The Life of Penumbra Heartbreak

by Unwhole Hole

Chapter 30: Poison

Crozea could not sleep. It was not an unusual state for her; there were some nights where the moon and stars were out of alignment, and entire seasons where the spirits were just too strong. They came in the night, and when they came, it was dangerous.

On these nights she would often find herself in the arms of one who likewise could never sleep, although the spirits who haunted him were of a different sort entirely. On this night, though, he was spending time visiting his personal stable, as was his prerogative. Crozea felt no jealousy. Those mares were younger and more beautiful than she would ever be, and most importantly, they were ponies- -something else she could never be.

That was not what disturbed her, though. As she walked through the empty halls, she thought of Penumbra. Though her herbs were effective, there were no records of it being used to drive a pony- -or any creature, for that matter- -from a newborn to an adult in less than a year. It had simply never been done because no one had ever been depraved enough to use it like that. She was the first.

Yet there were changes. Changes that Crozea knew well. Although Crozea could no longer bear foals of her own, she had seen many, even helped to raise many. Back when she had dwelt on endless fields of golden grass, in lands of beautiful sunsets and the scent of the planes. Not as she did now, in a cold and icy place of crystal and conquest. But that had been so long ago.

Penumbra was growing, and growing fast. Her youth had been stolen from her, but it was still passing. She was becoming something more than a doll built from Eternity’s programming and Sombra’s rejected daughter. She was becoming a pony.

Which was the irony of it all. She was doomed to a terrible fate. At some point, Crozea knew, she would become like her, or like the others. Even if she survived, what it could do to her soul would be unfathomable. There were those who could withstand it, like Emeth or Buttonhooks, but they were naturally dissociated, long-since separated from the pony condition. And there were those already fallen, like herself or Scarlet Mist. And there were those who had become corrupted by it. Luciferian, Al’Hrabnaz, even Zither in his broken illusions of an endless breezietale. Penumbra would be like the others. Her father’s evil would break her, and the thing to arise in her place would be both powerful and terrible.

There was nothing Crozea could do to stop it. That fate was bound to her since her birth. It was the same as it had been the first day: when all she could do was save the girl’s life while taking everything else from her. All she could do now was keep her safe, to make what was left of her life of potential as happy as possible. Before she had to leave. To change. Or, as Sombra believed, to sacrifice herself for the sake of the kingdom.

This thought made her so very sad. She had thought she had lost that, when the spirits took her own life from her and gave her a cursed one in its place. This sadness, this empathy. Or perhaps it was only dormant.

What she wanted was not to be alone. To be wandering these empty halls. So she found herself outside Penumbra’s door, wanting to see her. Not to wake her; her life was busy enough, and no doubt sleep was the only reprieve from an existence she did not even realize was taxing and unnatural. She would just look at her. Watch her as she slept, while she was still young and innocent. Before she became the new Luciferian- -or was buried as a national hero.

It was at the door that she suddenly heard a blood-curdling scream. Without even thinking, she pressed her hoof against the door and rapidly spoke a spell. Yellow light flashed from her hoof, and the door splintered.

Crozea rushed in. Nurses in their nightclothes, barely dressed and bleary-eyed, were running confused toward the sound of the scream. Toward Penumbra’s room. The door was open.

Seeing it, Crozea rushed forward, prepared for the worst. For a repeat of what had happened before, except then, she had not been forced to see it. Thirteen had, but nothing affected Thirteen. She was like the others. Her mind had long ago become darkened with evil. But Crozea’s had not. If she saw it- -she did not know what she would do.

She threw open the door, and saw exactly what she expected. A pony lying on the floor, convulsing and foaming at the mouth. Except, Crozea realized- -just before her zebra heart was crushed- -it was not Penumbra. Rather, it was a pink-colored crystal pony.

“Facet! FACET!” cried one of the maids, pushing past Crozea and rushing to the girl’s side. The girl’s eyes rolled back, and her convulsions began to grow stronger.

The mare tried to hold the girl’s head in place. “Poison!” she cried. “It’s a deadly poison!”

“Move your hoof,” demanded Crozea, throwing the maid back by her forehead. She leaned over the convulsing slave. Though the crystal girl was simply an object- -and a cheap one at that- -seeing her lying there had been a profound sight. For just that one moment, it had not been a slave-girl named Facet. It had been Penumbra. That thought alone had motivated Crozea to act.

She drew an object from a pouch on one of the many belts of supplies run over her body. She held out a single tiny stone in her hoof, and the stone looked back at her. It ribbited in confusion.

“Toadstone! This girl, like you, is about to croak! Protect her from this deadly poison! So I have spoke!”

The stone nodded and jumped onto the girl’s face, quickly crawling up her nose. The girl’s eyes went wide and she tried to sit up, but Crozea held her down.

“What have you done?!” wailed the maid at her side. The others were crowding to door. Some were crying. All looked as though they were about to panic.

“Hold her down, you fob, if the toadstone is to do its job!”

The maid nodded and steeled herself. She held the girl down with Crozea, resisting the spasms and convulsions with just as much difficulty.

Then, suddenly, the girl screamed and collapsed. There were no more convulsions, and her body was covered in sweat.

“Though it was not fun,” said Crozea, slowly releasing her, “the work has been done.”

Facet tried to sit up, but tilted and fell back on the floor.

“The world may start to reel. Tell me, girl, how do you feel?”

The girl looked up, and burst into tears.

“I’m sorry! I’m SORRY! I didn’t mean to! Please forgive me, Lady Crozea! Don’t send me back to the mines!”

“She’s delirious,” said the other maid. “She needs to rest- -”

“No. She needs to come clean. Crystal filly, what do you mean?”

Facet covered her eyes with her hooves. “I- -I know it was hers, but it smelled so good! I couldn’t help myself! She didn’t drink any, I- -I didn’t think just one sip would hurt!”

Crozea raised an eyebrow, and Facet pointed. Crozea’s eyes followed the line of her hoof, and her blood ran cold when she saw one of her own vials half-empty and tipped on its side. A vial of tasty fruit juice.

“This is- -this is divine punishment,” whispered Facet. “I should have met my end. For stealing from her- -but now it’s the mines. The mines for sure. Oh Lady Crozea, why have you saved me? How can you be this cruel?”

“Such an interesting way to thank.” Crozea turned to Facet. “Tell me, crystal-mare. Was this what you drank?” She picked up the vial.

“I- -I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me.”

“That must be the source of poison!” gasped the older maid. “But how? Who would have given her that?”

Crozea looked at the vial, because she knew exactly where it had come from. She lifted it and drank the remainder of the contents.

“LADY CROZEA!”

“Azide, arsenic, cyanide; methyl mercury, venom, and formaldehyde. A horrible wide-ranging brew, but even a single drop would kill you.”

“But you...you drank it...”

Crozea ignored her. Poisson, of course, would not kill her. It was a trait unique to her amongst all beings, though perhaps shared with Emeth, if the stories of his age were taken as truth. She was immune to poison, though Penumbra was not. At least probably not. It was impossible to know what was toxic to an alicorn, as there were so few of them. But whoever had planted these poisons had covered a wide range of sources, hedging their bets across several groups of poison. Yet their choice was primitive, using simple chemicals instead of more complicated herbs and plant toxins. Whoever it was was knowledgeable, but not a poisoner by nature.

“But to think, that they could somehow poison my own drink...”

The maid’s eyes went wide. “YOU gave that to her, Lady Crozea?”

Crozea felt sick. She indeed had- -but she had not placed the poison there herself. Yet, had it succeeded, the princeliness's fate would have been by her own hoof. The thought was simply intolerable.

That was when she realized something that should have been exceedingly obvious. She looked around the room and realized that something is missing.

“For all the commotion, we are one less. Where has gone the princess?!”

Comments

[alamais]

Huh...I wonder if Penumbra smelled the poisons when she was revolted by the juice, or really doesn't know what's good. Alicorn snoot > crystal poner snoot?