//------------------------------// // Heart's Desire, Part 1 // Story: Daring Do // by GaPJaxie //------------------------------// I’ve got to get back out there, got to show them that they’re wrong. For this story has but one hero, and it is Siren Song. Won’t let Rarity beat me, won't let her something something, la la la la la, the cutest and smartest pony around! Um... lyrics lyrics lyrics, I am keeping up the tune. Something something something, hope I think of more words soon. I’m just kind of going with it, trying to keep the beat, because I am Siren, and... uh. I’m really neat? Aww. I lost it. I slump back against the pillow, letting my head slide into the fabric. It’s funny because the pillow is so soft my head sinks all the way down into it and it presses my ears up against my head which is neat because it muffles sound. I never opened my eyes, but if I had, I’d be shutting them again right now. Every part of me feels heavy. Weak. I’m so tired. I could sleep if I had music. I’m used to music for sleeping, but there’s no phonograph or anything. I asked one of the ponies in white for one, but they didn’t bring it, which is okay I guess because I can sing to myself but I’m not feeling it for some reason. I keep losing the tune. I guess I should, like, wonder where I am? Or be concerned or something? The last thing I remember is Echo dragging me down the tunnel when I had a knife sticking out of my undercarriage, and that doesn’t seem like a situation that could end well. Even if the knife was also a feather, sort of. I mean, putting aside the whole bleeding thing, I don’t remember there being any exits to that tunnel that aren’t ruled by super evil doom ponies. Or Applejack. Gosh, I could really go for some apples right now. One of the tart, green kind that’s always really crisp. That would be delicious. Mmm. Wait, I lost my train of thought. What was I thinking about? Something about... knives? That doesn’t sound right. It is a legitimate topic of discussion though. I mean, I have been getting super cozy with those knives Green gave me. And not just them! Rarity’s scalpels, Swiftwing’s razors. I don’t think that makes me a serial killer on its own, but it is kind of concerning. Like, I wouldn't cut a pony with them, but hypothetically, if a pony was cut, and I happened to be the one doing it, that would be really exciting. Particularly if they were cute. So, yeah. Concerning. Still, I bet they have drugs in this city that fix that. They have drugs to fix everything. Excuse me, doctor, I seem to have come down with a slight case of evil. Ah yes, take two pills and call me if you have the urge to drink the tears of your fellow equine. Thank you very much, have a good day. Yeah, that seems right. It bothers me less than it used to. How that all works. It might be super-selfish to say that I started thinking markers were okay right after I became one, but there’s nothing wrong with getting a little help when you need it. Nopony is an island—they’re little horses with problems, and they need to fix those problems. Like me. I was a worthless, cowardly little stain, but then I got some help, and saved Green and fought an evil sorceress. And now I feel kind of good about myself. There’s nothing wrong with that. Take sleeping for example. I could totally use some help sleeping. Like music. Or drugs. Or a bonk on the head. But hopefully music. “Hey,” I call out. My voice is weak. Raspy. It’s hard to draw anything but the shallowest of breaths, and when I try, I feel a sudden, stabbing pain in my undercarriage. Where I was stabbed. Which would make sense. “Heeey.” I don’t know how long I keep doing that, until somepony answers. “Are you in pain?” asks a mare, somewhere near the bedside. She’s annoyed, and her words are clipped, which seems rude. She hardly got stabbed at all. At least, as far as I remember. “Oh... yeah. In my barrel.” I try to nudge a hoof towards where it hurts, but I can’t move my legs for some reason. There’s resistance against them. Like they’re held in place. “Terrible pain. Can I have something that’ll put me to sleep?” She doesn’t answer at first, but I can tell she’s thinking it over. It’s neat that I can hear how one silence is different from another. My eyes are shut, but I know she has one ear up, the other down, and a skeptical expression. I’m special like that. I hope she says yes. “Alright. I can give you a little more,” she says, and I hear glassware clinking. Oh, good. It takes a lot of effort, but I manage to crack an eye open. She’s right there—a lime-green unicorn with a sparkly yellow mane. She’s pouring something out into a glass. It’s red, like blood, but it flows faster than water. Too fast. She makes a little cup of it, and walks over to me, floating it up to my lips. “Drink this.” I part my lips a little, and she tilts the glass in turn. I recognize the taste as soon as it hits my tongue. It looks different, but this is Rarity’s tea! It’s so bitter and caustic and wonderfully foul, and it parches a thirst I didn’t know I had. I wish there was more, but I drink everything she gives me, and then let my head sink down into the pillow’s muffling embrace. I love the way it pushes my ears against my head. It cuts me off from the world. What was it Rarity said every time we drank that? Seek understanding. Seek the truth. Look for the truth. “To those who seek the truth are all truths revealed,” I mutter, exactly the way she said it. “What was that?” the blue unicorn asks. But I ignore her. “Show me...” I say. Show me what? Canterlot? Celestia? Fond foalhood memories? Better times? Or just a good nap? “Music. Show me music.” “I already told you,” the blue unicorn says, shaking her head. “The doctor said you can’t have a phonograph yet. Lie back and try to rest.” I keep ignoring her, and she eventually goes away. I wonder what I’ll get to see. One of the musical numbers I had with Cirrus Cloud? The orphanage’s Hearth’s Warming Eve song? Celestia and I at the Royal Canterlot Symphony? Acoustic guitar? At first I think I’m imagining it, because Rarity’s tea causes visions and I am way too sleepy and dizzy and in a hospital bed to be having a vision. Unless I’m having a vision to that other time I was sleepy and dizzy and in a hospital bed. But there wasn’t guitar then. It’s there now though. Gentle notes coaxed out of guitar strings float through the air, forming a simple tune. It’s nice, but I don’t recognize it. Not until the singing starts. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” sings a stallion. I don’t recognize him, but he’s got a very good singing voice. Deep, yes—masculine for sure—but smooth and gentle and sweet. And sad. “You make me happy, when skies are grey.” It’s a perfect song for falling asleep to, particularly with how slowly and gently he’s playing it, but I’m kind of curious now. I can sleep later. I want to find out who’s playing that. Somehow. Yeah. So I get out of bed. “You’ll never know dear, how much I love you,” the stallion sings on, plucking out each note. I feel weird. Really weird. The room is... blurry. And spinny. And there are colors. I recognize one of Doc Stable’s examination rooms—the white stone, elegant pillars, a doctor’s office like a palace. The only thing that’s different is that the metal examination table has been replaced by a hospital bed. And such a strange bed it is too. It’s surrounded by monitors and IV-drips, and metal bars that run over the top and sides. It takes me a moment to realize that the bars are restraints, designed to hold my legs and neck in place while I heal. Something about that strikes me as weird, but I’m not sure what. My head is so cloudy. I’m about to stop to puzzle it out, when the smooth “please don’t take my sunshine away” reminds me why I got up. Right. “The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you by my side.” The elegantly drawn notes and sweet words drift through the air as I push out into the hallway, stepping through the door and into palatial white corridors. He’s a baritone. Not very practiced but... earnest. Such a sweet sound. He’s not far, and I weave among guards and nurses in white as I drift down the hall, following his voice. “When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken.” “And I hung my head, and cried.” It’s Echo? No way. The pony in front of me looks like Echo, sure, but Echo wouldn't sing even if he could. And Echo’s voice does not sound like that. His voice is scratchy and rough and angry, and this stallion sounds sounds... I don’t know. Different. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” he slides into the chorus again, oblivious to my presence. I guess he didn’t notice me. We’re in a little alcove off the main corridor, a circular chamber with a big floor-to-ceiling window on one side, and a few examination rooms scattered around the edge. Echo has abandoned his weapons, his armor, his gear, even his flask. They’re all scattered in the floor. It’s strange to see him without his gear. All that metal was a part of him, and without it, he seems vulnerable—sitting in front of the big window and cradling a guitar in his hooves. I listen to him play for a while. It’s hard for pegasi to play the guitar. They have to use their hooves, so it usually doesn’t sound great. Echo is good at it though. He plucks out every chord clear and strong, making a wonderfully pure sound. I somehow doubt he’s a changeling, so I guess it has to be Echo, but I can’t imagine him ever sounding so... soulful? Or maybe I’m just a sucker for a stallion with a guitar. “You told me once, dear, you owned the whole sky, with a grin so brash, so bold,” he sings on. I doubt he’d appreciate being interrupted, and I’m already starting to feel tired again, so I turn to head back to my hospital bed. But before I can, I catch a flash from inside one of the examination rooms near Echo. A sparkle of green. “But you’ve washed away that smile, and the sky is dark, and cold.” I step into the examination room, trying to ignore the weird sense of disorientation I keep getting. Like I was turned around, even though I know very well where I am. It’s a double room—two beds, side by side, rows of monitoring machines between them. The bed on the left holds Berry, strapped down where she lies. The one on the right holds Green, her sparkling form laid out in bed and surrounded by flowers. Berry is the worse off of the two. They’ve got her stretched out in some sort of mechanical brace that holds all her joints perfectly still, freezing her in the walking position. Over a dozen IV-drips hang from the ceiling above her, one little cord running down to each of her joints. To her back. She’s even on a ventilator—a breath mask covering her entire face. Covering her mouth, her nose, her eyes, until there’s nothing but a blank, baggy sheet. For a second, I think I can hear sounds, coming from under that fabric. But when I lean close, they stop. “You told me once, dear, you really loved me, and that nothing could come between,” Echo continues. I listen to Berry a bit more, but she doesn't move, so I guess she’s asleep. She’s not the one I’m really interested in anyway. “But you have left me, and loved another, and you have shattered all my dreams.” They laid Green out in a hospital bed. I guess that makes more sense than propping her up in the corner, but I don’t really see the point. She’s not sick. She’s turned to crystal. What are they going to do—take her blood pressure? They didn’t even bother hooking her up to the machines around her. They just laid her out, with laurels of red and blue flowers on her head, and a bed of flowers under her. Like it was her funeral. She’s still frozen in that same pose. Head down, eyes shut. So sad. My throat hurts. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” Echo sings, as I crawl up into the bed. There’s not much room, but I manage to wiggle in, scooting up against her side. “You make me happy, when skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.” “Please don’t take my sunshine away.” I’m starting to get really tired again, so I snuggle up against Green and shut my eyes. The song is over, but Echo is still plucking the strings, producing mindless, pleasant notes. That’s enough for me, and I tuck my head into Green’s shoulder, letting myself drift away. “Dear Mom and Dad,” I start, silently mouthin’ the words ’round the pen as I write. There’s probably no call for me to be so paranoid. I can hear ’em out back. They’re still in the second verse o’ “Raise this Barn” with the rest of the family, which means I’ve got a while. Even if there was somepony right outside the door, they probably wouldn' be able to hear me over the singin’, not to mention the banging, hammers and saws ’n’such. But, I still don’t make a sound. I can’t be takin’ any chances. “By now you have noticed that I am missing...” I continue, but after a moment, I scratch that out. And the openin’. That’s all wrong. Just Mom and Dad? What about Norland? What about Topaz Apple? They’re my own brother and sister, and I’m leavin’ them too. What about the rest of the family? And the line after that? Practically, “Hey, y’all probably noticed I’m gone. Cya, suckers.” Why don’t I grind salt in the wound while I’m at it? “Dear Everypony.” That’s terrible. I scratch it out too. “Dear Mom, Dad, Norland, and Topaz.” That’s too long. Scratch. “My dearest family.” I stare at the paper for a second, and then crumple it up with my hooves, smashin’ it down into a little ball and kickin’ it into the wastebin. My room is in one of the corners of the house. Two windows. If I stuck my head out the west window, I’d see the barn. And Mom, and Dad, and Norland and Topaz, and the farm and all our neighbors, singin’ as they work. Half the folk in town are over today. I told them I wasn’t feeling well and faked havin’ the chills. I can’t see none of that from here though. My reading table is up against the west wall, so my view goes out the north window, lookin’ out over town. Rambling Ridge ain’t that big, so I can see most everything from here. The post office. The general store. The salt-lick. Rarity’s carriage, waitin’ for me by the road out of town. I’m late, but she said she’d wait as long as it took to say my goodbyes. I’m such a coward. I don’t know how she... found out. About me. She said ’er special talent was findin’ gems in the dirt, which was real poetic, I guess, but I still don’t understand. I assume it got somethin’ to do with her unicorn magic, but it still seems like she came a long way just for me. My ears slump, and I stare down at the floor. How would I even explain? Half our neighbors probably think I fancy her and I know Mom and Dad do. They made that clear with their little innocent comments about how we’re a very modern family and Quartz Shine up the way is datin’ a unicorn mare, and well gosh if they ain’t a happy couple. Because there’s nothin’ wrong with that and oh, by the way Green, will your friend be comin’ over? Rambling Ridge is a small town, and there weren’t no hidin’ that I was sendin’ letters back and forth to somepony I was bein’ all cagey about. So, when a beautiful Canterlot mare swept into town to smile at quiet little Green, well... ponies put it together right fast. Sun and stars. If only I was datin’ her. I’m not stupid. I know very well what that lump in m’throat means. Mom always said that feelin’ is the way nature tells you that maybe you should reconsider what you’re doing. It’s gettin’ hard to breathe, but I make myself swallow. Draw a deep breath. There’s still time to back out of the whole thing. Tell Rarity I changed my mind. She’s the sort of mare who knows how to keep a secret. I can just tell everypony we met and she was sweeter in letters than in person. I can say that it didn’t work out, and nopony will ever be the wiser. I can... Things can go back to being like they were. Yeah. I twist my head around, towards the rest of the room. It’s kinda crowded, but that’s mostly my fault. I love photos. And newspaper clipping’s. And scrap-bookin’. It’s reached the point that most every surface in my room is covered in black and white recordin’s of my life—pictures and events and little notes. There’s Mom and Dad and my friends from school, and me holdin’ Topaz right after she was born. There’s one of the whole town gathered together in the barn durin’ the Day of Darkness, ’fore we knew about Luna’s return. I’m in the background of that shot, and I also framed the newspaper article that went along with it. It was a scary night, but Mom kept us all together. I don’t have any pictures of the Blight. I don’t want to remember that. But, I did keep pictures of the happy moments. Topaz’s eighth birthday party, even if she had a bread roll instead o’ cake. Pictures of my parents, holdin’ us all together. Holdin’ the whole town together. That lump in my throat comes back, and I turn my gaze away. Back to the desk. When we all went to the carpenter, I said I wanted a desk exactly like Dad’s. Dad thought it was because I looked up to him—made him real happy. And I do look up to him. I do. But that ain’t why I asked for that. I asked, because Dad’s desk has a drawer with a lock, and that was the most discreet way I could think of to ask for the same thing. I take the key in my teeth, twist my head, and the lock clicks. Jack Rafter knows his trade, and the drawer slides open silently on well-oiled mounts. I know Dad keeps money in his, and a few things that’re important to him and Mom. My desk drawer has magazines. But to me, those magazine are more precious than bits. Every one was stolen. Usually out of Mayor Carpet Bag’s mailbox, though I did nick a few from carriages passin’ through town. Stealin’ is wrong, but there are some things you simply can’t buy in town without ponies startin’ to talk. I’ve read ’em all a thousand times, and I know every one by heart. The covers are long since faded, the corners deformed by spit from where I’ve turned the pages with my teeth. They’re all good, but my favorite is always on top. Blessing, it’s called, in elegant golden letters, the silver writin’ underneath adding, A Group of Unicorns. The mare on the cover is crinkled, but I can still see her clearly. She’s gorgeous—bright blue coat, sparklin’ sapphire mane, lithe figure. Her horn is long and gently spiraled, but more elegant than sharp. Like a Princess. They photographed her in mid-trot, and she was in this silver dress that flows behind her and... And... I lift a hoof to my face, shuttin’ my eyes and leanin’ down on it. What am I doing? I’m about to give up my family for this? For glamor? I’m going to betray everypony who ever cared about me for a... a feminine figure and a pretty dress? The barn song is still going on outside. They’ve gotten to the bit about recyclin’ wood. That’s a fun part. It’s a fun song. My eyes are starting to burn, and swallowin’ isn’t making the lump go away. I should go. I should throw these away, pretend I never had ’em, and just... just go out there and join them. Raise a barn. I love raising barns. I love singin’. I should go out there. But I won’t. I open my eyes, and through the blur of tears, I can see my own leg. An ugly, splotchy orange color, endin’ in a rough hoof, cracked by farmwork. I should go out there, but I won’t. I’m going to go to Rarity. I’m going to get in her carriage and leave and never see them again. Because I’m disgustin’. I still remember it all so clearly. The day I met Sine. The first and only time a stallion ever touched me. It was less than a mile from here. On the road passin’ by town. I was pullin’ a cart one way, he was pullin’ his the other. I’d never seen him before and he was movin’ like he was busy, so I didn’t say nothin’. But then he stopped and looked at me. I thought he needed something, so I asked him what was wrong. And then he stared me right in the eye, reached out. He held my cheek like no stallion ever had. You’d be beautiful if you didn’t look so unhappy. That’s what he said. And then he walked off. Without even waitin’ for me to answer. I didn’t even know what to say. What could I say? I stood there like an idiot and let him walk off. What was I supposed to say? Never mind the electric tingle in my cheek, or the feelings between my legs, or how short of breath I suddenly was. That was the only time in my life a stallion called me beautiful—even if he didn’t, really. And it was the first time anypony had called me unhappy. I walked home. Tried to forget about it. It didn’t matter. He was wrong. I’d never be beautiful. And I wasn’t unhappy. And now I’m here. Tears roll down my muzzle and fall to the desk. I don’t want them to find these. I don’t want them to ever know why I left. I already carefully packed my saddlebags, but now, I stuff the magazines down into them, along with all my correspondence with Rarity and everythin’ else I’ve hidden from them! Cheap paper crumples as I stuff it in, and soon, the left saddlebag is completely full, the right one almost there. There’s a little room left in the right, enough for a single picture. I already packed a lot of pictures of the family, the farm—a whole scrapbook’s worth—but I take just one more. One of me alone, standing in the fields. I don’t know why I grab that one when it’s my family I’ll be leavin’... I guess I want to remember where I came from, but I don’t know. I don’t know. I latch the bags shut. There’s more paper on the desk. And the pen, where I left it. I pick it back up with my teeth, and pull over a new page. I’m still crying, and water is stainin’ the paper, but at least I know what to write. My Dearest Family, I’m so sorry for all the pain I’m causing you. I’m sorry I can’t tell you where I’m running away to. I’m sorry I was too much of a coward to say goodbye to your faces. I’m sorry I have to go, but I need to find what will make me happy in life, and I can’t find it here. It hurts so much to write this, but it would hurt more to stay. It may be a long time before we see eachother again, but I promise I’ll come back one day. I love you. I love you all and I always will. -Green I look at what I wrote. I look at what I wrote, and my eyes burn so hard I can’t see, tears blurrin’ my vision until the words all run together. I get up, take my saddlebags, and I run. Behind me, the music is gone. They must have finished the song, but I never heard. I wrap my tail around Green’s. She can’t wrap hers back, but that’s okay. It’s not her fault. I’m starting to feel strange, but in a good way. Like a pleasant haze. It makes Green easy to listen to. “I had wondered,” I whisper to her with my head tucked in against her side. I’m careful to keep my voice low so nopony will overhear. This is her secret. We should be okay—I’m very quiet, and Echo is still playing the guitar. “It always seemed strange, the way you said your family hated you. I wondered if it was true, or if Poison Joke had clouded your mind.” She doesn’t answer, but that’s fine. I know she can hear me. “It’s not either of those though, is it? They never hated you, and mantles didn’t make you hate them. You made you hate them.” I snuggle up against her until my horn catches the laurel on her head, snagging on the thorny flowers. “Because you betrayed them. Because you never went back.” I draw a breath. Listen for the way the sound reverberates through the crystal. Feel the way the pulsing lights shimmers inside her. Like her heartbeat. Faster, now. Nervous. Nervous somepony knows her secret. “Shh. Shhh,” I brush a hoof down her side. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Green. It’s me, Siren. You know me, remember?” The lights slow down, but only a little. They’re still coming about once a second. Poor thing. I shift my position a little bit, reaching a hoof up to cup her cheek. To hold her. To stroke her there. “You warned me about Rarity,” I coo to her. “That she shall know things about you you have never told anypony. And I am her student. But I’m not her, Green.” I lean up, and nuzzle Green’s cold, hard cheek. “I’m not. I took her eye and spilled her blood for you. I’m your friend.” I lower my voice, until even I can barely hear it. “And I’ll always keep your secrets.” I hold her there, cooing to her, until the lights slow down. Until she calms. Welcomes me. “Will you trust me, Green?” I ask, coaxing her forward. “Will you let me in?” I see the light inside her, and I smile. “Will you show me when you were beautiful?” “—Is you, and don’t ever let anypony tell you otherwise,” I say, the quill beside me faithfully recording the words, wrapped up in a scarlet glow. I’m not paying it much attention, but that’s fine. As long as I’m gripping the paper and the quill with my magic at the same time, I know where they are in relation to each other, and that means I can write pretty well without watching the paper. Which is important when I need my eyes elsewhere. Like I do right now. I lower my head and lean in close to the mirror, shutting one eye as I turn my head this way and that. I’m doing a lot of things at once—brushing, makeup, writing the letter, and listening to one of Rarity’s classical records on the phonograph—but I was always good at multitasking. Makeup looks good so far. I grab my eye-shadow and tail brush, levitating one towards my rear, and the other towards my face. The right way around, luckily. That thought makes me smile. “And even if you do end up with a stormworker’s cutie mark like the rest of your family, that’s okay. Your cutie mark isn’t a writ from on high telling you what you have to do with your life.” I start brushing my tail, smoothing out all the little imperfections, and at the same time, I squeeze my left eye shut. My coat is already pretty dark, so I have to use a lot of eye-shadow for it to be visible, but I can’t appear to be using a lot because that’s tacky. Rarity taught me the little subtleties of it, and I think I’ve about got it down by now. The key is gentle strokes. “It’s just something about you that makes you feel good about yourself. Something that makes you special, even if it isn’t what you end up doing for a living. I got my cutie mark for applebucking remember, and look where I ended up.” That sounds nice. A positive message. There’s no resistance at all to the brush in my tail, so I’m pretty sure I’ve already brushed it straight. It feels good though, so I keep working as I apply the eye-shadow, pausing to steal a quick glance down at the pocket watch on the desk. Four thirty-seven. I’m not late, but I will be soon! Time to hurry. I finish up with one eye and start on the other. “I included the signed picture you wanted and I hope you enjoy it, but remember, Lightning Glass, it’s not about me, or your family, or even your cutie mark.” Yeah, that sounds good. Very positive. The right eye is looking good too. “It’s all about you and what makes you happy. You live in the one city without destiny, where ponies can be whoever they like. Work hard, and you can be whatever you want to be—model, singer, stormworker, or something else.” Right eye is about done, so I blink it a few times to make sure all the shadow settled in right. Yup, good. Okay, now I just need to double-check my mane and I’m done. I grab the vanity mirror off the countertop, levitating it around so I can see the back of my head in the wall mirror, inspecting the fine details there. Darnit. Tangle. Where’s my brush? “You’ll do great, Lightning Glass. I believe in you. Your friend, Green Apple.” I sign it with a flourish, which is good because she’ll like that, but shoot. Where is that brush? I inspect the countertop, folding up Lightning Glass’s letter as I do. Makeup kit, hoof file, horn file, good luck charm, clippers, perfume, other perfume, spare jewelry, hoof oil, wiredoll token set, that cute little mini-doll with the wings... shoot. Did I lose it? I look back up. There’s a mare right there in front of me! This green unicorn with a halo of red around her. I shriek—jump back! The red glow goes out at once, and gravity reasserts itself. The vanity mirror hits the floor before I can react, shattering into a thousand pieces. The crash makes me jump again—makes me scramble away from the broken glass before any of it can get into my hooves. My heart is racing, and I hear something that sounds sharp crunch under me. I freeze! But no. No pain. Oh thank goodness. It must have been directly under my horseshoe. I take one more careful step, getting out of the worst of the glass. I... I’m fine. I... I look at the wall mirror again. My reflection looks back. I got startled by my own reflection. I stare into the glass and see her there, like it was for the first time. I see her emerald coat, and shiny mane and sparkling eyes, and that wonderful silver dress. I smell roses and perfume. “Hello,” I greet her, and I hear her crisp Canterlot accent. I hear classical music. I see her feminine features and elegant horn and... and I smile. She smiles. Then we laugh. I laugh. I don’t know why that’s so funny, but it is! I sweep up all the broken glass with my magic—magic—laughing all the while. Sweeping up all the things I dropped. Picking up the brush that I was using on my tail and then forgot about! It’s all so... I don’t know! I flick my tail for the joy of feeling it flick, brush a hoof down my side to smooth out the dress. I’m laughing so hard I’m starting to cry, and I don’t know why I can’t stop. “Oh, shoot!” I’m crying and I just put on eye-shadow! It’s all running down my face and spoiling my makeup. I grab a cloth from the counter, levitating it up to my face to wipe the tears away, but I still can’t stop laughing. It’s all... I feel so... “Green?” calls Rarity from the other side of the door. She knocks twice, but then opens the door anyway. I see her in the wall mirror, stepping through from the hallway. She’s wearing a shawl today—bright and blue. “Oh my goodness! Green, are you alright?” “I’m fine!” I insist, even though the tears are still coming. My makeup is hopeless at this point but... that’s okay! It’s okay. I’ll only be a little late. And nopony will care because pretty, famous mares are allowed to be late! “Did something happen?” Rarity asks, quickly crossing the distance between us. She puts a hoof on my side, turning me towards her. There’s a frown on her face, under those attentive, concerned eyes. “Green, why are you crying?” She’s blurry through the tears, but I look up at her, and then I hug her! I jump forward and I wrap her up in my forelegs and I squeeze until I’ve knocked the air right out of her. “I’m just so happy,” I say, sniffling into her shoulder, giggling fits still escaping me now and again. I’ve got a big, stupid smile on my face and I know it. She’s hugging me back. Hesitantly, but who could blame her for that? I am acting a little crazy. “I just...” I make myself let go. Try and force myself to stop crying. Force the tears away. “I got startled by my reflection in the glass. Because it wasn’t me. It was this beautiful, elegant, magical mare. It was this wonderful creature that ponies admire. Famous and important and... and then I realized it was me and...” The tears won’t stop, so forget it! I hug her again. Not quite so tight this time. She needs to breathe. “Thank you, Rarity,” I say to her, and this time, she hugs me back in earnest. “Thank you so much. You don’t know how much you’ve given me. Beauty. Joy. A life I actually want to live! I owe you so much. You...” She shushes me with a gentle squeeze. “Oh, Green,” she says, once I’ve quieted down. She pulls back, enough to meet my eyes again, brushing my cheek with a hoof and smiling. I blush. The tears and giggling fits are finally stopping, but it’s so embarrassing to be caught crying like this. I must look so childish. “You don’t owe me anything. You were always beautiful inside. I only helped it express itself,” she says, with an elegant little wiggle of a hoof. She makes it seem so natural. “That’s not true, Rarity, I...” I swallow, trying to find the words. Rarity speaks before I can though. “Green?” she cuts me off gently. A little nod of her head makes her horn brush mine—brings our foreheads together. An intimate gesture between unicorns, I’ve learned. I never saw such a thing on the farm. “Working on you was a labor of love. You’re like the daughter I never had, and seeing you happy is the only repayment I will ever need.” I’m tearing up all over again, but I make myself swallow down those emotions. I make myself look... mature! Regal. Classy. The way I should be. The way I am. “Thank you, Rarity,” I whisper. I don’t know what to say now, so I turn my head back to the countertop. “Sorry I... ruined my makeup. I guess we’ll be a bit late for the party.” “Green, dear, we are the party,” Rarity assures, with a little titter. I giggle as well. “Now!” she says crisply. Back on topic. “Stand still so I can fix this.” I do as I’m told, and she wipes off my face and starts quickly applying the makeup. She works so fast. Faster than I ever could. It took me half an hour to do all my makeup the first time, and we’ll be out of here in a few minutes at her rate. “You mind if I ask quick question, dear?” she asks as she works, with an idle, conversational tone. “Do you always cry when you’re happy? I’ve never seen you do that before.” “No, sorry,” I say, drooping my ears back a little. I try not to change my expression though—it would mess up Rarity’s work. “I’ve been having these weird mood swings lately.” “Mmm.” She frowns, dusting my face with the makeup kit brush. “We might have to adjust your medication a bit. There’s a new paper out that says long-term mantle use might cause emotional instability.” “It’s not that bad, is it?” I ask. I’m not really worried. Rarity always overthinks these things. “A little Poison Joke never hurt anypony.” “Not that bad, but there’s no reason to subject you to avoidable side effects,” Rarity says airily. “Shut your eyes.” I do, and she gets back to work, three brushes all playing over my face together. She’s such a master of her craft. “There were a few other things I wanted to discuss with you before the party, Green,” Rarity says, tilting my head this and and that as she works. “Two quick favors I needed to ask for. Some ponies at the party I’d like it if you could have a word with.” “Oh, of course. Anything,” I say at once. “Who do you want me to talk to?” “Well, first off, there’s Golden Disk,” she says sweetly. “That wiry stallion from the record company you got along with so well last month? They rejected Sweetie Belle’s new album, and the poor thing is so upset. Do you think you could...” “Flirt a little?” I ask, and Rarity laughs. I smile too, even if I’m not supposed to move when she’s working. “Yes, of course. I can’t believe they rejected Celestia’s Raven. It was beautiful.” “It was,” Rarity agrees. “But it wasn’t pop. And pop is what’s in this season.” She says it with a hefty dose of irritation, and a hiss of breath to go alongside. “Ugh.” “Wait. Did you just criticize another pony for being too trend-conscious?” I ask, peeking an eye open to see her face. She’s scowling at me, but not really, and I giggle as she menaces me with the makeup brush like it was a club. “This has a pointy end, you know!” she threatens, and I shut my eye before she pokes me with it. “And I did not criticize another pony for being, as you said, ‘trend-conscious.’ I criticized them for abandoning their good artistic taste to be a part of the in crowd.” “That sounds completely different from what you do,” I agree, and this time, she actually does thump me on the head with my tail-brush. “Ow!” I laugh, rubbing at the spot. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’m only joking anyway. Raven was good and everypony who heard it knew it.” That’s enough for Rarity, and she gets back to work as I hold still. “What was the other thing you needed?” “Flim and Flam are going to be there as well, and I happen to know for a fact that they are devout fans of your work,” Rarity says with the most flowing sort of language. Devout fans. Makes it sound romantic. And I guess they are pretty cute. “I was hoping you could have a word with them about the transit ban, and how much you hope they support it.” My tail goes still. So do my ears. What? “Uh...” I pause, taking a second to think. “Um... why me? That’s a political issue. You’re the councilmare.” “A councilmare I may be,” she says as she works. Almost done now, I can feel it. “But so is Trixie”—Rarity lets out a little scoff, not quite able to hide the contempt in her voice—“and Trixie has told them in no uncertain terms that I am the vile offspring of Discord and Chrysalis. All I get when I talk to them is a polite smile and nod—they don't listen to a word I say.” She’s finishing up now. Only one brush is still working and I can hear her putting the others away. “Besides, a fresh face never hurts. It’s not a problem, is it?” “Well, uh... it’s only...” I twitch my tail, cracking one eye open to look at Rarity. I suppose I should be honest with her. “I don’t support the transit ban. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I respect the law. Until you and the others say it’s okay, I’m not going anywhere. And I want to live in Vision—I do. My life is here. You’re here. But that doesn’t mean I never want to visit Equestria again.” “I’m surprised to hear such a thing from you, Green,” Rarity says, though her tone doesn’t change much. “You hate Celestia more than anypony.” “Of course I do. She’s a tyrant and a murderer,” I reassure Rarity, “but the transit ban punishes more ponies than just her. I mean... there’s nothing wrong with ponies wanting to see their old home, is there?” Rarity stares at me for a moment. Just a moment. “No, of course not,” she sweetly reassures me, breaking that brief silence. “I’m sorry—it was rude of me to even ask. I wouldn't want to make you break your promise to your family.” What? “How did you...” I start to ask. Then I remember. Smile, quickly. “I... I guess you always know these things. No keeping secrets from you.” She gives a polite smile back and nods, putting the last of the makeup away. Straightening out the countertop. “But it’s not like that.” “Green, I said it was okay,” she repeats herself, this time adding a gentle chuckle. “There’s no need to feel guilty. I would appreciate your help, but they’re your real family, and you made a promise to them. I’m sure the city will do fine without you.” Do fine without me? What? She can’t possibly... I don’t... oh! She means do fine without my help persuading Flim and Flam. Fine without my doing her a favor. Of course. Of course that’s what she meant. “No, no, Rarity.” I reach over to take her shoulder. On second thought, this is important to her. “You’re my family. You... I... I mean.” I swallow. Well, she’s right, isn’t she? It’s not like one thing I say at a party will make the difference either way. “Of course I’ll help you.” “Green, really!” Rarity pushes my hooves down, laughing again. “I told you. You don’t owe me a thing. If your earth pony family is more important to you than I am, I understand that, and—” “Nopony is more important to me than you, Rarity,” I say at once. It’s hard but... I swallow, and I make myself say it. “Even them. They loved me and supported me, but never like you did. You saw the real me. You gave me everything. Of course, if speaking to that stallion is what you need me to do, or-or anything. I’ll do it.” I’m starting to get all emotional again, choking up, but I make myself press on. “You’re my real family.” “Oh, Green.” Rarity beams. So soft, so proud. “You don’t know how much it means to hear you say that. Thank you. I do need your help, and... well. I’m glad to know I’ll always have it.” I blush, fold my ears back. Force that lump away. “Ready to go then?” “Almost.” I grab the brush, smooth away that last knot in my mane, and step out into the hall with her. I leave my dressing room as it is. I’ll clean it up properly later—we need to go now. I consider turning the phonograph off, but the record is almost over so I decide to let it play out. The notes drift after us into the hallway, not entirely muted by the door. It’s not far to the exit, but there’s somepony waiting for us at the end of the hall. A unicorn mare, in a sparkly yellow dress. It’s very pale, which suits her colors well—eggshell coat, soft grey mane. She’s small, and she looks fragile, but in a dainty way. Delicate. She nods her head respectfully when we reach her. “Rarity,” she greets us politely. She has a Canterlot accent too. “And you must be Green. A pleasure to meet you.” “It’s nice to meet you too.” I nod. “You’re the new assistant?” I wrack my head for the name. “Quick... March?” Rarity giggles. “Not quite, dear,” she says “but I can see how you would make that mistake. They are so similar. Other than their coloration. And gender. And race.” I blush a bit. Maybe I should have listened more closely when Rarity was talking about this earlier. But she doesn’t seem offended. “No, this is Song Bird. She’ll be joining us at the party.” “I’m sorry,” I take her hoof and shake it gently. “Are you one of the new doctors then?” “Oh, no.” She gives a polite little shake her head. “I’m Rarity’s new project.” I blink. “What do you mean... ‘new project’?” I ask. Behind us, the record finally plays out, and with a hiss, the music stops. I’m drooling. Is that normal? I don’t think it’s normal. I feel so strange. So... relaxed. So light. Like my body was made of smoke and I could flow through the room at will. I feel hot. Dizzy. Tired. Aroused. But above all the others, I feel hungry. That watering in my mouth. That pit deep inside me. There’s something I need. I lean my head down to Green’s legs and find the flowers all around her. The sea of red and blue. I find the vines the flowers grow from, clinging to her body, twisting around her torso. They’re covered in spikes, but my proud herbivore ancestors weren't thwarted by a few thorns, and I won’t be either. I take the vines in my teeth, and I pull. I rip them from her and devour them. I crush the thorns and hear them crunch between my molars. Feel the snap as they break. I rend the flowers down into paste and trap the nectar with my tongue, the spare drops rolling down my chin. They taste incredible. Like ashes. “You don’t mind, Green?” I ask as I graze my way up her side, tearing the thorny vines from her. “You don’t mind if I take these?” The light inside her shimmers, and I know she doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t. She’s given me so much—why should she stop now? I give her a little nuzzle. To show I appreciate it. The taste of the flowers is terribly distracting, but I do find time to think about what I just saw. Such a sad thing. Sadder than her leaving her family. I asked her to show me her joy, and it all ended with a sour note. A hint of fear. Does Green not know how to be happy? Does she not know what that word means? Or was that it? Were those few minutes the only time in Green’s entire life she was happy? I don’t know. I don’t know how much control she has over what I see. How much control I have. I don’t know what this is. But I feel what this is. So close. So right. Just getting to know a pony. Holding her up to the light and letting her shine. I eat as I think. I crunch the flowers, and the thorns. I feel Green’s heart beat beside me, flashing lights in crystal. I listen to Echo’s sad song. I hear the hiss of Berry’s respirator. I feel so aware. So fluid! Like there was nothing in the world outside my grasp. But what do I want to see? “Show me...” I whisper to Green as I tear the vines from her skin, a faint thread of nectar-laden drool running from my chin to her shoulder. “Show me...” For a second, my teeth hesitate. “Show me how it all went wrong.” The security alarm is going off again. That keening wail. It’s designed to be unpleasant. A whining, clamorous, high-pitched shriek. The security system jumping out and shouting boo! Run little criminal. Guards are coming. Security is coming. Wiredolls are coming. Run while you still can! There are no guards though. There are no wiredolls. That alarm’s been going off for near twenty minutes now, and it’s not a wail anymore. Not to me. To me, that alarm is sweet music. I take another pull off the bottle of hard apple cider and start across the street. I love apples. I love them. I’m an Apple. It’s in my blood. They’re sweet and delicious, and when you need a little courage, they make a fine hard cider. Warms you up even on the coldest night. It’s cold enough tonight too. There’s a river flowing through the street. Ice water all around my hooves. Tugging at my dress where it brushes the ground. I snarl and yank it up so it won’t get wet. You’d think maintenance could bother once in a while. Half the lights are out too, casting the whole street into shadows. It’s shameful. The Mercury Suites back entrance is right across the way. A nice little security door in the wall, next to the furniture shop. Trixie’s pet thugs aren’t having any more luck with the bars than they were when they started twenty minutes ago. Three earth ponies, a unicorn, and a pegasus, all trying to smash their way into Flitch Saw’s Furniture. They barely managed to nudge the bars without setting off the alarm, and then spent more time fighting over their only prybar than actually doing anything. Parasites. They notice me of course, and the big earth pony is quick to step up to me. I get the impression she’s in charge here, if only by virtue of being the biggest and ugliest of the lot. They’re typical Lulamoon street trash. Young, dirty, all marked up, either butt-ugly or with the sort of unnatural beauty that comes out of a bottle. Too perfect, too symmetric. Beautiful ponies with no idea how to use it. It’s repulsive. “Well hello there, ma’am!” she calls, blocking my path. She is big. Three extra marks, all combat related. Those have gotta be expensive, so I doubt she paid for them. Probably some champion of the herd. All her nasty little friends move around me, snickering and elbowing each other. “Aren’t we looking lovely tonight?” I take another draw off the cider bottle. A long drink. It’s good stuff. Family made. Applejack never lost her touch. I let out a heavy breath when the swig’s done. “I am. Dunno ’bout you.” That wasn’t the answer she expected, and she scowls as her little cronies laugh to each other like a pack of hyenas. “Oh, sure ya are. Clever too,” she says, even the illusion of humor gone. “Now how about you hand over those saddlebags?” How about I break every bone in your miserable body, you little punk. It’s what I want to say. I bet I could take her, too. She’s got all those combat marks, and she’s big, but she also can’t be that old. I doubt she’s ever fought. I’ll take a few years of farmyard brawling over her cheap potions any day. I could take her. I should take her. I’m no parasite. I earn what I have. I’m better than her. Better than them! I am. I’m better. But not tonight. Tonight, I’m not better. Tonight’s a special night. Tonight, we’re all just markers in the street. And anyway, it’s not like I could take her four friends at the same time. I unhook my saddlebags and let them drop the ground. I didn’t bring anything valuable. Nothing unique. Nothing I can’t afford to throw away after. I kick the bags over, and the pegasus snatches them up—rummaging through them with the little silver earth pony. Like vermin going through the trashbins. “And the bottle,” the big mare orders, gesturing at my cider. I take another drink. It’s smooth stuff. You don’t really taste the kick, but the kick’s there. It’s there. “How about I do ya one better?” I ask, gesturing at the security door. “Stop horsing around with that security gate. Let me keep the cider and I’ll page you into Mercury Suites. There’s good loot in there. Fancy stuff.” “Go mount yourself,” the unicorn snaps. A stallion, blue. Wearing some dark jacket with studs. Like his foul mouth is supposed to shock me. “Security has all the doors locked down tonight. The regular codes don't work anymore.” “Wow, yeah. Yer right. T’get one of security’s special codes, y’all would hafta be somepony rich or influential,” I sneer at him, and let his cheeks burn. “You wouldn’t know anypony like that.” “Nice accent,” the pegasus says, adding a hefty dose of contempt. Malevolent little wretch. I only glare at him. The others are listening though, I’m pretty sure. “What’s in it for you?” the big mare asks, with her beady, suspicious little eyes. She’s such a cliche. It’s mares like her who give honest earth ponies a bad name. “Great and powerful, right?” I ask, lifting a hoof the way they do in those stupid greetings. “Or maybe I hate everypony who lives there.” The cider is almost gone now, but I take another swig. “What’s it to you? Get in there and rattle a few doors.” They glance at each other for a second, uncertain. “Fine,” the big mare finally says, clearly suspicious. “Show me.” I don’t wait, turning and walking right up to the big door. They all follow along behind me, keeping their distance. Like a squadron of wiredolls was waiting behind the door to ambush them. “Sonic Rainboom,” I say, testing the old code. Nothing happens, of course. I hear the unicorn snicker behind me, and sneer, my ears folding back. Parasites all of them. Parasites and scavengers. Whatever. I take a breath. “Emergency Security Override A7832, Red, Black, Red.” The lock mechanisms twist, pulling out the four bolts, and the door slides open with a loud hiss. It opens onto the rear loading dock, a space of empty empty platforms and unhitched carts, but the door inside is there. They’re quick forward, the pegasus scrambling past me and up onto the dock, pushing open the inner door. I don’t look over his shoulder, but I know that door leads to one of the common rooms, so he’s probably totaling up the value of all the gold and hardwood in there. “We good, Aftershock?” the big mare calls. To the pegasus, I guess, because he turns and nods. “Yeah, we good.” He pushes the door open as his comrades crowd around him, taking in all the fine furniture, the crystal lamps, the art on the walls. “More stuff here than we can carry.” “Forget carrying it,” the little silver one says. “We’ve got two carts here. We’re getting all industrial about this looting. Let’s take it all.” “Don’t waste your time down here.” I shrug and lift the bottle, taking a moment to shake it. The crimson glow of my magic makes the glass dark, so it’s hard to see inside, but I can tell there’s not much cider left. Oh well, I’ve had enough. “The first floor stuff is all shiny, but it’s mostly junk. The really good stuff is on the third floor. That’s where the really rich ponies live. Give a little knock on the door.” They look back at me, like they only now remembered that I’m here. “Thanks,” the big mare finally says. Then, weirdly, “You gonna be okay?” Gosh, such friendly folk you meet in this city. They’ll rob you, sure, but they’ll walk you home after. Not like it’s personal. “Save it. We’re not friends,” I answer. I take one more drink off the cider bottle until it’s gone, and then toss it away into the corner. It shatters, but I don’t much care. I head straight for the stairs, leaving the big mare and her gang behind. Let them cause all the trouble they like. I’m moving up in the world! Up about two stories to be specific. To the third floor. Out the door! Down the shiny hall with its fancy carpets and its pretty little paintings on the walls. It’s normally so quiet, but tonight! Tonight, you can hear the alarms everywhere. Tonight's a good night. I feel good. Room 344 is right where I thought it would be. Right at the end of the line. That mare and her thugs won’t be far behind me, I bet. Which is good. I knock loudly. Three times. “Song?” I call. I know she’s in. Her lights were on. “Song Bird? Are you in?” I should introduce myself. Say my name. But I don’t want any of the neighbors to hear. I hear her hooves on the carpet, and a second later, the door opens a crack. It’s a fancy door. Hardwood, all lacquered up. Pretty. She’s pretty too, staring out at me with those soft grey eyes that match her mane. “Oh, Green!” she says, surprised. “What are you doing here?” “The way back to the Pavilion is cut off. Security’s locked down all the bridges,” I say, keeping my tone steady. Watching her. “I’m sorry to intrude, but there are ponies in the street, and Rarity mentioned you lived here. I—” “Oh, no! It’s fine. Come in. Come in, quickly,” she urges, opening the door to let me through. I step on inside. She’s got a nice apartment. Studio, with an open kitchen on the left by the door, a marble countertop, and this big living room with all her furniture and her window. It smells like peaches. Real tasteful. Very authentic Canterlot. She shuts the door behind us. “Are you okay?” she asks. She sounds concerned. That’s sweet of her. “How bad is it out there? Security told us not to leave the building under any circumstances, and I heard there’s rioting in Apollo Square.” “Yeah, it’s bad tonight,” I say, examining the room more carefully. Like... I don’t know. I’d see something important? Something to talk me out of this? Like, the pictures of all the adorable orphans and sniffling stray kittens she takes care of. But it’s just the usual stuff. “Bunch of trash from Hephaestus and Artemis out in the streets. Breaking in and looting. I don’t know about Apollo, but I saw two full squadrons of wiredolls headed that way, along with a ton of guards.” Yeah, I do see something that matters. She cooks. She has a stove. And a bunch of cooking oil. And a knife block on the countertop. “So I’m guessing it’s not good news.” “Do you have any idea what happened?” she asks. She’s done up all her door locks, like that would matter, and stepped into the room after me. I shouldn't talk to her. But, oddly, I find I kind of want to. I kind of want to. Maybe I haven’t had enough cider. Or maybe I’ve had too much. “Well, if I had to guess,” I say, stepping into her living room. Looking around at all the little bits she has here. The modern art wood sculpts, the glasswork she made herself. So tasteful. “I’d say a bunch of ponies found out that the mantles they’ve been popping like candy are actually poison and got a wee bit upset.” She doesn’t answer right away. Nervous maybe? “Yeah,” she says after that delay, her tone more subdued. Guilty even. That’s new for her. “I’m sorry, Green. I can’t imagine what that must have been like. How are you holding up?” “Oh, fine,” I say, and then a funny thought occurs to me, and I glance back at her. “Wait. Can’t imagine? I assumed...” I gesture in her direction with a hoof. At her lily-white coat, unbesmirched by a single extra mark. Nothing but that bird on her flanks. “I thought you just painted over.” She shakes her head. “Nope. Rarity had me on two tonics, but they’re both pretty low impact. I quit as soon as I got the news, and the doctors say I’ll probably be fine.” She’ll probably be fine. “Well.” I smile at her. “Good for you then.” Her face goes all stiff. Like she’s finally put something together. “Green... have you been drinking?” she asks, but before I can answer, there’s a crash from down the hall. Splintering wood, and a shout. “What was that!?” “Looters,” I say with a shrug. “Got into the building. Somehow. We’ll be fine though. They’re all talk.” She’s nervous now, flicking her gaze back and forth between me and the door. “Green, you’re starting to scare me.” “Am I? Am I starting to scare you, Song?” I ask, taking a step forward and watching her back away. That felt kind of good, actually. Got my heart racing. “Does something about me intimidate you? I’m a marker, you know. That means I could just...” I wave a hoof. “Snap at any time. Not that there’s anything wrong with those poor ponies.” I sneer at her and flutter my voice the way she does. “But I’d be nervous.” “Green, I’m sorry, I—” “Are you sorry? Are you really?” I take another step, watching as she cringes away. “Because you seemed to be enjoying it during the interview. You seemed to have fun calling me an axe murderer in front of thousands of ponies.” “I wasn’t talking about you, Green,” she insists. Another crash out in the hall. This one’s enough to hold her attention on the door for almost a full second, before she turns back to me. “Green, we can argue later. I think those sounds are getting—” “No,” I say, shaking my head. She’s got a nice bottle of wine on the counter. A fruit wine, with some mare’s cutie mark on the label. It’s not cider, but it’s a close second, and I levitate it over, popping the cork. “You were never talking about me, were you? Not during that interview. Not during all the others. You’d never say my name. I’d always be ‘some singers’ or ‘markers in general.’ Because you’d never slander a rival.” “Okay, Green, that’s enough!” she says as I take a drink. Good wine. “If... okay, I obviously hurt you, and I’m sorry. I really wasn’t talking about you during those interviews, but if you need to get something off your back, I can listen. Right now though, I let you into my home out of the kindness of my heart, and there are looters outside! We’ll argue later. Here and now, we’re in trouble and we need to keep safe.” “You’re in trouble,” I correct her. Swishing the wine a bit. “Us addicts, we stick together, you know?” I lift a hoof the way they do. “Great and Powerful.” And now, she realizes exactly how much trouble she’s in. I can see it on her face. That dawning revelation. Where that nervousness turns to real fear. “Green—” “Envy,” I correct her. “It’s what everypony calls me these days, isn’t it? Envy this, Envy that.” I make a wide gesture with the bottle. “I kind of liked it at first, you know? I thought, you’re a better singer than me, sure, and maybe prettier, and maybe a better actor, but I’ve got my bit. Maybe that bit’s not as fancy as yours, but it’s my bit and I like it. So what if I only fill seats because of my looks? The crowd has fun. I have fun. I don’t do anything unwholesome. I’m a good role model about it. And it’s a good name, Envy. Feels feminine.” I take another drink. “Do I look feminine to you?” “Okay, okay. Green? I know you’re upset.” She says it quickly, and pulls back into the kitchen as she does. She wants to flee for the door, but she can still hear the crashes outside. Somepony screaming. “You’ve gotten some very bad news and you’re... you’re trying to find a way to deal with it. That’s okay. I deserve that probably. Let’s just sit down and—” “What did I ever do to you, Song?” I ask. My breaths are coming faster now. My heart’s pounding in my chest. This energy inside me. A tense, twitchy sort of feeling! Like too much coffee. “It wasn’t enough that you beat me in every field I ever competed in? That you were better than me at everything I ever tried to do? You had to humiliate me for the bargain?” “I didn’t start that rumor, Green!” she insists, backed up against the counter now. “I don’t even think it’s true!” “But it is true, Song. My little secret’s out.” I strip off my dress, and let it pile in silver folds on the floor. No dress, no saddlebags. Just me. Naked in all my glory. I turn my flank to her so she can take it all in, while I take another drink. “So how do I look, Song? Am I pretty? Am I sexy? Am I feminine? Magic? Do I look real to you?” “Yes, Green, you’re very real,” she says. As if! I can see her eyes darting back and forth. “You’re real in every way and I’m sorry I—” “Liar!” I scream, hurling the wine bottle at her. It explodes against the countertop, and she shrieks, flinching away from the impact as droplets of wine and bits of glass go flying in all directions. “That’s not what you said before! I remember every word. Maybe audiences can tell the real thing from a fake. Authenticity is in, you know. Maybe the reason some performers are so popular with certain demographics”—I sneer out the words out one at a time—“is that they have an inside perspective.” “I’m sorry, Green! I’m sorry, I—” She breaks for the door, but I grab her before she can. She’s weak. Slight frame, no muscle mass, barely enough telekinesis to lift a teacup. Blood red light appears around her ankles as I freeze her in place, magically yanking her back into the kitchen. “Help!” she screams. “Somepony hel—!” Then the red glow extends around her throat, and her words die with a gasp. “Do you think I did this to myself for fun?” I ask. She’s struggling, squirming in my grasp, but it’s no use. “Do you think I nearly died on the operating table for kicks? Do you think I swam in a lake of drugs because gosh I just love mantles so much?” Her horn glows as she grabs another bottle off the counter to swing at me. I yank it out of the air with hardly any effort, and then bring it down hard against her face. The glass shatters, cutting deep gashes down her cheek, and even with my grip on her throat, I can hear her muffled little scream. “Do you know what I went through to be here!?” I bellow at her, watching her tremble as the blood pours down her cheek. “What it was like to be me? Always having to hide from my family’s judgment. Always sneaking around. Always with secrets to keep! And then I come here, to the one place in the world I can finally be free, and you ruin it!” My voice cracks with the force of the yell, and she tries to pull away. I can see her eyes watering. That glisten. “Everything I ever wanted in life you were born with,” I say, levitating the knife block over and picking out a promising candidate. A nice sharp vegetable knife. She sees it, and her eyes go wide, and that little kick of energy comes again! My own eyes are burning, but I like that feeling when I see her afraid. That good feeling. “I didn’t want to be the best. I never cared that you were number one. I just wanted to be one of you. To be a part of your world.” I shake my head at her, lowering my voice. “You couldn't even give me that.” “Please.” There’s hardly any sound, but I can see her mouthing the words, struggling to get air. Her eyes are wide and full of tears, the droplets rolling down her face and washing through her cuts. Her coat is so white, the blood stains it instantly, turning her whole chest a shade of scarlet and pink. “I’m sorry. Please.” I can see her barrel heaving, attempting to sob. “Green, you’re not a murderer. You don’t want to be one!” “No, I don’t!” I shout, swinging the knife through the air, watching her flinch away from it. “No, I don’t, Song! So why are you turning me into one, huh? You think this is what I left home to become!?” That burning in my eyes has turned to tears, but I press on anyway. “I only wanted a place in the world! I earned that!” “Yes, Green—” “Shut up!” I scream, jamming the knife down into her shoulder, watching her squeal in pain and pull away. “Shut up! I worked hard for what I am. Everything you were given I slaved away to earn! I’ve given, Song! I gave to Equestria, I gave to this city, I gave to Rarity and the Pavilion! I gave to you!” I reach up the wipe away the tears, squeezing them away, forcing my eyes to dry. “And all you did was take. Take. Take. Take. You filthy parasite. You took my career, my joy, my life, my pride. My ability to show my face in public!” My voice cracks again as I scream, but who cares? Walls here are thick, and that alarm is still wailing. “You took everything, just because it offended you that I had it.” “No, Green, please.” She gags around my grip on her throat. “Please, I’m sorry I’ve wronged you. But don’t do this. You don’t have to do this. You’re not some drugged-up psychotic street thug. You’re a good pony at heart. You’re not a murderer!” I tighten my hold, until she can’t get any air at all. Her eyes go wide, as she mouths the last word. “Please.” I look at her. I look at her. See her chest heave as she tries desperately to get air. See her body shake. See her skin shift every time her heart beats. The little motions of the veins. I see her cry, sob, beg for life. And when I’m done watching, I grab her mane to hold her head back, and plunge the knife into her neck. My chest and barrel go tight. Just watching. There’s so much blood, pouring out of her every time her heart beats. The knife drags through her flesh like it was cutting through a bundle of hay—lots of little things that snap on the way through. At first, she thrashes like she was having a seizure, lashing out with a strength I didn’t know she had. I almost lose her, for a second. But, she’s not that strong, and soon her whole chest is a bright red, covered in crimson rivers that draw all the way down to her forelegs. Her thrashing gets weaker, and weaker. Then it stops. I guess she was wrong about me. That feeling in my chest is back. In my heart. That energy. That electric drive. It’s powerful. Affirming. Like I was getting a pat on the back, and a nod that I did the right thing. I wonder if that feeling is madness. If that’s what it’s going to feel like all the time when I finally go insane. If I haven’t already. I should run, but I spend a while staring at the body. It’s so... visceral. She’s hanging there by her mane, legs limp and tangled under her, throat slit open, head tilted back to show all the bits in her neck. Her eyes are wide and glassy, and her entire front—chest and forelegs—is covered in blood, running from that gash. I guess I expected a corpse to be... something else. Something different. But it’s just a mare who won’t ever move again. I never thought I could kill another pony, so this is a big moment for me, but I don’t... I don’t feel joy that she’s dead. Watching her body hang there in mid-air as her blood drips to the floor doesn’t make me... I don’t know. Complete. I’m not getting some sick thrill out of it. She deserved it—she deserved it and more—but I can’t make myself happy that she’s gone. All I feel is a sort of smouldering anger, and that tense electricity. There’s not much the other way either. I know that I’m a murderer now, but there’s no guilt. It’s... Easy. It was easy. She was bad, and I punished her for what she did. She wronged me, and I made it right. I made her a statistic. Murdered by looters during a day of rioting, because security couldn't get there fast enough. I’ve crossed a line. I know I have. But it doesn’t hurt like it should. Maybe I have gone mad. Maybe I’ll regret this in the morning. But tonight, it wasn't even difficult. The glow fades from my horn, and she hits the floor with a wet smack. I pick my dress back up off the floor and slide it up over my shoulders. It feels right, that the dress was here for this. It’s a special dress, and it was here for me in a special time. I open the door, and walk out into the hall. Already, a few doors are broken in, valuables tossed out into the hall. I leave Song Bird’s apartment open behind me and immediately turn to take the other stairwell. I walk down and out into the street. I walk out into the night, with its flickering lights, and seawater, and the security alarm still blaring. And I keep walking, until I can’t hear the alarm behind me. You are my sunshine. Raise this barn. Piano Sonata #5 in C Minor. The security alarm. All together. All pounding around me at once. A shuddering breath escapes from between my lips. I love music so much. The flowers are almost gone now. I’ve eaten all of them about her hooves, and legs, and barrel, and neck. All that’s left is the laurels on her head, and my stomach is still snarling. Hissing. I weave my way up her side, curled about her, settling my teeth on the last blooms. “Was that supposed to scare me?” I ask her, whispering into her ear as I tug at the vines there. I pull them free and crush them. “Was that supposed to drive me away? Are you so afraid I might actually like you?” She doesn’t answer, which makes me laugh. It’s so adorable, to see her nervous. Her of all ponies. “Oh, Green,” I whisper, giving her neck a squeeze. “I always knew. I always knew you were vain, and petty, and a killer. I saw that madness in your eyes. I saw you cut off a mare’s face.” That makes me giggle, and I pluck another vine, enjoying the crunch. “I’m not Rarity, Green. She wanted to fix you, but I never cared that you were a monster. I just wanted you to be my monster.” Only one bloom left. “My murderous protector.” I reach out and slide my teeth around the last bloom ever so gently. I tear it and its roots from her forehead, savoring the taste as I grind it up. There are none left now, but I still feel like I’m starving. Like I could devour the whole world. “That’s how it works, isn’t it? Kill the wizard, loot their tower. Slay the dragon, get the hoard.” The drool is coming again. That deep, gnawing feeling. “But I don’t want Rarity’s gold and jewels, Green. I want her really valuable possessions. You know.” I laugh, “like your soul.” “Would you like that, Green?” I ask, pulling her close, sliding my teeth in around her ear. So hungry. “Would you like to be mine?” Mine forever. She doesn’t say anything, which I take as a yes. My teeth close around her, and I feel bone meet crystal. Feel it crack, feel it snap, feel it chip, and shatter, and break. I bite until there’s no more crystal. Until there’s flesh. Until I draw blood. Until Green shrieks at the top of her lungs.