, when he ran up to Sweetie's temporary room.
"Spike, what is it?" I called after him, following at a swift trot.
He flipped back the bed sheets, revealing huge blood stains. There matching ones dripping down the sides, all cleverly hidden by the sheet. He pushed the bed out of the way, which was covering another smattering of blood, this time full of pink and lavender hairs. They were cury, dried into the blood in small clumps.
I sobbed, "Oh... oh, Celestia..." I looked at Spike, who was horrified.
"What made you come up here?" I demanded.
"I.. I-I... I could smell her... in the blood... the blood on my face..." he mumbled, bending down to sniff the blood on the floor, "that's hers, too," he stood, looking at me solemnly, "I may be able to sniff her out, bring her back and see if there's anything we can do."
I looked at him, horror written all over my face. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened here. I think Spike simply didn't want to see it.
I took small steps backward, moving slowly towards the door, "N-no, that's fine, dear. Don't bother yourself with that."
"Aren't you worried?" he looked confused with my apathy.
"Of course, but she's my sister, I will handle it. Just-- stay inside."
I galloped down the stairs and out the door, nearly vomiting in a nearby shrub from shear terror.
Spike had killed Sweetie. That was certain. The question was, had she stayed dead?