Velvet Sparkle and the Queen in Stone
By Tundara
Part Five
Consciousness was slow to return, a thick morass hanging over my mind as I rose from the dreamless depths within which I had been submerged.
When I did claw and scrape my way back to the realm of the living, I found myself laying on my side next to a tumbled pile of stone. Above me, the hole into which I had fallen was sealed. Groaning, I moved to a sitting position, taking stock of my injuries and provisions.
The former I found to not be so severe. From the stiffness of my chest, I suspected a few bruised or cracked ribs, but they lacked the sharp, distinct pain of being broken. That was a feeling I’ll never forget, sustained while battling a dire bear the previous fall. Likewise, my legs were okay, aside a few minor abrasions. All together, it was nothing I couldn’t mend with a healing spell.
Calling on the necessary runes, one of which would have gotten me exiled from any nation other than the Taiga, I set about mending myself.
As I channelled the spell, I discovered that when it came to my provisions and supplies, I had been far less fortunate. My water pouches had all been torn, their contents lost. My sword was ruined, half the blade shattered. My kite shield had at least fared well enough, and had probably saved my life during the fall and subsequent cave-in. Likewise, my armour was dinged and dented. I cringed at the sight of my beloved armour with such wounds. I had some food remaining, but not near enough to survive long. Not that it mattered. I would die of dehydration long before I starved.
Determined to find my way back to the sun, I stood and slowly began to move in what I hoped was an upwards direction.
Lighting my path with magic, I discovered that wherever I had fallen was older than the vaults. The dust was far thicker around my hooves, my every step kicking it up into a cloud that bit at my nose and throat with each breath I took and stung my eyes.
There was not even a sign of the draugen within the tunnels, even the spirits writing them off as irrelevant. Or perhaps they’d been commanded to avoid that portion of Gamla Uppsala.
Time passed in a wallowing blur, each moment bleeding into the next. All I knew was the darkness waiting just beyond my magic and the empty tunnels and rooms of the tomb. I found storerooms filled with supplies that had rotted away centuries prior to my birth. After the third, I gave up searching them for anything usable.
It was then I came to a curious door.
The door was smaller than the others, in a little nook I almost overlooked as I shuffled along the passageway. I hesitated, figuring it to be another useless storeroom or perhaps a dormitory, but something about the room called to me. Curiosity danced through me, wondering why this door was different, pushed away from the others as if the halla that had placed it wanted to forget where they put it.
Slowly, I went to the door and peeked into the room beyond.
I had almost expected my curiosity to be rewarded with yet another storeroom. Instead, what I beheld was a two-tiered chamber. From the upper level, a pair of stairs descended to the lower area. Marked by a ring of pillars carved in the likenesses of the Halla’s guiding spirits, the room veritably hummed with ancient power. What truly grabbed my attention was my magic’s light glinting off something metallic.
Licking my lips in anticipation of finding I knew not what, only thankful of something to break the tedium of my searching, I pushed the door open. Glancing around for any draugen guarding the room, I slowly made my way down the stairs and to the room’s heart.
There, upon an altar, held in an ornate gold stand speckled with gems, was the most beautiful sword I’ve ever seen. Her blade shone beneath a beam of light brought down into the chamber through the ingenious use of mirrors, unmarred by dust or time.
I can still close my eyes and see clearly the froliking pegasi formed of swirling inlays upon the cross piece and down the hilt. A window into the ancient era, when mighty Marelantis ruled the oceans and Unicornia was but a few hovels built in the shadows cast by the towering Pyranese and Alps, constantly fearful of the griffons across the Mareteranean. Along the fuller, written in a lost tongue, are a series of runes that formed two words: Thuëlya and Wyrgard. Set into the pommel is a blue diamond of immense clarity that seems to gaze back at those who look upon it. When grasped with magic, the sword clings to you, unwilling to be released and almost impossible to be taken. She is power; addictive and unrelenting.
“She is beautiful, no?” wheezed a broken voice from within the shadows.
I jumped back from the sword, drawing my own broken blade and angling the fractured tip towards the voice.
Chains clinked as somepony moved, the darkness resolving itself into a broken and haggard shape.
A pegasus mare, older than any pony I’d ever seen before or since, shuffled forth. Her wings were bare of all by a few stubborn pinions, her coat matted and scraggly. She had no mane, having fallen out completely long ago.
“No need to look so frightened, child,” the ancient pegasus chortled, drawing towards me on languid hooves. “I will not harm thee.”
I gave the predictable response of the young, saying, “I am not frightened.”
“Liar, or a fool. I wonder which is better?”
The ancient mare tapped her chin in an exaggerated parody of contemplation, one that made her chains rattle. My eyes followed the iron links to where they were bolted to the wall. Magic had been wrapped around the chains, preventing them from rusting into frailty. Strewn about the sheltered alcove in which the mare had been hidden were a bed and table, both fashioned from stone.
Swallowing a snappish response as I turned back to the ancient mare, I instead asked, “Who are you? How long have you been here?”
“Since the trees were but saplings, the Queens walked among mortals, and magic was pure and unfettered by baseless fear. I have not seen the sun in two thousand years.”
“That’s impossible,” I snorted, “you’re speaking perfect Equestrian, for one thing, and it didn’t exist in its present form until three hundred years ago.”
“Am I, child? Or are you speaking perfect Lemarean?” The ancient mare smiled, her chains clinking and rattling as she moved to sit on the other side of the altar holding the sword.
“Stop calling me that! What is a ‘child’?”
“A mortal in the years between being a baby and an adult. Young, inexperienced, and full of exuberance,” explained the ancient mare with a cruel patience, as if she had to dumb down everything she said. “But, if you prefer, tell me your name and I will use that instead.”
Without thinking, I said, “Velvet, Velvet Sparkle of the Waki’Nin.”
“Velvet Sparkle of the Waki’Nin, a fine name.” The ancient mare’s hard features softened slightly as she spoke my name. Looking from me to the blade, she continued before I could speak again. “I saw you admiring her form. A weapon with few equals. Beautiful, precise, compassionate to her friends, cruel to her enemies. Her name is Llallawynn, guardian of the pure. Take her, if you want.”
“Huh? Just like that?” Puzzled, I glanced between sword and mare.
Disoriented, tired, and emotionally drained, I didn’t think that it could have been a trap. All I knew was that I had some company, strange as it was, and that back in the tunnels lurked death.
“Llallawynn is only one of the gifts I have to give, Velvet Sparkle,” the ancient pegasus said, her lips cracking as she smiled. Lifting a trembling hoof she pointed to the wall to my left.
Etched into the stone were a series of symbols and equations. I recognized them as a the formula for spells, but the exact nature of them eluded me. The runes in particular were like nothing I’d ever seen before. They seemed to twist and writhe upon the wall. I couldn’t look at them directly, my eyes quickly darting away as if stung.
“What are they?” I asked, rubbing my eyes with a hoof.
“They are Dark Runes,” the ancient mare said, wheezing as she slowly shuffled towards the wall.
“I… I’ve never heard of Dark Runes before,” I whispered, squinting and trying to force myself to read the formula, curiosity getting the better of me.
“No, you wouldn’t have,” came the amused reply. “To understand the Dark Runes you must understand the origins of everything.” The ancient mare ran a hoof over the runes, they in turn recoiling as if stung by her touch. “Before fair Ioka was born and began to swim through the boundless abyss of space. Before the first mortal soul was forged by the breaths of a thousand dying gods. Before the grains of time began to tumble like an endless waterfall. Before everything else; there was the Far Realm. Within the Far Realm thought and reality were indistinguishable. It existed for a period uncounted and for but a fraction of a moment before it was sundered apart and reality as we know it came to be.”
“I really don’t need to—”
“Yes, you do need to know this. It is important. The foundation upon which all magic exists is based upon the remnants of the Far Realm, swirling, churning, flowing through all things.” The ancient mare gave me a foul glare, her cracked lips pulling back to reveal yellow, broken teeth. “You know of three types of Runes; Elemental, Harmonic and Bright. But when I walked this world, before The Beast brought chaos and ruin upon all, we knew of two others; Chaotic and Dark.”
The ancient mare slammed her hoof against the formula etched into the wall, the runes squirming faster for a moment, and I swear I heard them hissing.
“Of the Chaotic Runes I will not speak. I am not their Keeper.” She turned to me, and then said in a low voice. “But the Dark Runes… They I must share with you. I have waited these past two thousand years for one worthy to carry them. Waited since our Queen left us to travel with her sister. Waited to pay my final penance and be released of this prison. Waited since I abandoned my sisters for foolish, selfish reasons.”
I gulped as the ancient mare left the wall and approached me. Close up I could smell the stench of her breath, like rotting pine needles and skunk weed. Fighting back my gag reflex, I warily watched her turn and sit at my side.
“Have you ever wondered about the saying ‘when you wish upon a falling star’?”
I blinked and stuttered for a response at the sudden shift in conversation and demeanor. The ancient mare had a sadness about her black eyes, and for a moment I thought her about to cry.
“No. Just the old legends about a midnight blue mare who could grant wishes when a star fell.”
“Heh, her. Yes, I can see how those legends would form. She was our caretaker for a short time. But, she betrayed my sisters, and so almost all of them have turned from her.” The ancient mare shook her scraggly mane, a low chortle making her withered frame tremble. “After my time though. After my betrayal. She was never my caretaker. Oh, no, never mine.”
I looked the mare over as my mind attempted to fit her mad ramblings together. Despite being so old and decrepit, I could feel a great deal of magic coming from her. In her prime she’d have been exceedingly powerful. But surely not powerful enough to stave off death for two thousand years.
“You speak as if you are a star. Who are you?” I asked again, and this time she answered.
“I am Algol, the Demon Star,” she gave me a wicked grin, her eyes seeming to become a bright green in the flickering torchlight. “And it is the magic of the demons I am here to teach you.” With that she reached forward, grabbing my face in her hooves, eyes aglow with jade fire, and in them I saw terrible things. Things that burned themselves upon my soul.
“Demons?” Shining scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Mother, that’s not even the stuff of myth. No pony believes that they ever existed. Not even the craziest archaeologists and researchers of magic lore.”
Velvet didn’t mind the interruption, just tilting her head as if to ask, ‘who is telling the story?’
Before Shining could respond, a new voice entered the room through the door. It was one that was known to all of Equestria; a soft voice, cultured and tempered by many years. Both Velvet and Shining gave a start, turning to see Princess Celestia alongside her niece.
“Demons are very real, Shining Armour, and so is their magic. It is also forbidden, and has been so since the Third Reformation removed any trace of them and their magic’s existence,” Princess Celestia said, her hoofsteps carefully measured as she entered the room.
“Your Divine Highness,” Velvet and Shining said together, both jumping up to perform a bow to the princess.
“My apologies for intruding unannounced into your home, Baroness Sparkle,” Celestia said, returning the bows with a slight incline of her head, “but Cadence told me it was urgent I see Tyr.”
On the bed Tyr had grown frightfully still, her blue eyes impossibly wide. She cringed and shrunk away from Celestia as the princess approached and then sat upon the bed.
“There is no need to be afraid, my little pony,” Celestia said in a soothing voice. “I only want to help you. That is all I’ve ever wanted.”
Tyr made to protest, but the encouraging looks of those around her made her hesitate, and after a few long minutes, give her consent. Rolling Tyr onto her stomach, the first things Celestia checked were the filly’s withers where her wings used to be. The magic used to bind Tyr’s wings was still, even after weeks, red and angry. Celestia didn’t like how the magic wasn’t settling, but there was nothing more that could be done without great risk.
“How many of the Dark Runes do you know?” Celestia asked as if making polite conversation as she began a more mundane examination.
Velvet shifted a little, looking to the other side of the room where the rest of her family stood having followed the princesses. She wondered what they would think when the truth emerged. Would they hate her? Would they forgive her? Velvet was unsure which she feared more.
“All of them, ma’am.”
“All of them,” Celestia repeated. Nothing more was said for some minutes as Celestia examined Tyr, looking in the filly’s eyes and beneath her tongue, much as a doctor would. Unlike a doctor, there was no talk of unbalanced humours or any of the myriad little quirks they used. “What are you going to do with them?” Celestia asked as finished and tucked Tyr back in the bed.
“I planned to take them to my grave, ma’am,” Velvet easily admitted.
“That’s a shame,” Celestia gave no indication if she was joking or serious as she moved to sit beside the bed, rather than on it. “The paranoia of the Third Reformation resulted in a great loss of magical lore. The runes and spells you know should be preserved.”
“I thought you said they were forbidden,” Shining blanched as the words left his mouth, sitting at attention as Celestia turned to regard the former Captain of her guard.
A little light of bemusement showing in her eyes, Celestia said, “I did. There are very, very few beings left that know any of the Dark runes. I know only four, myself. Luna knows perhaps a dozen or so. If Velvet knows them all, than that is a rare gift. From what you said in your story —my apologies for listening in, I was curious— it was a fallen star that gave you the runes?” Velvet nodded. “Then Twilight might not know them. That would be interesting as the stars themselves are comprised of Black magic.”
“Are you saying my sister is,” Shining paused to work his jaw before whispering, “a witch?”
“What? Of course not,” Celestia gave a bemused laugh after she spoke. “I can not say much more as the origins of the stars are a mystery, except that their special magic requires trades and sacrifices. Only when a star falls can a wish be granted by the magic released, you know. Twilight herself, she is a good hearted pony, and I would not want to call her a witch.”
Gulping, Shining was startled when Velvet said, “A good heart is not always enough, and there are some tests that nopony should have to take. That is why I will not allow these runes to be passed on. They are not meant for us, Princess.”
“No, they are not,” Celestia agreed, “but preserving them is not the same as passing them on.”
Velvet gave a violent shake of her head. “No!” Taking a quick breath to calm herself, she said much softer, “No, these… runes are a blight. I swore to see them gone, and so I will. By the end of my story, you’ll know why.”
“Your story is not yet finished,” Celestia pointed out, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “I’m sorry I can not stay to hear it.” Briskly standing, Celestia made her way to the door, saying over her withers, “Keep her warm and comfortable, I’ll return shortly.”
The door closed softly behind Celestia, leaving a sullen silence in her passing. Velvet looked around the room, and saw all of her family deep in thought. Her husband and wives’ silence worried her most of all, as did the regret flickering behind Comet and Glitterdust’s eyes.
There was one, however, who seemed almost eager now that Celestia was gone. Tyr looked up from her bed with wide, inquisitive eyes that could only belong to the young of spirit.
“So… more story?” Tyr suggested sweetly.
“Yes, more story,” Velvet replied, a worried frown on her muzzle and pressing back her ears as fears of what her family would think over what was to come next. .
I was trapped in that chamber for days, existing in a world of shifting shadows and expectant whispers. Within my head the runes fought amongst themselves, not truly alive, but with an awareness and glee. I could feel their desires; a primal, animalistic urge to burst into the world through me.
With the runes echoed Algol’s final words.
“You must be ever vigilant, child. Find something to hold onto, a light to warm your heart against the runes, or they will leave you cold and empty inside. I would say I am sorry for what you will endure —and you must endure— but I am not. This is my last warning; beware of using Love. She can be as cruel as she is soft, hard as dragon-scale, sharper than steel, and colder than the deepest winter night beneath an indifferent moon. You must find something, but beware of Love.”
As I lay floating between awareness and the shadows, Algol grew quiet. I tried to speak to her, to coax her help, but all I received was silence. How I hate that mare and what she cursed me to carry, and in the pitch black of the tomb my heart began to grow bitter and tired. There was no light, no enchanted torches or flickering runes to grant sight. Madness threatened to claim me, the whispers growing louder until they threatened to crack my mind asunder.
I could not get any lower. Trapped, alone, cursed, and afraid.
My eyes stung with dust and tears as I tried to push the runes back. In return I received a jolt of pain at the base of my horn, arcing down my neck to my frantically beating heart. On the precipice of giving up, of surrendering myself to the runes’ cruel advances, I saw a silver hint of light. Turning my head, I observed Llallawynn upon her altar, the sword’s blade glowing with starlight.
Into the curtain of light stepped a spectre, her coat pale as smoke, a pony that I knew to be dead and in Elysium.
“Mother?” I asked, my voice rough and dry, cracking within my throat.
The spectre stepped closer, allowing me to see that she was not my mother. With a mane the colour of honeysuckle that fell in great curling waves and eyes of a sharp, piercing green, she was a rare beauty. But more telling was that the spectre had no horn, and when she turned to step around the sword I saw she possessed wings of an Imperial Pegasus.
“Who are you?” I asked the spectre as I attempted to sit, only to find my body would not respond.
“I am Wynn, seventh of the Valla,” the spectre said, sitting at my side and with a wing brushing a lock of mane out of my eyes.
Behind the spectre, Llallawynn’s blade hummed brighter with each word spoken.
“You’re the sword?”
“Yes and no,” the spectre frowned, shaking her cascading mane. “That is unimportant, however. What is important is leaving Gamla Uppsala.”
“I can’t even move,” I pointed out.
Smiling and laughing, the sound reminiscent of raindrops falling upon a moon-lit pond, Wynn replied, “That is only because you are dreaming.”
My brow shot upwards at the statement while my mouth would have fallen to Tartarus, if it were possible.
“But, I dreamt already this year!”
Wynn simply shrugged at the statement, either not caring or not worried by my response.
“If that is your concern, you are far lighter of heart and spirit than I had dared hope. This is good. It means you may weather the coming storms.” Wynn laughed again, then grew more somber. “My sister is correct that you need to shield yourself from the runes she has passed to you. But wrong about Love. It will be your greatest ally in the weeks and years to come. Surround yourself in it, wrap it tight about your withers is if it were a cloak, and never let go.
"Even then, you must always be wary of the Dark runes. They are temptation itself, promising easy power to those willing to pay their toll.”
“You and Algol both mention using emotions to ward off the runes…” I said from the floor. “What will happen if I use them? The runes?”
“If you don’t find something to shield yourself, they will drain you of joy, sadness, anger, and even hate, leaving you nothing but a shell that moves and speaks with Velvet’s voice, but you would no longer be her. You will be as dead inside as the draugen. That is the toll the Dark runes demand of those whom possesses them.
“But, it is not all bleak and terrible. You need not ever summon their power,” Wynn smiled as she spoke, her wing lifting my head to her breast.
“Also, know this; I pledge my existence to you and those of your line. To those born of your blood, should their hearts prove true, I will cut any foe as if they wore but sackcloth; whether armoured in steel, magic, or dragon-scale. No other will be able to wield me. For them my blade will be dull as weathered stone.” Wynn bent down to kiss me on my brow. “Now wake, take me up, and we will escape this fetid hole.”
My eyes opened to find myself laying on the hard stone, the orange glow of enchanted torches around me. Next to me, Algol lay dead, her empty eyes staring into oblivion, and a smile of relief on her cracked lips.
Every muscle ached as I stood, attempting to ignore the body beside me. My hooves wobbled, tingling from disuse, and threatened to collapse beneath me.
From her stand, I took Llallawynn, cringing and listening for any sign of setting off another trap. When nothing occurred I allowed myself to take a shallow breath of musty air. Sliding Llallawynn into my scabbard and wrapping my old sword in the remains of my cloak, I left the chamber.
Stumbling through the tomb with no idea which way to go, I trusted my fate to the Queen.
“Iridia, hear me,” I chanted, “guide me from this crypt, and I will dedicate all the rest of my days to your service. Iridia, guide me, let me hold my filly again, and I will sing the praises of your name.”
Over and over I repeated the words, never expecting an answer or sign. They only ceased flowing as I heard a slow shuffling mirroring my steps. Snapping my mouth shut, I glanced over my withers and beheld the glowing eyes of Gamla Uppsala’s guardians.
They watched me with angry countenances, a dozen of the reanimated guardians, lead by the draugen lord.
Stepping into an ancient temple, a statue of the Queen towering over broken benches and rotten iron stands, I drew Llallawynn for the first of many times. Her blade burned like a silver sun, forming a barrier between me and the draugen.
Licking my lips, I thought of River, of Growler, of Sylph and the Triplets. I thought of how I was not going to die alone and forgotten within the tomb.
“Come then, and know death once more,” I wanted to say, but my lips refused to move, my parched tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.
With a horrendous howl, the draugen threw themselves upon me. Lallawynn flashed up, bisecting the closest of the draugen while the magic coating my horn grew brighter as I called upon my spells. Adrenaline surged through my veins, along with the burning humm of magic. Emerald flames curled from my horn, striking down draugen after draugen, but they kept coming, like relentless waves on a stormy shore.
Drawing on my training among the Bears like never before, I moved back and forth across the ruined temple. Undead flesh was split time and again, the cuts at first clean and efficient, slowly becoming quick and opportunistic.
My armour was battered repeatedly, torn from my back and legs until only a few rent scraps dangled from my body. My faithful kite shield hovered at my side, reduced to a splintered wreck. I began to grow careless, a blow from the draugen lord shattering what remained of my shield and sending me sprawling at the base of the statue. I took slow, laboured breaths, my body bruised and bloody as I pulled myself into a sitting position. Recalling Llallawynn to my side, I looked up to see the draugen lord approach.
Through pools of green fire, the draugen lord strode forward, its mighty black hammer held in flickering orange magic, soulless eyes fixated on me. Hammer met sword, sparks flashing as the weapons connected in a deafening ring.
I called upon my emerald fire again, only to have it swatted aside by the dread lord. His magic found my throat, hoisting me to his face. Gasping for any strangled breath I could steal, I felt my concentration slip and heard Llallawynn ring as she struck the stone floor. Fear gripped me, and in my desperation drew upon the Dark runes. The runes hissed in joy as they answered my summons.
The spells Algol had cursed me to carry spun through my mind, and blindly I grabbed at the first one.
It was not a simple spell. Formed from a half dozen runes, it was a complex summoning formula.
My terror grew as I realised my mistake. I had never been skilled at Conjuration spells, always preferring either my blade, kite shield or Evocations. This spell was far beyond anything I had attempted before. Failure to complete the spell was certain, as was my death shortly after.
I was already committed, the spell’s base formed and the framework taking shape in my mind’s eye.
It was then I discovered the intoxicating power I’d been warned about.
The runes felt my intent and bound themselves together of their own accord completing the spell for me as if it were foal’s play. My mana flowed as if I had performed the spell a hundred times. Along with it, something else coursed from me into the spell, something the runes eagerly consumed.
All that mattered to me at that moment was the a spear taking shape at my side, vile intent glowing through its length. Barely aware of what I was doing as spots popped throughout my vision, I hurled the spear at the draugen lord. The grip upon my throat vanished, sending me back to the cold stone floor where I gasped and choked on the sweet tasting musty air of the tomb.
Blinking as my sight returned, I looked up to see the dread lord pinned to the ceiling. He struggled for a few moments before the spirit animating his undead flesh abandoned the body.
Once used, the Dark runes howled louder in my ears. I glanced at the remaining lesser draugen, anger making my heart beat faster. Using the runes, I formed a primitive spell, my magic turning from emerald to an ashen cloud. Grabbing the nearest of the draugen, I lifted the undead above my head, and then tore it in half, dropping the remains to either side.
All I had to do was touch the runes, and they’d begin to form of their own accord into formula, forming spell after spell, and coaxing such terrible rage. I was so angry. It was like a pool and I was floating upon its surface. If I closed my eyes and let myself be subsumed beneath the boiling waves it would grant me the strength I needed to see those I loved again.
When the rage at last subsided, I stood spent in the middle of the ruined temple alone and empty with only the lingering traces of magic on the air for company. Llallawynn slept once more, the blade resonating with a calm I could not feel. Wincing as I picked up the sword and returned her to her sheath, I looked for an exit. I couldn’t bring myself to glance at the blade for long, worried she’d be looking back at me with judging eyes.
Bordering on exhaustion, I staggered from the temple, my hooves dragging in the dust. I took corners and passages at random, only once encountering one of the draugen before finding a break in the endless passages of the catacombs. My magic came in a thin, wavering gasp as I dispatched the draugen and then returned to my stumbling search.
A cool breeze rushing down the passages called to me like the song of a siren, beckoning my weary hooves onward.
An underground stream had worn a hole into the wall, and through it I could smell fresh air and the scent of pine and moss. My legs were like lead, my head a swimming sea of emptiness, when I finally pulled myself from the earth. For a few yards, I staggered until I collapsed on the bank of Lion Lake.
I laid there on my side, staring up at the stars twinkling above, and feeling utterly hollow inside.
The snap of a twig sent a little jolt through me. Too tired to draw Llallawynn or call upon any of my spells, all I could do was turn my head.
A group of dryads stood by the water’s edge, their eyes watching me with wonder and fear. The largest of the group, an oak dryad with a hide of white bark and mane of tangled lichen, cautiously approached me. She was old, well into her seventh century, with the marks of a hard lived life carried in her pale, yellow eyes. Her hooves moved with practiced caution, and I can not say I blame her.
I tried to reach for her. I needed to hold somepony, anypony. I needed something to break the hollowness that had taken root in my heart. In the approaching dryad, and those watching from the lake’s shore, I saw salvation and hope.
“Help me,” I managed to say in a dry croak before exhaustion finally consumed me.