//------------------------------//
// A Mare's Mask 
// Story: Destinies Entwined 
// by Graphic Refrain 
//------------------------------//


Destinies Entwined


A Mare's Mask

by Technomare




The night was once again falling on the city of Maretropolis as a hooded figure once again took to the streets.  Tonight however, was not a night of thievery and cunning plans.  Tonight was a night to bask in the spoils and their infinite reward.  The figure slowly lowered its hood, sliding it back with the utmost care, to reveal a candy pink hair colour.  Mane-bands and make-up emerged from a familiar pouch as the remainder of the cloak fell away from the pony's shivering body.  The candy-pink mane was quickly drawn up into a simple pony tail, as a well practiced hoof, steady despite the cold, began the application of the stolen cosmetics.  The pony reveled in her art, every dab and stroke feeling like the stroke of a great artist's paintbrush, sliding smoothly across an invaluable canvas, covering up the earlier mistakes.

Once the process was complete, the mare admired herself in a nearby shop window, fogged over from the cold.  Her eyes drank in what she saw, savoring every morsel of the visual dish.  Her eyes raked up and down, from her elegantly simple tail, past the soft reflection of the moon against her bare flank, and finally to the centerpiece.  A thin jawline accentuated the outlined cheekbones, smoothly melting into her muzzle.  Thick eyelashes adorned her coloured lids, highlighting the contrast of pink on blue.  It was truly a sight to behold; most of it anyway.  In her eyes' slow journey up her body, they had passed over the area at the center of her despair, an ugly blemish, not even her expert hooves could mask. Tonight however, not even that could sadden her, she was in her element, enjoying every moment of it.

As Luna's moon neared the horizon, his image of perfection shattered.  The art was washed away, and the cloak donned once again.  The figure bid a hasty retreat to the shadows, vanishing as if never there at all.  And if one were to listen closely to a dark Maretropolis alleyway on that Tuesday morning, soft sobbing would be heard.