Part II
If the plate had shattered, the pieces could have fit down the drain.
Applejack chewed her lip as she peered down in the sink once more, one eye closed, searching for hints of white ceramic against the dark pipe. If the plate had broken, it was entirely possible that all the pieces had been sucked down with the soapy water.
Rarity just happened to have one of the same plates.
Or, and perhaps more likely, Applejack had once left a plate at Rarity's. She'd probably brought over a slice of pie covered in cling-wrap and forgotten to take the plate home with her.
It made perfect sense.
And yet the hole in Applejack's stomach yawned wider.
"Lose somethin'?"
Applejack gasped, a hoof flying to her chest in surprise.
Big Macintosh stood in the doorway, a dim curiosity lurking in his weary eyes. He deftly flicked the straw in his mouth from one corner of his lips to the other with nothing but his tongue.
"For pony's sake," Applejack muttered. "Why is it that everypony likes sneakin' up on me so gotdang much?"
She turned away from the sink, taking a rag with her.
Golden shafts of sunlight poured over Applejack's shoulders as she set to work cleaning the kitchen table. Last night's canning session had proved a bit stickier than usual, as Applebloom tended to pour first and measure later. Applejack scrubbed at the hardened puddles of sugar and gelatin, the faint scent of apples and lemon juice seeping into the air as she worked.
Big Mac said nothing, which was hardly a surprise. He only leaned against the doorframe and slowly raised an eyebrow in Applejack's direction.
Applejack sighed. "No. I didn't lose nothin'."
The eyebrow climbed higher.
"It's a long story, Big Mac," Applejack continued. She whirled to face the table and slapped the damp rag down on its surface. "I don't feel much like getting into it just now."
Big Mac chewed thoughtfully on his straw. "Short version, then."
Applejack clenched and unclenched her teeth. "It's nothin'."
Mac only smacked his lips softly.
"It's nothin' that concerns you, that is." Applejack kicked a chair out of her way and scrubbed at a stubborn spot on the tabletop.
Mac shrugged. "It concerns you, don't it?"
Applejack paused in her scrubbing.
She wanted to snap back at her brother, but she knew what he meant.
If it concerns you, it concerns me.
Applejack threw down her rag with a wet plop. "For the love of…" she muttered to herself. "I dunno. Rarity's actin' funny."
Mac made a face.
"Funnier than usual," Applejack corrected firmly. "I mean… she's not herself. I stopped by yesterday mornin' and she just… I dunno."
Mac nodded slowly.
Applejack stared at the lumpy, gray rag in the center of the table. The story had felt a lot longer than that, but she supposed that was all there was when you got right down to it.
Rarity was acting funny.
Rarity wasn't herself.
Rarity wasn't really there right now.
The floorboards moaned as Big Mac stepped into the kitchen. He pulled a chair out from the table and eased himself into it, then looked up at Applejack in anticipation.
Applejack rolled her eyes. "It's no big deal."
"Until it is," Mac said.
"Ugh." Applejack swept her rag off to the side and flopped down into the seat across from her brother. "You're a real pill, you know that?"
"Eeyup."
Applejack scoffed. "I just-- I dunno what the right thing is," she said. "She doesn't seem to want me around. I don't wanna intrude."
Mac nodded.
"She's overworked. And I get it," Applejack continued. "But then I guess that's what's buggin' me; I feel like she should be able to talk to me about this-- heck, we've always talked about this sort of thing together. We're both workaholics. She said as much yesterday."
"Mm."
"This time, though…" Applejack drew in a deep breath and let it out slow. "Seems like there's more to it."
Mac cocked his head.
"That's the long story part."
Which was technically true. How long would it take to convince Mac of her anxieties about the plate? About her reflection? How much longer to talk him down from a trip to the head doctor?
Mac sighed heavily.
Applejack nodded. "It's a pickle, alright."
"Well," Mac said slowly. He paused, leaned far back in his chair, and let out another warm lungful of air through his nostrils. "You're friends, aren’cha?"
"What's that s'posed to mean?"
Mac smirked. "Friends need you around," he said. "Especially when they say they don't."
Applejack scoffed. "That's… terrible advice."
Mac's smirk only widened, and he tilted his head back to bark out a bout of deep laughter. At first, Applejack tried to suppress her own giggles, but they quickly bubbled out.
The high and tinkling, bell-like tones of Rarity's feminine giggles were missing.
Applejack's laughter faded.
"You know what I mean," Mac said.
She nodded. "I hate that I do."
Mac chuckled once more.
He got to his hooves, reached across the table, and tousled his little sister's mane affectionately. Applejack batted him away.
"I'll cover you," Mac said as he turned to go.
"Thanks," Applejack called after him. "I'll getcha back."
"No need," Mac added. "We're family. But we’re friends, too."
And, once again, Applejack was alone.
She took a small breath. For a flash of a moment, she felt good. A little smile spread over her face.
Then she caught sight of her reflection.
A shiny silver pitcher on the counter across the room. Her reflection bulged along the wide middle band of the pitcher, but she could still see the differences-- a blank expression. Glassy eyes. Utter exhaustion evident in the circles under her eyes, and yet an odd energy which hummed beneath the fur on her cheeks.
Cheeks tinted blue.
Applejack's own smile vanished in an instant.
She closed her eyes and wished the thing away, then pressed her hooves against her face and whispered it aloud:
"Go away," she hissed. "Go away. This is about Rarity, not me-- go away!"
Applejack opened her eyes.
Only her own tired face stared back.
Applejack took a steadying breath and reached for her rag, intending to clear her mind with a little more rigorous cleaning.
She tried not to panic when she found that the rag had vanished.
“You’re back.”
So small, so quiet and uncertain that Applejack could hardly hear it over the cacophony of insects and birdsong and lawnmowers.
Meek.
That was the word which sprung to mind as Rarity peered out from the crack in her door: Meek.
Applejack swallowed down her irrational concern. “Uh. Well, I said I would be, didn’t I?”
Rarity pulled the door all the way open.
She looked… well, ‘better’ was an oversimplification. She was certainly more put together than she had been yesterday, and keen on showing it off.
The dullness of her mane had been washed away, and a sheen carefully brushed into it. Her signature massive curls were missing, however, replaced by more delicate natural waves. She was wearing make-up, as well-- eye shadow and dark mascara that tried to tug her eyes further into the realm of the living, and yet abandoned them squarely in the uncanny valley.
She did her best to smile, and waved one hoof broadly into the now-lit entryway. “Come in, Applejack.”
Applejack tipped her hat to her friend and ducked into the building, murmuring a greeting as she did.
Lit though it was, the Boutique still seemed to suck the confidence out of Applejack. She felt a shudder run through her as she crossed the threshold, and did her best not to show it. A sense of lethargy came over her, as well; a pulling sensation, as if the squeezing around her barrel had turned to a weight tugging her down. Exhaustion that only comes from so very much work.
Applejack wondered if Rarity’s condition might be catching, but quickly put the thought out of her mind.
“I’m terribly sorry for the way I behaved yesterday,” Rarity said as she pushed the door closed. The bell over it tinkled, but only faintly. “I’m afraid I’ve gotten a bit, erm… in my own head as of late. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“Uh… that’s alright,” Applejack murmured. “Y’know, we’re practically family, Rarity. You don’t need to get all dolled up for me.”
Rarity made a tight sound of disagreement, but said nothing.
Applejack wandered slowly through the front room, making eyeless contact with each and every ponnequin in the place. Oddly enough, none of them looked at her. She almost wished that they would-- it would give the pit in her stomach something of a reason to exist in the first place.
“I-I wasn’t… was I?” Rarity asked quickly, scampering to Applejack’s side.
“Wasn’t what?” Applejack asked.
Rarity looked down at the floor. “Rude.”
“You--” Applejack stammered for a moment, nothing but nonsense spilling from her lips as she tried to catch onto the right thing to say. “No way. Not a bit, Rarity.”
Rarity’s eyes remained glued to the floor.
“Hey.” Applejack reached forward and put a firm hoof on Rarity’s shoulder.
Something ran through Rarity. Not a shiver or a prickle, but some other wave of involuntary emotion which swept from hooves to head. Something which sparked that familiar glimmer in her eyes once more.
She looked up into Applejack’s face with a sense of great longing. She had felt the absence, too, it seemed.
“I get it, okay?” Applejack murmured. “Distant and rude ain’t the same thing.”
Rarity closed her eyes and nodded. Her lips pressed into a tight, thin line, and she sucked in a tiny breath, like the gasp of salty air above the tumultuous waters of the ocean.
Applejack forced a small and comforting smile, and rubbed a few small circles into Rarity’s shoulder before releasing her.
The sparkle in Rarity’s eyes flickered and died, and the eerie stillness of the Boutique overtook Applejack once more.
Applejack took a few more cautious steps into the Boutique, searching for anything amiss. She spotted nothing. Even so, the weight around her middle pulled her lower and lower, deeper and deeper… it was as if a tap had been affixed to her side, and energy was pouring out of her, pooling on the floor, seeping into the carpet, the floorboards, the--
“So!” Applejack exclaimed, shouting right over the anxious tape in her head. “How’s about we pick up where we left off and have some tea?”
Rarity painted on her own false grin. “That sounds lovely.”
Applejack nodded, and turned towards the kitchen.
And all the ponnequins were staring at her.
Applejack barely suppressed a yelp of surprise and pedaled backwards two clumsy steps.
She blinked.
None of them were looking at her.
Rarity was at her side in an instant. “Are you alright?” she asked quickly. “I mean did you-- what happened?”
Applejack fluttered her eyes, trying to oust the sudden murkiness of her vision. “I, uh…” She paused to shake her head. “Sorry. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” Rarity asked. She reached out to touch Applejack, but drew her hoof back when she was only a hair away. “You don’t have to foalsit me, darling. Y-you can go home.”
Her tone was so strange.
Applejack tried to catch her gaze, but saw that Rarity was looking straight past her-- right below her jaw and clear across the room. Her eyes flicked up once, perhaps twice, but she seemed entirely preoccupied.
Immobilized, almost.
Applejack spared a small turn of her head in search of what had entranced Rarity so thoroughly. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “I just went and spooked myself. Nothin’ for you to worry about.”
Rarity swallowed, and choked out a small “mm” in understanding.
“Come on, now,” Applejack encouraged. “Let’s make some tea.”
Rarity nodded and at last pulled her eyes up to meet Applejack’s. “After you,” she said, gesturing into the kitchen.
Applejack shook her head. “Nonsense. Ladies first.”
A weak chuckle spilled from Rarity’s lips. Her eyes slid down from Applejack’s, catching the thing across the room for a long moment, and finally moving on as she crossed into the kitchen.
Applejack waited patiently for the distance between her and her distressed friend to grow, then whipped her head around to look behind her.
Nothing but the mirrored alcove lurked in the shadows. The one which Applejack and her friends had been sheparded into many a time, always in some ridiculous getup as Rarity poked pins into every gather, every fold, every hemline she could lay hooves on. Rainbow Dash had taken to calling it ‘The Needle Dome’--despite it not, in fact, being dome-shaped--as she had a propensity for mucking about and getting herself pricked.
In the light, Applejack could see her reflection.
She glimmered a slight blue, edges undefined. Like a mirage, or perhaps like ink bled into water, she wavered and faded.
Strangest of all, though, was her fixed and steely gaze.
Applejack’s own mouth hung open slightly, and her eyebrows climbed slowly into her hairline.
The reflection, however, had set her jaw. She glared out of the mirror like a tiger in captivity, dreaming of the day it might maul its keeper and at last break free.
Applejack didn’t look long, though. She squeezed her eyes shut and whispered her terror to herself, an endless beating rhythm of “no-no-no-no-no” that rolled on and on, faster and faster as Applejack willed that harsh gaze to leave her, to turn onto somepony else, anypony else, even--
“Applejack?”
A little gasp. Like a hiccup.
Applejack opened her eyes, and saw that her reflection had returned to normal. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m comin’.”
Guilted by the ghostly terror in her own eyes, Applejack turned and followed Rarity into the kitchen.
For all its bright and shining surfaces, the kitchen felt even more lifeless than the entryway. Applejack had the creeping feeling that Rarity had not cooked a meal for herself in this room in quite a while-- after all, not even Rarity could leave a kitchen without a trace of preparation. No dishes were stacked in the sink, no wrinkles or stains contaminated the dishcloths, and not even a hint of scent lingered in the air from a previous meal.
All the same, Rarity floated to the cabinets and began to gather all of her tea-making materials.
The soft clunk of mugs landing on the marble countertop brought Applejack back to the present.
"Er, let me get that, Rares," she said, weaseling in beside her friend and stretching up into the cabinet to retrieve a box of tea bags.
Rarity shied away from her friend. "You're the guest, Applejack," she said softly, without much fight.
Applejack could only let out a tense breath as she dropped a tea bag into each mug.
Without a thought, Applejack pulled open a cabinet beside the stove and withdrew the hidden kettle. She easily removed its lid and popped it into the sink.
"Really, darling," Rarity insisted. "I-I'm alright. Why don't you let-- erm, why don't you let me do this?"
Applejack huffed lightly. "I promise you, I can fill a kettle," she said.
She reached over to turn on the tap. Her hoof paused a hair away.
The rag.
Applejack drew her hoof back from the faucet. She cocked her head, eyeing the rag suspiciously; it couldn't possibly be the same rag she had lost track of that morning.
Could it?
No, no. Don't be stupid, Applejack.
"What is it?" Rarity asked, her voice strained.
Applejack pointed. "Where did you get that rag?" she asked, doing her best to remain calm and even.
Rarity raised her eyebrows and turned her gaze over to the rag. "Hm?" she wondered. "Oh, this?"
She reached over and plucked it from the faucet with a tendril of magic.
"Yeah. Where'd you get it?"
"Goodness. I'm not certain I remember," she said. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, it--" Applejack coughed. "It looks just like mine."
Rarity considered the rag, then made a small noncommittal sound. "It was bound to happen sooner or later. We do live in the same town, darling-- and one with limited retail options, at that." She giggled, trying to make that silver-bell Rarity sound bubble out, but falling just short. "I think it says more about me than it does about you. After all, do you really think this is my color?"
She held the thing out, almost offering it to Applejack.
It was gray. It was old and tattered. It was a little bit damp, and showed its weight in the way it hung off both sides of Rarity's hoof.
It also had a small swatch of colorful zap apple skin pressed into its fraying fibers.
Applejack tried to laugh as a cover, but found that the sound twisted up in her throat like a python. She coughed. Rarity withdrew the rag, laying it gently over the faucet once more.
"Sorry," Applejack said.
Rarity scoffed. "I've no idea what you're apologizing for."
"I-I dunno," Applejack said with a half-hearted shrug. "I think I've been a little overworked myself. I've been… tired."
"Mm." Rarity flicked the tap on, and water rushed into the kettle.
Applejack leaned into the counter and looked down at her friend. Rarity kept her eyes trained on the shiny surface of the kettle, a few tendrils of blue magic trailing their way around and around the handle. Fidgeting, at once idle and neurotic.
"You been sleepin' okay?" Applejack asked softly. She nudged Rarity gently, just to see the way the touch lit her up.
"Oh… fine, I suppose," Rarity breathed.
Applejack ran her hoof gently along Rarity's ribs. She couldn't quite say why-- perhaps she thought it was an expression of comfort, though the feeling made Rarity shudder.
She made a small sound and shuffled just out of Applejack's reach.
It was really too brief to interpret. But Applejack could have sworn she heard guilt.
Rarity made a small dismissive sound and pounded the tap off with a smack of her hoof.
That magical blue dance began again; the kettle was hoisted out of the sink and placed on a burner to the right, the knob was twisted and the tick-tick-tick-tick of a stove trying to light echoed through the room.
Then a whoosh as the flame caught.
Rarity kept her head tilted down. Her mane slipped out from behind her ear and cascaded towards the floor, little waves intertwining and sliding over one another in a shimmering dance.
One tendril of magic snaked up along her cheek and gently, lovingly, tucked a wispy lock of her mane back up behind her ear.
Rarity's face contorted into a look of near fear, and she let out the tiniest breath from between her pale lips. The tendril wound its way back down her cheek and over those pale lips, lingering a moment before dissipating into the stale air.
Applejack watched in analytical silence.
She tried to recall a time when she'd seen magic used this way. As an extension of one's body in ways beyond the utilitarian. To touch. To fidget. To wander.
She made a mental note to speak with Twilight about this later.
Rarity visibly relaxed as her magic sparkled away. Her head hung lower. She reached up a curious hoof and pressed it against her cheek, her lips, her chin… apparently as curious about the touch as Applejack was.
"You sure you're sleepin' okay?" Applejack asked again.
Rarity's eyes sprung open in surprise, and a pinkness bloomed in her face as she looked up at Applejack.
Applejack cocked her head.
"Well, I…" Rarity looked up at the ceiling. Her eyes flickered back and forth every so slightly, as if she were running some sort of calculation. "I suppose I've been having some… some rather vivid dreams."
Applejack knew that was a lie.
Not because it was difficult to believe, but because of the way Rarity's face contorted as she spoke. A nigh imperceptible twisting of her features, like a piece of paper being crumpled before it was chucked in a wastebasket. She tried to counteract it, to laugh and relax, but the twist had happened. Applejack had caught it, as she always did.
"Dreams," Applejack echoed.
Rarity shook her head, eked out another weak chuckle. "It's silly," she said. "I'm a grown mare. More than grown. I shouldn't be so--"
"Why don't you tell me about 'em?" Applejack offered.
Rarity paused.
Slowly, deliberately, she raised her head. She pulled her lower lip into her mouth and rolled it slowly between her teeth. That glimmering, flickering motion returned to her eyes as she looked upon some unknown spectre before her.
Applejack sighed gently. "It's okay. Y-you don't have to," she said.
Rarity's nostrils flared as she snorted out a small breath of relief.
"I understand," Applejack continued. "It's easier'n you'd think to get yourself so worked up and sleep-deprived that you start… y'know, seein' things."
Rarity closed her eyes, as if cringing from the metaphorical blow this thought had dealt her.
"What's worse is it feels so strange to talk about 'em," Applejack continued. "Since you know they ain't real. And that's all anypony can say: 'you know they aren't real, right?' Of course you do. But it shakes you up either way."
"I-it's not…" Rarity trailed off. She huffed, roughly pulling her mane behind her ear and trying to steady herself. "I keep hearing things. Down here, while I'm trying to sleep."
Applejack's brows furrowed. "Oh. Right."
"The first few times, I thought it was Opal." Rarity laughed at that. "Can you imagine? Thinking my dead cat was wandering about in the night and being comforted by that. Just a… a reflex."
She looked up at Applejack.
In her eyes was a sort of desperation. Not a fear or even a sadness, simply a need. A need for comfort.
"Applejack," she said softly, "do you think that thoughts can be reflexive?"
Applejack furrowed her brows. "Uh… I'm not sure what you mean by that."
Rarity took a steadying breath. "What I mean is… well, do you think that, by thinking a thought so clearly and so often, the thought can… can think itself?"
"That's a mite philosophical for my taste, there, Rarity," Applejack muttered, pulling her hat down lower on her brow and trying to laugh it off. "I'm sure Twilight'd love to debate it with you, though."
"Right…" Rarity sighed. "All I mean is that I've gotten myself in the habit of hearing things in the Boutique. Even when it's quiet, I feel like I just… fill it in myself. Like I miss it."
She frowned, as if realizing this for the first time. It was the type of sleepy understanding that one has after waking up from a dream-- when the pieces make sense as a jumble of color and feeling in your mind, but fall apart as soon as they are spoken.
"Hm," she hummed to herself.
Then she looked up. Slowly. Afraid of what she might find.
The ceiling moaned.
As if something--
someone--
were standing on it.
Walking across the floors above.
Larger than a cat. Certainly larger and heavier, with plodding, deliberate steps.
It walked from one side of the kitchen ceiling to the other. Step by step. Stride by stride.
Then, it paused.
Just above the pair of ponies in the kitchen, who gazed up in terrified, pale-faced awe at the plain ceiling.
Applejack spat something, some private call to action, and took off across the kitchen towards the stairs.
"Wait!" Rarity cried, skittering after her friend.
But Applejack did not wait. She skidded around a corner and galloped up the stairs. They creaked and moaned under her own hooves, and she strained to hear the motions of the intruder over her own cacophonous steps.
"Applejack!" Rarity shouted, though without any clear instruction.
At the top of the stairs, Applejack paused.
Three doors.
The one to her right, surely.
She ran for it, one hoof extended, ready to throw open the--
And then, in a flash of blue, Rarity was between her and the door. "Stop!"
Applejack was barely able to halt herself, and collided gently with Rarity's form, pinning her against the door.
For a moment, she couldn't summon anything meaningful.
"Don't go in there," Rarity said.
"Land sakes, Rarity--" Applejack threw her head back in frustration. "There's somepony in there! I'll buck 'em to kingdom come, but you've got to let me--"
"No!" Rarity repeated.
Applejack set her jaw. She glared at Rarity and, for once, Rarity held her gaze.
She reached for the doorknob.
Rarity batted her away.
"Why can't I go in there?" Applejack demanded.
Rarity drew in a small breath. Her chest swelled into Applejack's. "It's… it's my bedroom, Applejack," she whispered. "It's private."
"Consarnit-- now ain't the time for manners!"
"You can look," Rarity said. "But you can't go inside."
Applejack sighed, tense and angry. "Rarity, I wanna understand--believe me--but if there's somepony in there--"
"Please," Rarity said softly.
She reached up, running her hoof through the fur on Applejack's chest and landing at its center. She pushed her friend away, firm and steady.
Applejack, confused as she was, dutifully stepped back.
Rarity hung her head, turned, and opened the door.
She peered inside, doing her best to fill the space and obscure Applejack's view. After scanning the room like a jackal for any sign of life, she pushed the door all the way open.
"There, now. You see?" Rarity said, gesturing to the room. "There's nopony here."
Applejack rushed forward. Rarity blocked her from crossing the threshold, but allowed her friend to look inside.
Even from here, Applejack could tell that the air in the room was stale, stuffy, and warmer than the rest of the house. The space was crowded, but crowded with discarded things: dressing gowns, slippers, even the odd hairbrush all scattered about Rarity's bed in a whirl of depressed mess.
And her bed. Unmade, blankets and pillows surrounding a hole where the sheets had taken on a yellowed hue. Applejack supposed that was from sweat.
But Rarity was correct: there was nopony there.
"Uh…" Applejack found that words failed her as she surveyed the space. ‘Un-Rarity’ didn't even begin to describe the state of it. "Y-yeah. Nopony there."
Rarity pulled the door shut.
The pair stood there, each of them staring silently at the floor, for a long moment. Applejack felt that an apology was necessary, and yet couldn’t find a way to give one without drawing yet more attention to the state of the room. Rarity, it seemed, couldn’t think of a convincing lie to tell to explain it.
“Is that what it sounds like downstairs?” Applejack finally asked. “While you’re asleep?”
Rarity hesitated, then nodded fervently.
“Okay.” Applejack set her jaw and tried to get control of her still-labored breathing. “Okay. I understand. I think I--”
A distant sound.
Shrieking.
Howling.
“The teakettle,” Rarity said, mostly to herself.
She slipped away from Applejack and headed to the stairs, on a mission to retrieve the whistling kettle.
Applejack remained.
She was tempted, of course. Part of her thought that, despite what she had already seen, the answer lay beyond that simple door. Some physical manifestation of the nightmares which had drained Rarity of her essence.
But she knew better.
Applejack turned away from the door. She passed the other two doors--one was nothing but a closet, and the other Sweetie’s old bedroom--and followed Rarity down the stairs.
“Rarity?” Applejack called into the kitchen.
The kettle’s whistling halted as Applejack turned the corner. Rarity leaned against the fridge, eyes closed, as the kettle hovered over each mug.
Applejack paused on the threshold. “Um. Rarity?”
Her eyes fluttered open. “Mm?”
“I was thinkin’...” Applejack murmured, eyes skating over the floor, “I think I should stay the night.”
The kettle halted. The sound of liquid splashing into mugs was silenced.
Rarity reacted a moment later. “Why?” she asked, almost accusatory.
Applejack shrugged. “Well, I just think that… you said you’d worked yourself into a bad habit,” she said carefully. “Maybe if I stuck around, kept an eye out for any funny business, we could break it. Th-the habit, that is.”
The kettle clattered back down onto the stovetop.
“No,” Rarity said.
“No?” Applejack repeated. “‘No’ what?”
“I mean--” Rarity shook her head. “It’s… I don’t know. It seems like a lot to ask. Or, it doesn’t seem like-- it is. I couldn’t possibly--”
“It ain’t.”
Rarity’s mouth hung open, halfway through a thought she couldn’t finish.
Applejack sighed lightly and crossed the room. She held out one foreleg, beckoning Rarity to fall into the offered embrace. She didn’t say a word. Only stood there, open.
Rarity hesitated. But, after a moment she shuffled closer.
Her fur wasn’t nearly as silky as it once had been. Applejack wasn’t sure whether that owed to age or to neglect, but she certainly wasn’t going to say a word about it. Instead, she pulled her friend close, tucking her head under her own strong chin and giving her the most comforting squeeze she could muster.
Rarity’s horn curled up along Applejack’s jawbone, it’s tip hovering near Applejack’s ear as Rarity stiffly endured the embrace.
And it whispered to her.
Senseless murmuring. Hisses and pops.
On instinct, Applejack squeezed harder.
The whispers drew closer, all but grazing her ear with their silken tongue.
Applejack drew in a shaky breath, but she did not let go of Rarity.
Her horn whispered to her, sparkling and blue. Voiceless, and yet undeniably there. Wordless, and yet saying more than Applejack cared to hear.
Rarity exhaled softly. She relaxed into Applejack’s embrace ever so slightly, even as Applejack braced herself against the unseen whispers.
She only heard one word with absolute clarity:
Leave.
Stats
Page generated in 0.016 seconds
Total duration
1,079 users online
1,961,236 hits today, 2,004,447 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
11000301
11000308
Thank you both! I hope you enjoy what's in store down the line ;)
And the plot thickens.
What? Applejack mentioned Opal making noise last chapter and there was no mention of her being dead.
I can't wait for more of this.
Okay, something really creepy and unsettling going on here; the way Rarity is, the things Applejack is seeing; and as well, an odd, ominous undertone/atmosphere throughout... I love it!
11001123
It also gives the story away along with the fact that all of the spooks and apparitions have a blue tint to them. That is, if I am right, and Rarity's hidden and unrequited love for Applejack has manifested an out of control tulpa made of unicorn magic that has been stealing little things from the orchard in order to make itself more like Applejack while Rarity has been steadily losing her mind in a fantasy turned nightmare.
There's an undertone of something disturbing going on. I'd almost wager that it has to do with Rarity causing it herself unconsciously. Although, I might be imagining things. Just like Rarity might be. Gods. Stop immersing me into a story this intense, mushroom! I can't help but start looking at shadows and listening for noises now!
ah, genre awareness!
agh, so many questions raised! just wow, with this scene. i can picture it so clearly in my mind
and that itself somehow feels just as wrong as Applejack's scene previous
how are you so good at these descriptions just wow
perfect exchange, perfect Rarity, just love it
unsettling! that's the word i'm looking for. you do unsettling so very well
and small details that just make the worlds you create feel so lived-in and full, ugh, just how do you do it?
aaa i love this, so many questions!
absolutely chilling. can't wait to see where this goes