Its eyes are pointed in my direction, but I know those bile-flecked orbs, the colour of the sun-ripened braeburns Applejack grows at the farm, aren't really looking at me; they're looking past me, at the front door of Fluttershy's cottage, and it isn't exactly a huge mental leap to guess what it's planning. Gore-stained fangs peek out over its pale, bloodless lips, and that cruel smirk is enough to curl my mane.
Oleaginous breath hangs heavy on my snout; its every respiration is a tart, coppery assault against my nostrils. I'm dimly aware that part of what I'm inhaling is my own essence, but blackened by the mucasoidal filth of the creature's disgusting innards. I wish I didn't have to be this close to it – close enough that I can see every flare of its muzzle, every serrated point of its teeth, feel every undulating wheeze tickle my nose – but I don't have any choice in the matter.
If she makes a break for the door, I have to stand in her way.
No! Not she, not her.
This loathsome beast before me is a parasite occupying my friend's body, but I still can't help thinking of it as Fluttershy. The creature is just using her, occupying her body, to satiate its desires. I don't know what went wrong with the spell, but all I've done is remove the fruit bat influence, leaving just the vampire behind. A nightly craving for apples would be annoying, sure, but we'd be far better equipped to supply that sort of demand.
We can't keep this up forever; we all know it, but none of us wants to be the first to say it loud. It'd be admitting defeat, and we all know there's only one other option.
A normal-sized vampire bat can subsist on a meagre twenty grammes of blood per feeding, but the bat we're dealing with is the size of a fully-grown pony. Its needs are correspondingly enlarged; the pint or so a night we're doling out isn't quite enough to fill its belly, but it staves off death for another day. It's the best we can do under the circumstances; we're pushed to the edge as it is, and any more would likely kill us.
Fatigue catches us throughout the day; there just isn't enough time to fully rest and recover from the trauma, and more than once, one of us has passed out due to the exhaustion, constant blood-letting and stress.
I never knew just how my friends would be willing to go for me until this moment. Never once have they complained, never once have they tried to back-out, never once have they suggested we turn the whole situation over to Princess Celestia. The strength of their loyalty and faith in me, undeserved though it is, fills me with hope that we'll find an answer to this crisis.
It's resting now. I desire to do likewise.
The struggle has become as dully routine as everything else about this sad enterprise; only an hour or so remains before sunrise, but I don't even contemplate for a moment trying to snatch this precious crumb of sleep. Its ferocity is unmatched by anything short of a timberwolf, its speed would leave Rainbow Dash trailing far behind … even with Applejack's lasso snugly secured around its waist, I don't trust it. It is without fear, without concern.
If it had to damage Fluttershy's body in order to escape, it wouldn't even hesitate to do so.
We do our best to leave no … lasting impressions … of our encounters, but sometimes the rope is bound too tight, or we have to tackle it to the ground, or put it down through some other means. Try explaining strange bruises and scratches to an already-timid pony first thing in the morning.
That face – if you took away the sharper features, the hate-filled eyes, the slavering jowls and animalistic fury – looks so much like her that I find myself on the verge of tears. My sweet Fluttershy, what have I done to you, the most kind, the most gentle of all the ponies in Equestria? In that split-second of pointless recrimination, my concentration is gone; all of a sudden, I'm being barged out of the way by a wall of rapacious savagery.
Left dazed against the fireplace, I wonder how such a slight frame could pack so much power.
Fortunately, it never reaches the door; the creature is strong, but Applejack has a body hardened by years of manual labour. She's straining, but the monster isn't going anywhere as long as that lasso keeps it bound. Shaking my head to clear the Breezies suddenly dancing around it, I once again settle into my customary position in front of the horrifying façade.
My vision is going blurry. I really hope that I don't have a concussion.
“Twilight?” asks Applejack, her voice radiating concern. She's undoubtedly noticed the slight shake that has come over me. “Are you all right, sugarcube?”
How do you want me to respond to that, Element of Honesty? I'm more tired than I've ever been in my life, I can't remember the last time I had something decent to eat – the way my stomach is protesting, I can only assume that way too long is the correct answer – and I've been drained to emptiness by a monster in the shape of one of my best friends. And the icing on the cake: I can't do anything to save her from the madness that I wrought. “I'm fine,” I finally reply. “I … uh, just lost it for a moment.”
“A moment's all it needs,” my friend reprimands me sharply.
I don't want to look at it, but I find that I can't divert my eyes. It looks so much like her! All I want to do is wrap my arms around her, hold her close, tell her that I'm trying my best – that we all are, that her friends are here for her – but I can't. I can't even tell her I'm sorry for what I've done. Fluttershy is lost to us from the beginning of the night, and she never remembers anything of what has happened the following morning.
I envy her that. It's a blessing that she doesn't have to remember the worst of times. I haven't the stamina left to sob openly, but the tears prick at the corners of my eyes, anyway, letting me know just how weak and useless I am.
Applejack carries off the shabby appearance much better than I do; while her apricot coat is flushed and ragged, it actually suits her. She's used to hard work, so it's no surprise that she'd look her best while under exertion. We're all coping as best we can; it isn't enough, and we all need a respite, but the safety of Celestia's golden dawn still seems so far away.
Celestia. In my heart, I know what the right thing to do is, but what if even the Princess can't help? What then? What will happen to Fluttershy? Cast into the royal dungeon, forgotten until she starves to death? It doesn't seem likely that she could be so cold-blooded, but I have to keep in mind that my tutor is the same pony who banished her own sister to the Moon for a thousand years. The same pony who vanquished King Sombra. Her ire is a terrible thing.
The only one of us who wakes up feeling vaguely normal is Fluttershy; no matter what happens during the night, she always arises refreshed. I guess it gives me a small sense of comfort to know that she's sleeping inside there, unaware of what the monster is doing with her body. She deserves peace, and I swear that I will find a way to end this nightmare once and for all. The faintest trace of a smile creeps unbidden on to my face, and it probably looks fairly ghastly considering what a wreck the rest of me is at the moment. If Fluttershy knew what was going on right now, she would feel compelled to apologise for the behaviour of her counterpart.
There's an irony for you, and don't think I haven't thought about it in great detail. Fluttershy could probably find some way of talking the bat down long enough for me to work my magic. We considered trying the mirror trick again, but since it was that which put us in this situation in the first place, none of us are exactly eager for a second attempt.
“Uh.” I look up to see a pair of gorgeous blue eyes, as pure and free as a cloudless sky, staring back with a mixture of trepidation and concern. It would be so easy for her to break me down; her stare has bewitched tougher opponents than me, and I'm always fearful that her curiosity will get the better of her one day and she'll demand to know what's really going on.
It's not like that innocent, beautiful gaze of hers doesn't hurt enough by itself. It burrows into my soul, and I want to confess; I want her to know what I've done, I want her to know that I'm trying to put things right. Applejack is off to one side, her expression one of apprehension: she's afraid that I'm going to do just that.
Fluttershy will never push, though; never with her friends, not even with those we might regard as enemies, unless there's absolutely no other choice. Or she's pushed into doing it by those ponies she regards as friends, who are supposed to be looking out for her well-being.
“What are you and Applejack doing here?” she enquires, her face a mask of surprise.
One day. A day will come when she will no longer be put off by our evasions or explanations, and she'll demand to know just what the hell has been happening over the past few months. And I'll tell her. It's all I can do not to spill the beans right now. After a hundred iterations of this same question, there's nothing I can even say any more that sounds vaguely plausible; we've been through every excuse in the book, and now that we're running on fumes, we tend not to fret over it quite as much as we used to.
It's all getting a bit … samey.
All those times we've tried to push Fluttershy into overcoming her meekness, my stomach knots up as I find myself grateful for the fact that they've never quite stuck. She's too timid to pry, she trusts us too much to search for anything deeper in our words. Bless that gullible, child-like heart of hers.
We destroyed something beautiful.
I destroyed something beautiful.
Applejack stammers something out. “Oh, uh, well, you see, the thing is ...” Her eyes dart rapidly around the room, looking for something, anything, that might inspire a believable lie. It hurts her to have to be dishonest, but she recognises the need to keep our friend in the dark about what is happening to her. A flock of blue jays flit past the window. Inspiration, desperation, strikes. “Some of your animals escaped during the night. Me and Twilight here sprung into action to get them back to you before they got lost in the forest.”
Fluttershy's eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, dear,” she says plaintively, her soft pink mane falling over one eye as she shook her head. “They managed to get out again?”
Damn it. That's the problem with so many sleepless nights in a row: everything blurs into one amorphous whole until you're not sure if you've said or done the things you think you have, or if it's merely a fabrication of your overtaxed memory. In any case, I do remember having used this exact same excuse not so long ago. And the accompanying trip to the hardware store to get some industrial-strength chicken wire to make sure it didn't happen again.
The retail clerk wanted to give us a discount because of my presence, but Fluttershy insisted on paying full price. I wonder what it would be like if I were to start abusing my power, and accept all the gifts and perks that ponies want to offer to me. Could be a lot of fun.
Good thing I have friends who help me keep my head screwed-on properly.
For a moment, her expression wavers uncertainly; I can almost picture the cogs turning in her mind, weighing up her unshakeable faith in us versus the odd events that have been taking place over the past few months. A decision is made and her eyes practically blaze. “Okay,” she says in a chipper tone that immediately relaxes me. “Thank you for your help in returning the animals safely, girls. I'll check the fencing again later today and see if I can't find out how they've escaped so many times.” A scrutinising glance is sent my way. “They were uncooperative, weren't they?” she asks me sadly.
I spit out a befuddled huh before I realise that she's eyeing my wounds with a sombre face. I take stock of my litany of cuts and scratches received whenever the creature lashed out, as well as the deep puncture wound that has only just begun to scab over on my neck. Any deeper, I fear I might've bled out during the night. Some species of vampire bat excrete special enzymes which aid in the clotting process, and we're lucky that this hybrid here has the same mechanism, or we'd probably all have died from exsanguination by now.
In the same way that the fruit bats promote stronger, faster regrowth of saplings, vampire bats spur on healing. After all, it's only good practice for a parasite not to permanently harm its food source. “They were a bit peckish,” I reply, smiling feebly at my lame attempt at humour.
Fluttershy disappears into another room for a moment; I think it's the one where she treats her animals when they are injured, and my suspicions are confirmed when she returns a few moments later with a bottle of disinfectant and a wad of cotton balls. Her tender treatment of my various abrasions is a marked contrast to the untempered brutality of the fiend we've had to endure all night long, and I find myself whimpering slightly and pulling her into a tight embrace, my forelegs locking the startled mare into a hug from which she could not escape, tears soaking her shoulder.
“Twilight!” she gasps in a soft, pained voice, and it dawns on me that I'm hurting her. With nothing more than an overenthusiastic hug. “I'm sorry, I was doing my best to be careful. Some of those cuts look pretty bad. I didn't mean to hurt you.”
“I know you didn't,” I reply, cupping her delicate face gently and forcing a smile through my anguish. The sting of my wounds has been replaced by a stabbing in my heart. With a supreme effort of will, I add, “You would never hurt anyone, would you? That isn't you at all.”
She looks at me baffled, and I can't blame her. She probably just thinks I've gone crazy, but she continues to patch me up, and her gentle touch reminds me of what I'm fighting to save.