The office of New Equestria’s most influential socialite was surprisingly modest. Its owner didn’t believe in using his wealth to show off. Money, as he was fond of saying, had more important uses.
His attitude was best illustrated by the photograph sitting on his desk. It showed the famous stallion and his future wife, Fluer De Lis, having a conversation in the middle of a freeway. They pointedly ignored the long line of tanks stretched out behind them while they talked.
They had known each other for only a few hours, but Fleur fell in love on that road. Fancy Pants wasn’t the kind of stallion that let social norms stop him from doing what he thought was right. He was a bit of a rebel, and it made him just dangerous enough that other aristocrats thought he was exciting.
The tall, silent mare allowed herself to dwell on the photograph for a while. Fancy Pants often said that anypony with the means to help other ponies had a responsibility to do so, and he wasn’t shy about living up to his own philosophy. The wooden crate sitting in the corner of his office was clear evidence of that.
Fleur snapped out of her daydream and grabbed her purse from behind her husband’s desk. She was beginning to worry that they would be late for Rarity’s dinner party. When the High Priestess sent out invitations, all of New Equestria was at her beck and call. She had developed a special fondness for Fancy Pants and his wife, and would be very disappointed if they didn’t show up.
Something rattled behind her and Fleur spun around, startled by the sudden noise. The crate’s lid was now resting innocently against the wall behind it. The burial urn, a thick obsidian container decorated with crude symbols that meant nothing to her, was nestled inside on a bed of straw.
For one confusing moment, Fleur felt the urge to run. She knew that her feelings made no rational sense; the urn was nasty-looking, but it wasn’t dangerous. It was pottery, plain and simple. The lid had probably just slid off of the box.
A huge crack split the urn from neck to base, and Fleur let out a hoarse whisper. It was as close as she ever came to using her voice anymore. The urn began to rock back and forth, rattling its crate against the floor as something inside struggled to escape.
Fear threatened to make her freeze on the spot, but she forced herself to run for the door. It slammed shut in her face, and the thick oak paneling nearly broke her nose. An ear-splitting shriek, like steam escaping Hell’s tea kettle, made her cover her ears and whimper. Black smoke spilled out of the urn and filled the office in an instant, accompanied by a sense of dread so powerful that she thought it would stop her heart.
The sinister cloud surged toward her and silenced her raspy cries for help by forcing itself down her throat. Her lungs burned as it forced out all the air, and she began to choke. Her struggles slowly became weak and sluggish, then stopped entirely.
Finally, long after she had lost consciousness, Fleur collapsed. Her body twitched sporadically as the room slowly cleared of the sickening miasma.
Fancy Pants came looking for his wife ten minutes later. He found her turning slowly in front of a mirror, admiring her appearance. “Are you alright, my dear?” he asked. “You’ve taken quite a long time.”
“I’m fine,” Fleur assured him. She wrapped him in her forelegs and nuzzled into his neck. “Darling, I don’t suppose you’d consider staying here with me instead of hobnobbing with all of those uptight socialites? I’m sure the two of us would have much more fun.” Fancy’s jaw dropped. “What’s the matter?” his wife asked. “Did I come on too strong?”
“By Celestia!” Fancy Pants shouted. “You can speak!”
Fleur’s face fell into an annoyed frown. “We’ll do this the hard way, then,” she sighed. Tendrils of black smoke began leaking from her mouth, and her eyes began to glow with a faint, emerald-green light.
A bolt of dark energy shot between their horns. Fancy Pants collapsed on the floor of his office while his wife – or rather, the creature pretending to be his wife – went back to looking at herself in the mirror. “I was hoping to get you,” she muttered crossly. “It’s a bit unpredictable, shipping yourself around in knock-off antiques. You never know for certain who you’ll end up in. I suppose the wife is going to have to do.”
Fleur tossed her mane and batted her eyelashes. “I think I can get used to this. What should I call myself? I still like being Sombra, and I suppose the name could work just as well now. There’s no need to start calling myself ‘Sombrette’ or anything silly like that, is there? I can just be Queen Sombra.” She turned to the side and struck a menacing pose. “Ugh, look at the colors! Pink is so degrading.”
Fancy Pants shuddered as Sombra’s magic slowly stripped away his free will. “Never mind,” the possessed unicorn sighed. “I’ll come up with something. Let me know when you’re done drooling into the carpet and we’ll go to that dinner party. We need to keep up appearances, after all.”