Rarity, owner of the Carousel Boutique, sat in the back of her store. Like a ship’s captain manning the helm, an accountant balancing the books, or a chef stirring a pot, she found herself doing what she did best whenever behind a sewing machine, sew. This was her command center, the heart of all of her operations, the ways of which she gladly decided to spend her days making a living.
She loved to sew, it was her favorite pastime, like the saying went, “if one enjoys what they do, then they will not work a day in their lives.”
But… for as dandy as that sounded… Rarity found herself not necessarily having fun at this particular moment… but working.
She could not really remember why, not that it mattered, but she was running behind. For some reason, be it saving the world from some sort of dire threat, going on an adventure with her friends, or focusing too much on personal matters rather than business, she had gotten behind on her pace of orders for clients. One order that she had been putting off became two, and then two became three, and three became four, and so on and so forth. That was the reason why she was up so late, forcing herself to put the ax to her procrastination and try to get some of her orders complete to not be in such a tight situation.
She had many dresses to do before she could be off to bed with only the minimum and most urgent orders complete… and if she actually wanted to make a sizeable dent against her slew of other projects, then she may as well get a cup of coffee, for it would be a very long night.
She did not know when, for she was focusing too hard on making sure that her needle and thread were stitching up the fabrics correctly, but it started to rain outside of the nearby window.
Eventually, Rarity’s bobbin of thread became empty atop the machine, and her needle senselessly was just stabbing into the fabric without any effect. She reloaded the machine, replacing the old spent container with a new one and then retu-
*Tink*
Rarity stopped dead in her tracks and looked out the nearby window. It was raining, drips of water hit the glass and supplied a naturally low ambient rumble that she all but ignored. What in the world was that?
She heard it again, like a pebble had been thrown at her window like a coltfriend would do to wake up his fillyfriend in a romantic movie. Her sewing room was on the first floor though… why would anypony throw stones at her? It wasn’t hailing out, either.
Rarity stood from her chair and walked over to the window. What in the world was hitting against her window.
The cold rain outside clouded the clear glass. Rarity wiped it off with her hoof, leaning in and out while squinting to see what exactly was going on outside.
Lightning struck, and standing right outside of her window was a navy blue stallion.
“Be Bold…”
A sizeable rock was thrown at the window, shattering the glass barrier into several shards on the floor of the shop. Rarity cried out at the top of her lungs as she jumped back so far that she lost her balance and fell onto her back.
The intruder placed a knife into the window and used it to break any pointed pieces of glass from the broken frame before he, himself began to climb in.
Rarity, struggled to her hooves and ran out of her sewing room, Shrieking as she rounded the corner of her shop, shot down the hallway, and then into the front of her sho-
The navy blue stallion who had just broken into her shop through the sewing room window was waiting for her, standing still in the center of the shop floor. He was dressed in a finely tailored three piece suit, one that she could take credit in making.
The unicorn slid to a halt, putting all four hooves into reverse as she slid across the smooth floor.
The blue pony with both wings and a horn used its magic and pulled out a long serrated purple knife from the inside pockets of his suit, “Be Bold...”
Rarity shot from her bottom and back to her hooves, shouting out “HELP!” in the hopes that a passerby would hear her. She made a complete 180’ turn and rounded the corner once more. This time shooting up the staircase and up to the second floor. Her hooves scraped up so much of the carpet that stretched over the wooden steps that it slid out from under her hooves and began to ball up at the bottom of the stairs.
“But never so bold...”
From around the corner, the pony who had broken into her house stepped out and stood guard at the top of the staircase.
Rarity, shrieking again, halted and reversed her momentum, trying to run backwards, but only succeeded in taking too many steps than she was capable of.
Her leg slipped as it extended too far, causing her kinked ones to give out under the weight that she had left unsupported. The unicorn fell down, down, down, the stairs, clenching her jaw, bumping her head, bruising her hooves, and breaking her nose.
The seamstress lay at the bottom of her stairs in a heap. Her sides, horn, nose, head, and joints all throbbing and sore from her tumble. Her jaw hit the floor so hard on her fall that she unintentionally bit straight through the very tip of her tongue. But, for as much as she wanted to wait for somepony to help or for the pain to go away, she was forced back into action. Hot blood and lightning adrenaline dulled the pain that shouted that she was hurt into her head, allowing her self-taught etiquette to be disregarded as the motivation known as fear took over.
From her shambles on the ground, she could see up, the pony who broke into her house did not pounce on its easy prey like a jungle cat. No, he took his time, walking down the stairs as if he was a gentlestallion rendezvousing with his date for an event. Just by looking at him, she could sense his self-confidence, That if he took five seconds or five weeks to walk down the stairs, the job would still be done.
The Unicorn struggled to her knees and began to crawl, eventually returning to her hooves as she thought of the nearest way out of the home that had become a death trap.
The wallpaper in the house began to melt until it was only just a mix of detail-less colors on the wall. A corner came up, and she rounded it.
As her body passed from the hall and into what she recognized as her kitchen, Rarity’s heart practically stopped beating.
He was there, standing at the back door of her kitchen, “…That the blood in your heart runs cold.”
For each step he took forward, she took one back.
“Somepony please help me!” she shouted up at the ceiling, hoping for some knight in gleaming polished armor to break through the wall and vanquish the sharply dressed assailant in her home… but knowing that one would never come.
She backed around the corner that she thought would be a way out of her house, and turned.
Walking down her stairs, exiting her sewing room, leaving her shop floor, and wandering out of her kitchen, she saw them. She was trapped, surrounded.
She kept looking at each one, hoping that her gaze would somehow delay them, but knew that it was not so. Sweat fell so profusely from her face that it began to take her mascara away with it.
From rising and falling at an unprecedented rate, Rarity’s chest filled with air as the four stallions surrounded her.