I don't get Visitors
Cold. Cold is the only sensation that I've ever known. That chill that creeps under your skin, setting your little hair follicles ridged, only to seep deeper and numb the muscle before settling in the bone and marrow, causing your teeth to chatter taking away the very thing that all being abhor to be denied. Control. It wasn't my fault I was born this way. I don't know who or what to blame. I just am. Just as the cold is just that. Cold. Absence of heat in the purest form that often causes other to fear, shrinking away from it at any cost, as if it was acid that would corrode their very being if touched. In some ways, they're right. They're right to fear the cold, the frozen touch of an icy grip that sends shivers down the spin until the limbs are too numb be contorted in any way. Well, contorted or moved by their own volition. It's for this reason, I don't have friends.
Sure in the beginning they're willing to talk to me. Warm up to me, if you will. The irony of that statement is not lost on one such as I. It was always pleasant to talk to one of them. Ponies they call themselves. Strange creatures that walk on all fours, often with bright colored coats of fur and long shaggy manes and tails to keep the cold at bay, to keep it from seeping in and sapping their strength. For years I watch them walk by me and my frozen pond. Up here in the north, it's always frozen. After all, a creature such as myself couldn't survive in the blistering heat. That heat, that scalds the skin, boils the water, and scorches every thing it touches. I guess the ponies' fur protects them from the smoldering rays of the sun as much as the chilling bite in the wind.
As I said, it's always pleasant to have a conversation with these strange creatures. It's not often I do, and most of the time, they're either very young, and don't know about me, being a traveler from the south. I often hear the local ponies talk as they pass my little frozen pond, saying things like only the ignorant and fools would talk to an Ice Fay, such as myself. Sad really. If only they'd try and be friendly. Then maybe I'd show them my Friendship Garden, and they'd see how happy we could be.
I found myself sitting on the ice surface of my pond, watching the ponies trot by, their shaggy fur rippling and bouncing as they went on their own ways. They didn't travel by my pond all that often. Oh it wasn't fear of me, it was more of the fact that my pond was just out of the way, a less used route to get from point A to point B. I've long since stopped trying to call out to any pony who came my way. They all knew me, and so refused to acknowledge that I was here, as they steered around my small pond. Clever ponies. I can't travel off my pond. Other wise, I would have marched straight into town and chatted to them in their homes. How I longed for conversation and company.
So I sat there, my eyes staring at nothing, mind wandering, thinking of the last time I had talked to anything that could actually talk back. I often talk to the rocks and statues in my garden, but since when do rocks or statues ever talk back? It's difficult to have any sort of conversation when the recipient is stone silent. At first I thought the voice was just in my head, my imagination carrying me off to better memories of the fun I use to have before the ponies here became cold and unfeeling. I snickered at the thought that anyone could be cold and unfeeling to me, the daughter of the very element itself.
Then I heard it again, the sound of another persisting in my ears, forcing my mind to come back to the present and focus my unseeing eyes back to the light of day to gaze at what was around me. I blinked in confusion, as if coming out of a deep sleep that left my brain addled and my mind groggy to my surroundings.
“Can you hear me?” The voice was sweet, as if the one who possessed it used it more for singing rather than talking. The soft hints of a melody tugged at it, as if it was trying to break out of it's cage of uninspired speech to glorious song. Song that had no words, just sounds that portrayed more emotion, more feeling, more purpose than any mundane word that civil language could ever hope to express.
I looked around to spy a small white pony on the edge of my pond, watching me as I watched her. How did I know it was a her? That voice could only be possessed by a young female. After years and years of only listening, one can learn the distinct differences in the tone and pitch of a voice. Like how her questions went an octave higher than that of a males, or that her cadence was a rapid and lively, rather than slow and thoughtful. I just stared at her, waiting for her to speak again, hoping beyond hope that she would and prove that she truly was speaking to me.
She must have noticed my movements, because she took a step forward, upon my ice pond and spoke.
“Are you alright? You looked sad and lonely.”
I slowly rose from where I sat, moving as fast as I dared to to keep from frightening her off. You don't know what could scare a pony off, and I wasn't going to ruin a chance because I was too eager to make a friend. I could see her eyes widen, and courage start to waver as she saw how different I was from her.
I was no pony, that was obvious. I wasn't a griffon either, as I had no talons or wings. I wasn't a minotaur, as I didn't stand on cloven hooves, but feet rather. I was something new to this pony, something alien and unnatural. Yet, in her eyes, there was a curiosity that seemed to burn deep within her. A small smile curled my lips as the idea that burning heat could drive a creature to lose control as much as an iced chill.
I opened my mouth to speak, but shut it right away, not knowing what to say. It had been so long since I've spoken to another who answered back. I frowned, putting a finger to my cheek as I thought. The pony, her coat as white as the snow, with a curly mane and tale of purple and pink, sat on her haunches, as if considering me as I was considering her. For a moment, we both just regarded each other, waiting for the other to break the newly formed silence that seemed to be punctuated only by the low whistle of the wind. After a long minute or two I smiled. Something about this pony seemed right, friendly, and warm. She smiled upon my smile, which made me giggle. As if catching on to an unspoken joke, the little filly giggled back, and soon, we both were laughing at the amusing silence that seemed to keep us captive as both of us pondered what to say to the other, not knowing if we even could communicate in any form of speech. Logic can be a rather humors thing, from time to time.
“I'm Sweetie Belle.” She announced after calming down from the fits of laughter that held her beautiful voice captive.
“And I'm Fay.” I smiled and curtsied. “And this is my Pond.”
It was always a good practice to tell someone that they were in your home. It's a form of welcome, and welcome Sweetie Belle I did.
“You live on the pond?” Sweetie Belle asked, curiosity stirring chords in her voice that almost melted my heart. What a pure and beautiful voice she had. I knew then that I had to bring her to my Friendship Garden.
“I spend the day up here some times.” I nodded. “But my real home is below.” I hesitated. I didn't want to be to forward with my desire, as that often led to mistrust. Ponies in general, are very suspicious creatures. “I live in my Friendship Garden.”
Those must have been the magic words, as Sweetie Belle's face brightened up in a smile that seemed like the sun coming out from the clouds. Mind you, I don't hate the sun. On many occasions, the sun has transformed an otherwise dull and morose scene into the most magical vista that one could only call it a master piece of nature. I just don't care for the heat.
“Can I see it?” She asked, startling me by her desire to see a Fay's Garden.
I wanted nothing more than her to come down and see my Garden right then and there, but I couldn't. Not yet. I hadn't had a guest in more years than I'd care to count, and I had let it get over grown lately in the absence of expected guests.
“Not yet.” I sighed unhappily. “I can't show off my home when it's untidy. That just isn't polite at all. Come back tomorrow just before noon, and I'll show you my Friendship Garden.”
The little filly smiled, and pranced around me, cheering on about how jealous her friends would be, and how she couldn't wait to tell them about it when she got home from her trip. Then, as if turning to stone, she stopped, eyes wide and her smile almost split her pretty little face in two.
“I'll bring my sister!” She announced.
I'm not one to turn down company, but through my experience, when a young pony brings a brother or a sister, that usually meant 'older' brother or sister. The older the sibling, the less trusting they became, meaning that if she were to come, Sweetie Belle would most likely not come down to actually visit my magical home.
“No!” I tried not to shout, but that would be like not curling your toes after you've stubbed them on a rock, or not fall if you trip.
Sweetie Belle looked startled as I tried to recover my composure from my sudden out burst, thinking hard of how I could explain myself. It seemed the more ponies knew about my reasons, the less inclined they were to trust me.
“No,” I repeated, much more mildly this time. “My Garden is special, and I don't just show it to any...pony. I want to just show you. Please promise me that you'll come alone. Please promise me you won't tell her. She'll want to come and that will spoil everything.”
I don't know if it was my words, or the pleading in my voice, but Sweetie Belle looked concerned. Yet, despite any reservations she might have had at the moment, she nodded in agreement.
“Great!” My smiled seemed to bubbled to my lips, leaving the both of us feeling better. “Now run along now, and I'll tidy up for tomorrow.”
I spent all that day, and all that night getting ready for Sweetie's visit. I pruned the shrubs, arranged the rocks and statues to form intricate paths and patterns, I even lit some will-o-whisps to brighten up the place. It looked stunning. A had lost track of time, and so seeing that the sun was almost in the middle of the sky, I shot straight up to the surface of the pond and lighted on the ice.
Sweetie Belle was there, waiting for me. My heart began to sing. I'd finally have a friend visit my Garden. I'm sure she'd love it, and never leave. Then I noticed another pony with her. A much older, taller pony. Her face wore a shocked expression as she watched me with apprehension. My heart broke.
“Sweeeeeetiiiiiie.” I moaned, feeling very much like a balloon with a leak. All my happiness was leaving, because my new friend couldn't keep our secret.
“I know you said not to tell any pony.” Sweetie apologized, truly looking sorry for what she'd done. “But I Rarity kept asking where I was going. I had to tell her.”
I looked at 'Rarity' and could tell that I did not like her. Her mane was a royal purple, and curled in such a way that made my eyes hurt. Her flat eyes told me that she didn't like the looks of me anymore than I like the looks of her. Her white coat seemed to be off, not as bright, not as pure as her sister. I didn't like her.
“Come Sweetie Belle.” I instructed, holding out a hand. “We'll go to my Garden, but your sister can't come.”
“I'm afraid that I must insist upon accompanying my dearest little sister.” Rarity interceded, putting a leg in front of her sister.
I did not like her.
“Sweetie Belle.” I asked again, trying to be as reasonable as I could. All I could think about was her sweet voice, and how much I wanted her to be my friend in my Garden, to stay with me forever. “Come. We'll be going to a magical place.”
Sweetie Belle looked from behind her sister's leg to me, then to her sister. “Can I go? Please? For five minutes?”
“We're leaving.” Rarity's eyes were flat as they stared at me with loathing that I would see from the local ponies who saw me upon my pond.
There's more than one reason why ponies don't stray near my pond. My pond, my home, is my place of power. And if I wanted something in my home, I got it.
“You are.” I answered the pony. “But your sister stays with me.”
Holding up a hand, I flicked towards Rarity, as if flicking a fly that annoyed me. An invisible force hit her square in the chest, launching her up in the air and off of my pond, landing hard in the snow. In a flurry of ice shards, I was standing next to Sweetie, wrapping an arm around a front leg.
“Let's go,” I breathed in her ear. “I'll show you wonders that you've never seen before.”
The white filly just stared at me, eyes wide with fright. I put on my most winning smile, hoping that she wouldn't let display of hostility towards her sister rule her judgment. After all, one doesn't let someone come into your home and walk all over you. The punishment was just, and I right to act. For a long moment, I thought she would calm and we'd go to my Garden and stay forever. Forever with a friend, and happy.
“NOOOO!” Sweetie turned to run, but my grip was too tight upon her leg. Struggle as she might, my icy grip was strong, unyielding.
My heart shattered. I was rejected. Another was chosen over the beauties I could share. However, I would not be denied. There was more than one way to keep a friend in my Garden. My grip tightened. The brittle skin upon my face started to crack, spider webbing out as I unleashed my anger, letting the cold ripple out of me in malevolence that caused the very trees touching my pond to explode as the sap froze and expanded so rapidly it literally tore apart the wood and bark. My face chipped away, like ice being smashed to tiny, miniscule pieces by a sledge hammer, leaving nothing left but a scull burning in heat-less, blue fire.
Her screams ripped through the air around us as I slowly dragged her down through the ice, towards her new home, keeping my arm secure around her leg as my bone fingers gripped her so tight, I could feel her frantic heart beat. As we descended, a new scream brought me out of my revery of victory, and I looked up.
We were half way through the ice, I up to my waist in the glassy surface of the pond. Rarity was there, hooves around the outstretched hoof of her sister, her blue magic aura holding Sweetie Belle in a tight grip. I cursed my own slothfulness to act. I should have been diligent, and paid attention to what was happening to Rarity after I flung her off my pond. However, by the time I noticed the large oval of glass like ice being held high over head, posing over the sun, and aimed right at me, it was too late.
The searing, scorching, burning ray of pure sunlight hit my chest with a smoldering bolt that struck me almost to my icy heart. With a shriek I let go of my new friend, knowing I lost her forever because of my own thoughtlessness. In one final act of self defense, and revenge, I blasted everything off my pond, and sank down to my Garden home.
It's taken me weeks to recover, and though I've regained my composure, I'm afraid to rise to the surface again. I don't know of they're waiting for me up there, or if I'm finally alone, again. Regardless, it doesn't matter. Even thought that sweet, sweet, filly escaped me, I still have countless statues of would be friends to keep me company until my next friend comes, and maybe this time she'll come willingly and stay with me in my Garden. Forever.
Hi, and thank you for reading 
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so creepy, glad i didnt read this late at night.
Kind of wondering how a horror and dark story got approved for a E rating when this seems like it should have had at least T rating or M rating.
7724360 I'll change that.
7724370 This was adorable!
7724393
?
7724400 All that clearly innocent thing wants is to bring ponies to live in her garden forever.
If you keep doing that to your would be friends, it is no wonder you have trouble making new ones.
7724417 Faèries have a strict set of laws and think infinitely different from mortal races.
Break the laws, loose your power and life, or worse, be left to the tortures of Queen Mab and Queen Titania.
Its to spooky and Sad she just wanted a friend. But i have this felling her "statues" was once alive ponies. Brrrrr talk about a chille conclusion im so sorry for that one
.
Before I read, what is the Dark and Horror for ?
Alondro's eyes turn wearily to the Fay, "No. My garden's vastly superior anyway. You should visit mine instead. It's in... The New Jersey Pine Barrens."
Alondro gains a Fay statue.
7724759 if I told you there would be no surprise.
I would read it but I don't really want to
7730543 why, are you that scared?
If that cover art is supposed to be the speaker, it makes it all the more chilling. For her to be so beautiful but so evil...
Absolute cringe.
But it would be unfair of me to at least point out one reason why.
' “NOOOO!” Sweetie turned to run, but my grip was too tight upon her leg. Struggle as she might, my icy grip was strong, unyielding.'
Firstly: "No".
Secondly: Cliche of useless struggling.
One of the strongest cliches is rendered into one of the most generic horror cliches in the last 100 years.
A horror is merited by the pay off from a given moment after a degree of suspense. The suspense should be created from world building of the unexplained abilities of an agent of horror, or by the lack of ability of a hero to change a tragic fate. IT by Steven King, or the shapeshifter in IT follows fit this description. Hell, the insanity of the main character in the cabinet of Dr. Caligari shows mans mortality and weakness more than this villain/protag (which I think you were trying to go for).
You see, in the end, this story equates to the settling of an evil being; not their endless dissatisfaction or lament/hell. We do not feel there is anything on the line when the character states in the end, that they're fine with statues. If the protag doesn't care about their life, then why should we?
This is garbage. You can thank me for telling you this later.
7734811 thank you for your opinion. While I might not agree with everything you said about my piece, you do have some fair points for me to consider.
Now, Let me defend myself by saying this was a thought experiment. I understand it's not really that scary of a story. I mean, the true scare comes from the unknown, not knowing what it is happening or why. You don't get either of that here. Because you're seeing it through the eyes of the monster rather than the victim. It was something that came to mind, and I thought it would be interesting to try to write a story that way. So I did. whether or not it has achieved success is in each person's point of view. To you, it hasn't. To others, it did. So again thank you for your comments.
I think being would be plural, here.
Other should be plural too.
Humorous is probably what you're looking for.
The "d" wouldn't be needed.
You may have meant "landed", but I'm not entirely sure.
You can take out the "i".
Either a "was" or a "had a" would work before the right.
Skull is spelled with a k, not a c.
Now, as a story, it gave off an incredibly eerie feel from the start. Big plus on that. The best parts were the Fay spoke to itself, giving off an inner dialogue that expanded upon what it was, what it wanted, and how it planned to get it. You writing in those parts was awesome! Also, the first interaction with Sweetie Belle was believable, and admittedly a bit cute.
One of the qualms I had with this, however, what happened after Sweetie Belle left. I understand that the setup was that Sweetie Belle was on a trip or something of the like, but I felt the Fay and Sweetie could have met at least another time or two before this whole drag-you-to-my-garden thing happens.This could have been a good opportunity to build a stronger connection between the Fay and Sweetie, leading to a more emotional conclusion when she's torn away from her friend.
The other minor problems I had tie into the big one, those being the pace once Sweetie Belle is introduced and the ending, but the main thoughts are covered in the above paragraph. Overall, a nice read!
I rather liked this story my only complaint is the end. Did rarity use a giant magnifying glass and if so where did it come from?
7751086 reread it. It's not a magnifying glass, but it's really thin ice that she uses like a magnifying glass. If she can manipulate the environment with her magic, it stands to reason that she could create ice, or use ice to form different shapes as needed. This is just another case of rarities ingenuity.
7751154 oh I see, I misunderstood that was my fault. Well then I enjoyed this story.