Great, Now There's Three Of Them
The first thing Fleur would have wanted to do when she woke up was tell herself that she'd been overreacting. Yes, the world had presented her with what could be considered as a masterpiece of biological horror: something which poorly-designed (and cheap) attempts at centaur costumes could never begin to approach and quite frankly, if anypony tried to put that on screen, then there were going to be some problems. The filmmaker might legitimately be able to claim that it was the scariest thing to enter the cinema, but movies were frequently screened before anypony committed to a reel rental. This was sometimes done by the cinema's owner. Plus even if there was a madpony willing to take the risk, they would eventually get sick of removing the fainted bodies. Along with cleaning up some of the... other reactions.
It had been -- 'awful' felt like too drastic of an understatement. 'Nightmarish' didn't even apply, because Fleur was fairly certain that she would have preferred to face down something which was 'wearing' an alicorn before doing that again. And when looked at in terms of what the cottage might attempt in order to get her out (because the first few seconds after waking weren't a good time to tell herself that the structure wasn't alive), the whole situation had been over-the-top blatant.
But at the same time, she'd come through it. Reached the other side. So wanting to run away, flee the cottage grounds and Ponyville and probably Equestria forever -- that was an overreaction.
Something in Fleur wanted to spend those first view vital moments of consciousness in telling herself that.
But the just-concluded nightmare had priority.
It wasn't real.
She could feel the billows of the Cumulus supporting her shaking body. The blankets across her back. The nest.
There was also a tiny warm curl of life pressed against her left ear. Katherine had her own ways of knowing whether a day had been especially bad and whenever that happened, the shrew slept close.
She could feel all of that. Knew she was awake and alive, without having opened her eyes. But there was still something to see behind closed lids, and everything within her was trying to push the last remnants of dream away.
Just a nightmare.
It was just a nightmare.
Nothing happened...
Nothing real.
As if that had ever mattered to her nightscape.
The old dreams were changing.
This had been a new one.
In the dream, she's been in labor for -- she doesn't know how long. Her journeys into the nightscape tend to be more detailed than most: there's been times when she's invoked aspects of warmth and touch. But time can still go strange in a dream. The same thing applies to a mare who's in extreme pain. Seconds can slip -- or stretch out into infinity.
She can't seem to find the exact details of the pain. But given that she's eleven and a half moons pregnant and in labor on a birthing table, it can be presumed as the worst physical agony of her life.
There's a doctor there: sometimes she gets glimpses when the agony makes her head toss. Fluttershy is -- somewhere. She knows the pegasus is present, but she can never get a glimpse of yellow fur or coral mane. Every so often, there's a half-whispered word which cuts through the unicorn's screams, telling her to keep going, to push, because they've come this far and this is the end of it.
The beginning.
The starting gate for the rest of their lives.
The unicorn, who's completely failing to rest on her right side, keeps trying to get up. This is instinct. Moving around during labor can represent the body's attempt to reposition the foal.
...there's going to be a foal.
The spell took. The pregnancy was normal. A foal is on the way, they're going to have a child and there's going to be a new life in the world. An Equestrian life, raised on pony soil. Somepony whom the unicorn will never truly understand --
-- no. That's a thought for later. Right now, the important thing is that the unicorn isn't a failure. Not for this part. The fault wasn't hers, there's a foal on the way and she just needs to push and strain and scream until there's a new sound in the room, a soft cry --
-- there's something moving through her, she can almost feel that, it's almost over/started, she just has to push and
she pushes
and the scent of blood comes out, the odor of rust and the texture of raw meat as something nearly shapeless erupts from her body, hot and slippery and traced in pulsing arteries and leaking veins, almost without form except for the hornlike protrusions: two at the far end. It drips, it drips blood and slime and fluids she has no names for, it swells as it leaves her body but it's still attached, it's draped across her back legs, her fur is stained and soaked with grotesquerie
and the love of her life whispers tender words
the filly looks just like her mother
...just a nightmare. When Fleur opened her eyes, she would find herself fully in the world and it said something about the just-concluded experience that the cottage-hosted version of reality was going to be an improvement --
-- wait.
She'd... had a nightmare.
In the nest.
There was no greater source of warmth pressed against her: Fluttershy had likely gotten up some time ago. But just being in the nest, in the heart of Fluttershy's controlled territory, was enough to shield --
-- no.
She knew why the protection hadn't worked. This wasn't a nightmare which the pegasus could shield her from, because it was an abomination which Fluttershy could inflict --
-- just... get up...
Fleur opened her eyes. The light failed to stab her, which was the first sign that rest had allowed her magic a degree of recovery. The next test was to ignite her horn, coat the blankets with her field and move them back --
-- which was when psychosomatics decided to have their say again, and an extra-flexible texture of hot meat tried to emboss itself against Fleur's brain.
The corona winked out. Fleur carefully moved her head until she was fully clear of Katherine's sleeping position: she wasn't about to get up until she was sure the shrew was safe. This also let her spot the nearest clock.
The Protoceran blinked. The display didn't use the opportunity to correct itself. It was still early afternoon and if she wasted enough time in denying that basic fact, it was going to be night.
She let me sleep in.
There had been very little reason not to. From what Fleur could blearily recall of the day's schedule, the docket had been fairly light. It was nothing the pegasus couldn't manage on her own. Fluttershy had been holding down the grounds for years without Fleur's presence and in that sense, very little needed to change --
-- the unicorn tried to stretch her back legs. The only weight draped across them came from blankets, and she slowly worked her way out from under the layers. Katherine slept.
Fleur went into the bathroom. Toiletries were performed, and there was no need to waste another stick. She had a very dim recollection of Fluttershy having come into the bed at some point, but the pegasus hadn't tried to do anything other than sleep. Fleur was grateful for that.
Thank --
-- thank -- what? Fleur wasn't used to thanking the world for anything positive and after the previous night, did 'positive' even apply? Besides, when it came to thanking higher powers, she didn't really believe in there being much of anything out there to hear -- or rather, if there was, it probably wasn't listening.
Some believed, though. A number of ponies still prayed to the Princesses, and Fleur felt that was a waste of time. She didn't feel there was any true divinity there: for starters, that level of power would have eliminated any need for Guards. And when it came to prayers, she could say the words right in front of them and when it came to Celestia, Fleur mostly felt it would get her glared at. With the younger...
A nightmare. In her bed. And no rescue.
Never an alicorn in your nightscape when you might actually want one.
A minotaur would thank their ancestors, but just about the entire species truly believed that the departed were watching over them. Fleur, who didn't really have faith...
She stared at the bathroom mirror. She was clean enough: Fluttershy had helped with that before the nest had been sought -- but the weary, worn-out reflection which was going to need a significant amount of silver-flipped cosmetics before going down the ramp.
Her peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the calendar, then That One Square, and she jerked her attention back to center. She couldn't think about That One Square right now. She didn't even want to open the letter. She wanted to --
I want to get out of here.
That wasn't overreacting. It was a slow day at the cottage. She could spend a few hours away from it. Fluttershy didn't need her.
Nopony did.
She looked at the mirror again. Her mouth slowly opened.
"Thank..." Her tongue felt far too dry. "Thank..."
No actual words seemed to be volunteering for duty, and so nonsense syllables scrambled to fill the gap.
"Thank... hoofness?"
The reflection stared at her.
Never say that out loud again. Not in private, and certainly not if there was a chance for anypony to hear her. Fleur would have normally considered the term as being too stupid to catch on, but -- ponies. There was no sense in taking the chance.
And perhaps there was truly nothing worth thanking. It seemed possible that if there was any higher power out there, then it was actively malevolent and had recently noticed that Fleur had spent over a year in being relatively happy, so now it was arranging for everything to swing back the other way --
-- stop it.
I'm being too dramatic. I know it.
...then again, look at the bucking evidence.
She made herself presentable. (It took longer than usual, with her brain insisting that various tins and powders were on the verge of dripping blood.) Then she went down the ramp.
The client waiting area was nearly empty: three ponies greeted her, a pair of companions gave her I Know Bad Stuff Is Coming looks, and she might have said something: nopony had any complaints about her greetings, at least. She could distantly hear scissor blades moving against each other in the next room: Fluttershy was grooming a pet. There was no emergency.
She went into the kitchen, and managed to eat something on the second attempt. She wasn't entirely sure what it had been. Her mouth had been rinsed out multiple times and she'd used a wash, but -- everything carried a distinctive flavor of bile. Then she headed for the recovery area, because Bertha was probably out of sedation. There was a need to check on the patient.
The puppies, blind and deaf and oblivious to horror, were crowded against the reposed mastiff's belly. Fleur saw the wriggling, heard the tiny sounds, looked away, checked the vulval stitch, spotted swollen red --
-- she eventually remembered that the mastiff had given birth less than a day ago, plus the labia had dealt with the replacement of an organ. Some degree of distention and blood spotting was to be expected. It was perfectly normal.
The time required to fully recall that information turned out to be roughly twenty percent of what was required for the retching to stop.
She didn't want to be in the cottage, and -- Fluttershy wanted her to have the day off.
"...it's strain," the pegasus softly projected, words just barely wafting the poodle's curly fur. "You shouldn't be doing much of anything. And it's slow today." Gently, with open concern echoing within white ears, "No duties, Fleur. No cleaning, no checking the grounds. You could even go back to bed, if you wanted to. I'll bring some food up later..."
Fleur shook her head. "There's always something to do --"
"...yes, there is," Fluttershy quietly agreed. "So I'll do it."
"I was in the nest for too long." She felt as if most of the accusation had been kept out of it. "I'm not going back in there."
"...you needed the rest." Even for Fleur's trained ears, the sigh was just barely audible. "But... all right. I still don't want you working, though --"
"-- then I'll go into town."
The one visible eye held a steady gaze. "...any reason?"
Would she usually ask?
She trusts me.
She wants me.
Why?
Fleur forced the smile, and did everything she could to hold back the rising tide of bile. "For starters? We're just about out of sugar."
The date palm was starting to display early signs of bearing future fruit. So now there was a tree showing Fleur up.
The trot into Ponyville mostly existed as a series of sensory impressions. The humidity had been brought back down: it was a nice, perfectly ordinary spring day. She couldn't seem to appreciate it.
She kept herself on high alert, listening for just the right kind of wings and the scratching of talons against stone: Gilda didn't appear. The mill's former site went by, and she refused to look at it.
At one point, shortly after crossing the bridge, Fleur passed an active playground. She could hear children laughing and shouting and tumbling about. There were no squawks or fouls. Somepony called out a greeting, and she forced a pleasant nod before trotting all the faster.
How long can I stay away?
The cottage wasn't testing her. The cottage couldn't think. That was the theory, and Fleur currently saw no means of moving the concept into proof.
How much can I get away with?
She was absolutely going to purchase some sugar. But as long as she was going into town anyway...
Fluttershy's capable of running a bluff. She can conceal a lot about how she's feeling: the manefall doesn't exactly hurt there. But when it comes to direct lies... then it can come down to what she told me about Applejack. Knowing the truth doesn't create an obligation to say it.
"I'm not a doctor. You'd have to ask Dr. Mester. The next time we're in."
Fleur had no intention of waiting that long.
There were a few stops along the way, and the first two came up empty. Caramel wasn't at the candy shop. Bon-Bon was, and the proprietor irritably informed Fleur that the stallion had yawned his way through half of the work shift while staggering across the rest and if the unicorn had any influence, she should try to make sure the earth pony got some sleep. This led to a natural check of Caramel's house, and she didn't find him there either. The only thing her expended minutes managed to technically purchase was a fresh supply of mints, and that was because Bon-Bon was always going to try and load Fleur down with some amount of freebies. The Protoceran simply managed to steer the giveaways towards what she was convinced was still needed.
I don't know where he is.
Or what he's doing.
Or what he might want to do with Gilda...
There was a failsafe of sorts. Shimmy would need medicine for the rest of her life, and Caramel came to the cottage once a week to pick it up. Fleur would be able to see him then.
She hadn't intended to find Rainbow. Fleur just wound up veering a little more to the right than usual during one turn, passed directly under the tree, and nearly took a dangling limp cyan foreleg to the horn for her trouble.
It made her look up, because this particular tree wasn't one of Rainbow's favorite nap spots. And when she saw how utterly exhausted the sleeping pegasus looked, with all six limbs out of their usual position, mane and tail separating along prismatic lines... the sensible decision was to simply let her rest. Fleur ignited her horn, carefully adjusted Rainbow's posture until she was sure the perch was secure, and went on her way. The weather coordinator hadn't even wriggled too much during the process: a frequent response by the sleeping to the half-awareness of abruptly-tingling limbs. The fur touching the inner surface of the corona had even mostly come across as fur.
And then there was a second sighting.
Fleur found a griffon.
The view immediately pissed her off.
The first thing she saw was the protruding dark vertical feathers along the top of the head. It was something which made the harpy eagle portion look as if it had grown a personal tiara, and to spot it at a distance was more than enough of a warning shot for Fleur to get out of sight. She found a shadow near the open-air market, quietly noted how a weary-seeming wood sculptor was conducting repairs on damaged pieces while waiting for customers, and then simply watched.
The feather crest was easy to spot, as this tiercel was on the tall side. It was somewhat harder to make out the panther aspects of the body, because there were a surprising number of ponies around the griffon. Five Ponyville residents were listening to soft words, and twitching tails were slowly beginning to still. One cerulean fall was already hanging limply: a near-surefire sign that the pony had relaxed.
Her grooming's good. It's not the way she styles herself for the office: this isn't trying for the professional level of neutrality. But she does take care of her looks. And she keeps her fur and feathers free of bloodscent.
They don't know how to deal with a griffon. Based on what's been moving through the examination room, most of them barely know anything about us.
And she's talking to them. Making a miniherd listen, and calming them down.
Which, for Dr. Tria Lorem, represented an exercise in domination.
I let you think you won...
For every kind of domination which could ever exist, there was a griffon. And if there was somepony who was afraid of your very form, had no true experience with griffons while probably having both heard and passed on a few rumors about eating dogs -- and you could find a way to reassure them --
-- then you'd exerted a kind of control.
So much of the chain was about control. Who could influence you, those who were entitled to give orders, and whether you wanted to be controlled. Trying to get Gilda out of Ponyville? That would have been control, and Dr. Lorem had forbidden it. An order issued for what was potentially a legitimate reason, but... that was still control.
Dictating a new way for somepony to feel? Well, clearly that placed you on the link above theirs. And perhaps the results were positive, but... as far as Fleur was concerned, it was domination all the same.
What was a psychiatrist? Someone who felt they knew how you should be thinking better than you did. And tried to enforce it.
I told her to come into Ponyville for the next session. And of course that was when the world had chosen to pay attention to Fleur's words. I don't want to have one right now. Last night was bad enough. And if she comes to the cottage --
-- no. Fleur had a very good idea why the older tiercel was in the settled zone, because she'd already been told. Dr. Lorem was likely present to speak with Spike. Get a letter sent off to Protocera at the highest possible speed, requesting an expert on treating the linkless. Fleur was vaguely surprised that it had taken this long.
...maybe she was already there. Or maybe she still has to go in. I have to --
No choice. I'll have to risk it, especially since I don't know when I can get into town again. As long as we're not meeting on the street.
Of course, there was another option. Dr. Lorem had also talked about speaking with Miranda directly and if the older tiercel was heading towards the police station, then there was no way Fleur was going to follow anyone in there. The key was that they couldn't be seen together in public, because the psychiatrist might openly display recognition. Which would only lead to somepony asking how they knew each other, and Dr. Lorem had lived in Equestria for some time. Long enough to potentially humor ponies through acting like honesty was an actual virtue. And while Fleur felt the tiercel was likely to honor confidentiality on anything which had been discussed within a less-than-private nest -- true point of origin included -- the unicorn really didn't need the herd to discover that she was in therapy.
Maybe Miranda will ask her to put the officers through dominari. See how they deal with griffon magic. It wasn't impossible, and the psychiatrist might even agree. But Fleur had no idea where Dr. Lorem perched on the dominari chain. Their social wrestling match at first meeting hadn't gone anywhere near that far.
And she's probably going to try and find Gilda while she's here. To observe. It'll give her a reason to hang around the settled zone for a while, if she hadn't been here for hours already. Fleur would need to be cautious about her own movements for the rest of the day.
But if the older tiercel hadn't been to the likely primary destination yet, and Fleur still needed to go -- then at least it would allow her to control something about the encounter. Meet in a place of the unicorn's choosing, and that was only fair because Dr. Lorem was on Fleur's territory.
If nothing else, it would practically be forcing the psychiatrist to keep the volume down.
"Fleur?" The little alicorn nervously looked up from her bench, and a too-bright corona flipped the front desk's patron fine ledger shut: one tinge of sparkles helpfully placed a bookmark first. "Is something going on? You usually don't come into the library at this hour." Wings shifted just enough to allow a few key feathers some twitching space. "If you're looking for Spike, he's playing. But if it's an emergency --"
Fleur quickly shook her head. "I just need to use the library, Twilight." And added a careful smile to the end of the sentence. "I do read, you know." Which had almost emerged as 'I can read,' because there would always be those who felt that beauty and intelligence existed in inverse proportion: the more of one, the less of the other -- and Fleur had been told that directly. Those who'd informed her of how they felt that aspect of the world worked had done so freely, because they generally felt she was too stupid to truly understand. She'd managed to gain revenge on a few, mostly through instituting extortion based on the things she understood --
-- that's not me any more.
The tall unicorn took a slow breath, looked down at curious purple eyes. "And I could use some help in getting the right book."
"It's what I'm here for," Twilight immediately declared, and did so with open confidence. As far as the librarian was concerned, she'd effectively just been informed that Fleur had no intention of trying to examine the alicorn's puzzle today: something which went a long way towards smoothing out interactions. The little mare began to get up. "Fiction? I don't think we've ever discussed your tastes there." With mild offense, "Not even while we were all waiting for bail to be posted and just about everypony else was trying to predict the new Yearling novel. But if you're just looking for a good new story, I can recommend --"
"-- pony reproductive biology," Fleur softly told her. And waited.
Twilight's legs froze.
At low volume, with hope buoying the words, "Are you --"
The other Bearers were among those who knew they were trying.
They wanted it to work. But they didn't want to make the couple feel as if pressure was being applied. And when the topic was pregnancy, Twilight could manage 'Are you?' With sex, she topped out well short of 'Did you...?' And possibly always would.
But the mares kept waiting for news...
Fleur silently shook her head.
"-- oh," the alicorn softly finished, and the narrow chin dipped. "I'm -- I didn't mean to -- I'm sorry --"
"-- there's nothing to be sorry about," Fleur carefully corrected. "I just have to check something."
With just a touch of timidity, "Is it a... medical issue?"
"It's a question," the Protoceran calmly stated. "A doctor could answer it. But Fluttershy and I aren't going back to the fertility clinic for a while, and I didn't want to wait that long. So I thought I'd just read it here. Twilight, I can go looking for the right book myself, but you're the one who knows where everything is." Given all of the reshelving tales, the alicorn might be the only one who did. "Please?"
The librarian finally nodded. Finished getting off the bench, then trotted around the desk. "Follow me."
They moved through a nearly patron-free library. It was spring, and it was nice out. There were a few ponies browsing through New Releases and Periodicals. That was it.
"It's been an unusual day," Twilight quietly said, sedately leading the way. "We had a griffon earlier, before Spike left. Emergency scroll sending. She had a letter from the Princess to authorize it." And glanced back at Fleur or, given the disparity in their heights, back and considerably up. "I'm guessing this doesn't relate."
Fleur shook her head again. "Not to the research." Twilight had to know that Gilda was in town -- the alicorn was nowhere near isolated enough to miss that -- but Fleur wasn't sure what to say. At least that means Dr. Lorem shouldn't be coming back in here. One thin slice of luck --
Luck runs out.
"-- Twilight? Can I ask you something?"
Another glance back, and thin lips briefly twisted. "Spike would say something if I did a can/may canter right now," the little mare decided. "What's the question?"
With her voice pitched as low as Fleur could manage while still having some confidence in being heard, "This is going to sound awkward, and -- I'm not trying to be insulting. I need to make that clear before I say anything else."
The alicorn briefly stopped moving. Four legs locked, the wings clamped tightly against narrow ribs. And then she turned to face Fleur.
"In my experience," Twilight slowly said, "ponies who say they aren't trying to be insulting are usually telling the truth. Because they don't have to try. It's automatic. But maybe this is different. What's the question, Fleur?"
The unicorn noted the lack of lumens around the purple horn, and took a breath. "This is probably going to sound personal."
Which got her a stark "Really." Bright eyes were beginning to narrow.
"If I make it through -- everything -- all of the studying, the tests, the license -- then I won't be a marked vet," Fleur told her. "And... you're not a marked librarian. I... wanted to ask... if you ever feel like you might be doing the wrong thing. That somepony else should be in the tree, and..."
Her head dipped, and pale purple eyes briefly closed.
"...you should just be doing what your mark wanted. Not -- this."
Far too steadily, as the streaked tail threatened to lash, "Is there a reason why you're asking this now?"
"We had a bad one at the cottage last night," Fleur quietly said -- then, more quickly, "The patient came through. But what happened -- that was a subject we hadn't covered yet. Fluttershy had to teach me everything as we were doing it, and... it was rough."
The alicorn's tail slowed. "How rough?"
"Bad enough," Fleur carefully informed her, "that I don't want to give you the details." Steadily, "And I was thinking that if I had the mark, the instinct -- then maybe I would have just known what to do. Or been able to do it more easily, or kept going for longer. Maybe..." The next breath was carefully regulated. "...maybe I'll be good at it, when it's all done. But I'll never be the best. And..." The displayed smile was a rueful one. "...I really hope I'm not being insulting, but -- it's something we have in common. We -- finally have something in common on the personal level, Twilight. Neither of us was born for this."
The little mare seemed to be thinking.
"Fluttershy isn't a marked vet," she finally said. "You could ask her if she's ever felt --"
"-- she has communication. I don't. Her talent substitutes. When she can just ask where it hurts..."
And finally, the alicorn nodded.
"Sometimes," the little mare quietly said, and did so while looking directly at Fleur. "Sometimes I still want to just go into the basement's lab and -- stay there. Experiment and test and try to understand, while the only books which come down are for spell research. Published papers go back out. I've had ponies say I shouldn't have the library. There's been a couple who wanted to take it out from under my hooves, and one of them wasn't exactly subtle about it. That's mostly stopped now."
Because of what Miranda said. It's harder to believe you can displace an alicorn. But she didn't say it. Fleur simply listened.
"Before I came here," Twilight continued, "I worked in the Canterlot Archives. I was still doing spell research, but -- the Princess wrote up my grant. The restrictions. The bits would only keep coming for as long as I had a job. I was -- almost angry with her, when I read the terms. For the first time, really. 'Frustrated' might be closer. I thought she was stealing the time I needed to make it all work. To change the world. But..."
The narrow ribs shifted across the consequences of an exceptionally deep breath.
"...she was forcing me to deal with ponies," the alicorn went on. "It took a while before I figured that out. That she thought the chemistry between molecules wasn't as important as the chemistry between people. And when I was assigned to the library here, when I was in charge... I overdid it, Fleur. I changed things around all the time because that way, I was showing everypony that I had some control. Maybe it would look like I knew what I was doing. I can spend hours in making sure a card catalog is sorted and updated -- but it wouldn't teach me to match a single patron to one listed book. And maybe a marked librarian can just tell what somepony would enjoy. I can't. And there's times when... I still feel like I wasn't supposed to be here. The basement would be so much easier..."
She sighed. The tail twitched once, and then the little mare tilted her head slightly to the right.
"'Easy'," she said, "can be a mistake. Marks make things easier. Sometimes they make things so easy that the pony never does anything which isn't part of their mark, and the rest of the world turns strange."
"Falling into the mark," Fleur quietly said. The psychological condition of essentially thinking with your talent, until you could barely think about anything else at all. Following the mark's dictates simply felt too good.
For ponies, it was the most common addiction known, and there were those who said true recovery was impossible. You could be brought back to yourself, led by those who loved you --
--- but you could avoid alcohol. Stay away from suspect potions. The mark was forever.
Twilight nodded again.
"Some of the fallen barely exist as people any more," she sadly observed. "They're skills which can talk about themselves. But they do know they're doing the right thing, don't they? They... just don't know much of anything else." Calmly, "This is the only answer I can give you: there are times when I still don't know if I'm the right librarian for Ponyville. I just know that I'm Ponyville's librarian. So I try that much harder."
She looked past Fleur, just for a moment. At shelves and tomes and carefully-dusted cases. And then she focused on the Protoceran again.
"I wasn't born to this," Twilight said, and then her wings briefly spread. "I wasn't born to this, either. I'm just -- trying to make it work."
The unicorn was silent.
But if you make a librarian mistake, nothing is going to die.
Not unless it's 'put the heaviest book on the top shelf, then lean it out over the edge so ponies can read the spine'.
I saw the Mazein guidebook back there. That could cave in a skull.
The alicorn sighed.
"I don't feel like I really answered your question," Twilight told her. "So maybe you shouldn't thank me. But you didn't insult me. And I still think you should talk to Fluttershy about it."
She turned to face forward again, led the way. Eventually, they reached the Medical section, and a pinkish corona sorted texts.
"This one," the librarian said: a thick volume descended from the shelf, and Fleur noted the soft red glow which surrounded a thin section of pages. "I know the cover sticker says that you should only look at the most graphic images after speaking with a doctor, but you're already seeing a specialist and you're in vet training. I don't think there's anything here which could set you off." The corona intensified slightly, and the red glow winked out. "So I've neutralized the lock. Let me just put this on the table for you... there. I'll let you read in private, Fleur. But please come for me if there's anything else. And --" the little mare paused "-- good luck."
Fleur nodded her thanks, then went to the reading station.
Luck runs out.
She had to flip past the unlocked pictures of 'hoof slippers' to reach what she needed, and she didn't react. So newborns had soft fleshy coverings over keratin in the womb, to keep the mother from getting hurt? Horns and wings were covered too: those protections were smooth and somewhat denser. The fact that the so-called 'fairy fingers' resembled small rubbery tentacles by way of runaway cave fungi didn't bother Fleur. The book said they fell away within minutes, because the foal could be walking within that same time frame. What was underneath would be four normal hooves. Besides, she'd grown up on a ranch. She'd seen monster births. Anypony who felt that hoof slipper pictures would be disturbing had never watched an eggshell melt away because the nexibyt within was testing out its acid secretions for the first time.
Fleur had flipped past those images because she'd taken the simple step of checking the book's index first. The existence of an entry had given her most of the answer. The photography, once found, simply displayed a few dripping examples for the definition.
The unicorn looked at the color-rendered details for a while. She didn't vomit, nor did she retch. There was nothing left to give.
We talked about it, almost at the start. I would be the one carrying. The Spell allows us to determine that much.
(If she was capable of becoming gravid at all.)
Fluttershy needs speed on the missions. Pregnancy would slow her down. So it was always going to be me. And there's exercises mares can do to work on their vaginal muscles. Escorts know about most of them. Snowflake probably doesn't, because there's no personal need.
Snowflake was going to help me get back into shape after the birth.
Working on those muscles. Making it easier to push.
Maybe there has to be something wrong inside, to let that happen at all. Or maybe it's possible to push a little too hard.
...when Dr. Mester asks why we haven't been having as much sex the next time we're in that surfaced piece of Tartarus, the answer is 'prolapsed uterus'. And if she can't understand that...
She nosed a page over. Looked at exposed arteries and veins.
It's all so -- fragile.
The pony body and every system in it.
The situation. The stability.
Ponyville --
-- yes, I know what put this in my head, but it has a point.
Her appearance was one thing. Fleur had always known that she had a good chance to lose her looks as she aged. It was why the clock had been constantly ticking down on her escort work -- or rather, her effective close-up blackmail research period with legitimate earnings on the side.
She didn't know if Fluttershy would want her after that.
(She wasn't sure why the pegasus wanted her now.)
As horrors went, aging was somehow considered to be a natural one. A prolapsed uterus was biological betrayal.
I could always try to find out if it can be removed --
-- overreacting...
...both parties need functioning ovaries for the Spell to work: that's mandatory. One partner could potentially lack a uterus. If the palace just took Fluttershy off missions for a year...
...overreacting...
Stop looking at the pictures.
Just stop.
Any second now.
Any second...
The book closed and to Fleur's corona, the pages briefly felt like paper.
She loved Fluttershy.
Why does she love me?
They were trying to have a foal.
I won't understand my own child.
It wasn't as if every birth went wrong.
Luck runs out.
Fleur stood up. Headed for the front desk, with the book trailing in a field bubble. The pictures had to be resealed.
She failed to see either tiercel during the winding route which took her to Barnyard Bargains. Stopping there was a necessity, because she did have to pick up sugar. (And realized, a little too late, that Bon-Bon had finally possessed a freebie which she'd needed.) It was probably just going to be a night or two before she could really think about using any of it. And because Fleur was rather easy to spot...
"Miss Dis Lee?" asked the familiar voice of a weary stallion, and she turned to face him. "Do you have a minute?"
"Mr. Rich," Fleur greeted the continent's most overworked store manager. "Yes, I do. I'm heading back to the cottage after this, but I don't need to rush."
He managed a tired nod, took a slow breath.
"It's about Miss Phylia's sibling," Mr. Rich said. (Fleur felt multiple muscles tense, tried not to think about the consequences.) "Or rather, it may be. I don't really have any details yet, and it may be nothing at all. But..."
Fleur braced herself.
"I don't want to alarm you," was, as followups went, counterproductive. "But I told you that something didn't feel right, when he asked for credit. Instinct." His head turned, and tired eyes briefly glanced at his mark. "Or -- a little more. And his name wasn't on the list of those who've run out on their debts before. But I couldn't shake the feeling. So I wrote to the other stores, and -- one of them said the name was familiar. But it may not be in a written record, and they're trying to track down exactly what happened before they tell me anything else." Carefully, "So don't be alarmed, please. It may turn out to be nothing. But if it is a subject of potential concern -- I will tell you. Just know that I'm still looking."
Carefully, "Maybe he was an employee for a while?" A very short while. Mr. Rich was nowhere close to being a nag driver, but he did ask that his workers actually put in the work.
"I don't think so," the stallion said. "It's not impossible, but... I don't feel as if that's the case. Regardless, I will let you know either way."
And that was it.
Shortly after returning to the cottage, with the illusion of privacy only being broken by an intrigue of kittens, she took the mourning box down.
It usually rested on the highest shelf in the sitting room. The best possible view of the proceedings, along with being too far up for anypony to truly tell what it was. Not that they would even know. To Equestrians, it was just a box.
She opened it. Looked at the contents. Thought about how long it had been since she'd done exactly that, and felt ashamed.
Lost time.
A lost past.
What was the future? In the best case, that which she couldn't seem to truly believe in...
The cottage.
Forever.
Fleur closed the box. Carefully levitated it back to safety.
I need to take it with me when I --
-- if.
It's 'if'...
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Either "....who SAW true recovery.....:"
Or "....said true recovery WAS impossible....."
Fluer you don't have to run away. Just tell Fluttershy your fears. Be honest. Maybe decide to adopt.
Seriously. Your being ridiculous
Fleur is in a bad bad headspace right now. Let's hope she doesn't do something stupid.
I liked the interaction between Fleur and Twilight.
11834340
This is the worst time for something to happen, so of course this be when gilda strikes with what ever her plan is
Love this slow sad story, suits your writing voice so well.
👍
I'd beseech Fleur to give herself more credit and communicate, but cringe and drama are the whole point, right?
11834738
zephyr,Gilda,fleur,fluttershy, heck even rainbow dash all there problem come from their lack of communicating honestly with each other and something disastrous has to happen for them open up, heck rainbow dash is for once the smart one with her plan to speak to Gilda
Call back
(still can't look at the picture for that story 
)
Don't do it, Fleur
Living creatures are *insanely* complicated. One small wiggle to the chemical balance and we drop over dead. And yet we (and all other creatures) manage the self-replication portion of life almost without effort. There are no classes in biological construction to take, no grades. I've had 4 kids, and by that I mean I have a very small contribution to my wife's production of four living, breathing, growing human beings. Scares the heck out of me at times, and the only injuries I got from labor are nail marks in the back of one hand. "You're doing fine, dear. (ouch) Breathe! (ouch) Now push. (ouch)"
Well well well, one wonders what Zephyr has done to trigger a response from Mr. Rich's marks so.
One personally hopes that it can bring some relief to Fluer.
Or failing that a swift wall to halt his breezing through life like a leaf on the wind.
11835746
a quote i read somewhere:
every living CELL is more complicated than the most complicated machine humans have ever built.
the writer used the US Space Shuttles as his example.
The story grows.
So does Fluer's fears.
And nice interaction between Twi and Fluer. The way they were honest with each other gave this chapter a special spark.
Man, all of Fleurs anxieties feel so real. It really is amazing and so very sad. Seems like with the Gilda/Zephr situation and this, everything is gonna come to a head at the worst possible time
"but the weary, worn-out reflection which was going to need"
"but the weary, worn-out reflection was going to need"?
""Thank... hoofness?""
...Aaaaaand there's some mood whiplash; I burst out into literal knee-slapping laughter. :D
And caught up with this story, finally! Thanks for writing. :)