//------------------------------//
// Interlude: Something Witchy 
// Story: Finding Serenity 
// by M1ghtypen 
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	Spitfire didn’t pay very much attention to what happened after she was dumped on Persepony. As far as she was concerned, the details of the transaction weren’t important. Lyra had tossed her right off the edge of Sereneighty’s cargo ramp without the ship ever touching the ground. It was a level of abandonment that she had seldom felt before.

She had been handed over to a group of diamond dogs with a promise that somepony would give her the very best medical care. Apparently Lyra had already made arrangements with a very nice psychiatric hospital. Spitfire’s share of the pay from their job together had paid for it, of course. She was being committed on her own dime.

There was a lot of talking, and then she was put into a tiny underground cell until the nice ponies in white coats could collect her. There was a bed and a little bathroom, but she had no privacy and didn’t feel like using either. One of the big dogs was positioned outside of her cell to keep an eye on her.

For nearly an hour she stared at her reflection in the bathroom’s mirror. She thought back to her time on Sereneighty, remembering the torn flesh and twisted minds of the Reavers. The thoughts hurt, and they weighed heavily on her now that she was alone with them. She wanted to cry, and actually managed to produce a few tears.

The memories were inescapable, plastered all over the inside of her mind like nightmarish wallpaper. She felt like cracking open her own skull, just to let out the awfulness that was taking root. It wasn’t fair that she had to deal with it alone. For the first time in nearly a decade, she missed Lyra.

Thinking about Lyra made her angry. It was easy for Lyra to talk about getting help. She had a crew, a ship, and a million other shiny adventures waiting for her among the shiny, shiny stars. Spitfire had nothing, and she knew it. She had no money, no job, and no friends. She’d had an old flight jacket with sunglasses in the pocket, but the guards had taken it.

Nothing hurt. Nothing was the worst thing in the whole ‘Verse, and she was all alone with it like a victim in a horror movie. She couldn’t remember being more frightened of anything in her entire life.

Somewhere, somehow, her life had taken a turn for the worst. It had started, most likely, with Lightning Dust. The sycophantic little hotshot had gotten under her skin without even trying.

At first Spitfire had been horrified by her own actions, but the anger had given way to a sick sense of satisfaction. She could feel the broken recruit’s fear, and it was utterly captivating. Seeing herself through Lightning Dust’s eyes was like looking up at a terrible, enraged goddess.

She had always wondered if changelings felt the same way while feeding on love.

Her life had quickly spiraled out of control, and she made no attempt to stop it. The War of Unification flew by, and for a while it seemed like the good times would never end. She plummeted to new lows, and laughed as the ‘Verse burned from her passing. She was unstoppable, and everypony knew it.

The reflection in the mirror seemed to smile at her. She wanted to smack it, to drive it to the ground and smash its stupid face against the floor for making light of the situation. Her forelegs were trembling with panic, and the empty cell frightened her with its isolation. Nopony could reach her, so nopony could help her.

Then, quite suddenly, she had an epiphany. It was the kind of quiet, creeping revelation that she imagined would lead ordinary ponies to do all kinds of unspeakable things. “Death is psychosomatic,” she told her reflection. “You’ve got nothing to be afraid of.”

She made it nod its ugly, infected head in agreement. “Nothing can hurt you.” Spitfire grabbed the sink, planted her hooves firmly, and rammed her head into the mirror.