An Offering
An Offering
Edited, Read, discussed, and such by the inestimable and almighty Sniper Lord q97randomguy, and of course his Most Imperious and Majestic Darkness, The Necromancer formerly known as LonelyBrony. I have far too much fun thinking of names for you guys.
Caramel called it Carnivore.
He’d finally completed it, and had collapsed on the bed. His paintings had always been a private thing, a quiet thing. His friends knew that he painted, of course, but their interest over the years had been gently reflected. Yes, he painted. No, it was just a hobby.
He’d had a showing, once, but even though people had been very interested, he had considered it unimportant. Painting simply wasn’t what he wanted to do for a living. It was too personal, like telling all of his deepest secrets.
Not that he had anything worth telling, really. It was simply the principle of the thing. He didn’t want just anyone having this doorway into his heart. It was like someone being able to just open him up and start taking things and playing with them. It made him feel ill.
But he was fine, showing off paintings to friends, or strangers in small groups. Big Macintosh had seen quite a few; he was one of those ponies that could be quiet and not inject needless commentary. He accepted things, Caramel’s art among them.
Twilight had seen most of his paintings as well. All of them, in fact, except the two or three he’d sold in the last twenty years. She had even—he almost blushed remembering—posed for two of them. They weren’t lewd... but he wasn’t exactly displaying them. They were his favorites, his most excellent pieces. He liked to think he had said something with them.
But this painting... it was curious. He didn’t understand it, and that was not a regular occurrence. Not to mention that Caramel had never painted anything quite so quickly before.
It was disorienting, not knowing what a painting meant. It made him wonder if any of them had really meant anything at all. Had he just... forced them into their meanings, after they were done?
He was too tired to think about this. Far, far too tired.
In fact, he’d been tired for a long time, stretching back months. Big Macintosh had been giving him concerned looks for most of the month, and had finally sent him home with pay and told him to sleep. Applejack had visited, asking after Twilight and checking in on him. Baritone and Melilot from the farm had even dropped by and bought him lunch.
He’d not eaten much. He had lacked any real appetite, and still did. They’d looked so concerned, and it had begun to annoy him. He wasn’t that bad, was he? He couldn’t help it.
Caramel lay in his bed with his eyes looking at the painting on his easel. From here, he could still see all the little details that plagued him.
Carnivore was the third of three pieces, a trilogy for Twilight. Heh, I like that. Trilogy for Twilight.
The first had been Twilight simply in her natural habitat, reading in the library. She’d been so shy, blushing up a storm as he sketched and studied. He still remembered applying the brush strokes, like little caresses. That had been a wonderful day.
It had also been nine months ago. Their romance had been younger then, newer. He’d been living life in a daze, completely astonished that the mare of his dreams had even smiled at him, let alone agreed to date him. He’d smiled and named it Twilight. It was secret because it was tender, and it filled him with a proud sort of shyness.
The second, which he had enshrouded, had been markedly different. He’d painted that one only two months ago. He flushed, thinking about it. The posing had been her idea, but he’d been quite eager to go along with it.
The picture was perfect in his memory as if it had been burned there by a brand: Twilight, lying on a bed with red coverings, her mane in complete disarray; he remembered she had worked to get it just right, and he remembered how amazed he had been when she’d finished. Her eyes boring into his, and how he’d been set on fire by them! Her body stretched out leisurely... Not lewd, no, but certainly not a picture of his beloved Twilight that he was going to be sharing with Big Mac or anyone else. He had all but worshipped it, and named it Rosebud.
And now there was the last, the capstone.
It was a still-life, a genre he’d never really worked much in outside of simple studies. The setup was simple, yet full of symbols. He’d done research, asked Twilight questions. He loved how her eyes lit up... had they? Of course they had lit up, she loved when Caramel was curious about things in her books.
There were four pieces to the picture.
A delicate wine glass, with only a bit of the sweet nectar left. A sharp carving knife with a curious crest of a unicorn rampant. A wicked looking three-pronged fork, like a tiny trident. Besides the glass, near the center, was a tiny artifact called a Phylactery. It was no ordinary glass vial, to carry lowly fluids. It was filled with only the most precious of them, the most life giving.
What did it mean?
He didn’t know, but he knew it was what was needed. What was right. Especially the phylactery, with its shining crystal and its liquid contents. He had wondered and questioned, and named it Carnivore.
He would show it to her tonight.
Tonight... he thought about the note she’d sent him by her familiar’s flame.
He’d just walked in the door, sent home before he’d even started. Big Mac had walked him a ways down an orchard lane and they’d talked. Caramel, yer my friend. I love ya... but I can’t let ya work. You’ll hurt yourself, fallin’ asleep and barely able to buck apples.
Those words had been ringing in his ears as the green fire brought him the missive. Caramel had jumped for it, eager for word from Twilight.
He’d read it innumerable times, tasting every syllable on his tongue like honey. The paper itself smelled of her—had he imagined it? It didn’t matter. In that moment, it had almost been like she was there with him, her muzzle right beside his.
Come tonight, after ten. I think my work is finally drawing to a close. I would love to be able to finally read it to you, dearest Caramel.
Her exile in the libarary’s basement was finally over! He had been so overjoyed that his all-encompassing weariness had fallen off of him like shackles from a freed slave. And so he had brought out the canvas and he had finished his last painting for Twilight.
Well, last of this trilogy... oh, but he dreamed of the paintings he would make for her! And she would love them. He would show her how much he loved her in the delicate touches of his brush around her features, and in the bold strokes of color of his backdrops. He would at last make something immortal that deserved, truly, to be immortalized.
When he had finally finished working on it, his exhaustion had found him again. Two months of heavy eyes and constant struggle to stay awake, and he still knew no reason for it. He slept, though Big Macintosh thought otherwise. He slept too much, in fact, sleeping most of the day now.
But he tried to stay awake. Caramel was tired of oblivion. He wanted to see the sun and keep his eyes open.
His room was a mess. Looking around, he could see things scattered everywhere. It bothered him, but he simply had no energy to fix it. His covers were disheveled and everywhere, and one of his pillows had been lost overboard, but he couldn’t summon any motivation to really care.
Care enough to actually exert himself, anyhow. Caramel sighed, and closed his eyes.
And opened his eyes again. The light was different, dimmer.
Of course. He’d fallen asleep again, lost more of his precious day like some foal had drilled a hole in the hour glass just to watch it lose sand.
There was knocking on his door downstairs, and the sound of it jerked him more fully awake. Carmel fumbled his way out of bed, falling on the floor flat on his face. Groaning, he hurried down his stairs. The knocking continued, and it sounded impatient... an awful lot like—
“Thunderlane,” he said, opening the door.
“Right,” the pegasus replied with a lopsided grin. “Hey, man, was just checkin’ up on ya. How’re ya feelin’?”
Caramel shrugged. “I’m okay, I guess. I mean, I don’t feel so bad.” Truth be told, he felt awful, like he could feel every beat of his heart in his veins, like he hadn’t slept at all.
Thunderlane didn’t seem convinced. Caramel reluctantly invited him inside, and hoped the house seemed presentable enough. It helped that Thunderlane was perhaps the last person who would notice his messiness.
“Yeah... just thought I should come see you. We missed you, Friday night.”
“Fri—oh! Friday. Salt Lick, right... I just kind of forgot, I guess. Sorry about that.”
“Forgot. I guess... Big Mac says you’ve been fallin’ asleep all over the place. Kickin’ like his little sister at those trees.”
Caramel bristled as they stopped in his small living room. “Thunderlane, what do you want?”
Thunderlane, he was happy to see, had the decency to look abashed. The pegasus’ wings unfolded and hung between flared out and not. Caramel imagined that he was about take off, retreat into the safety of the sky. He wished it would happen, too; he was already exhausted. The idea of listening to Thunderlane—anypony, for that matter—sounded like purgatory.
“Man... look, I’m doin’ this wrong. I’m just worried about you. Did Twilight and you break up? Stallion up, Caramel! We’re your friends; you can talk to us. You’ve been like a walking corpse fo—”
“Twilight and I are doing wonderfully. She’s been busy and that is all. Thunderlane, I appreciate your concern, but I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day and I’ve been working on a project.”
His voice was deadpan, but the cold steel was still in it. Thunderlane’s frustration wilted, and he backed towards the door.
“Sorry... Caramel, man, I’m just...”
“I know. I’ll see you later, Thunderlane.”
And with that Thunderlane finally did retreat.
As he left, Caramel felt none of the expected release. He still felt the same weariness. It was like he was a glass that had been drained to the dregs. He could feel a headache coming on, and he rubbed his head. But it was alright, he thought. He turned back and walked towards the little kitchen.It was alright, because tonight he would see Twilight again. He smiled to himself, and searched for some food in his already sparse pantry.
He thought about the painting that he bore on his back, wrapped up in canvas paper.
Why had he named it Carnivore? Why that name? Of course, it had seemed logical, with the subject manner, but it had come to him second. The first name for it had been much less... ominous? That was a good word.
And why had he painted such a morbid thing?
He supposed there could be a lot of different possible reasons. The Phylactery was a rather ancient artifact, one he supposed he had gotten out of Twilight’s books. The crest was of an ancient and all-but-forgotten house of mages. Had he been thinking of her esoteric knowledge, how vast her reservoirs of lore were? It sounded about right.
But it was so dark. No, not dark. In fact, it was actually surprisingly bright. He supposed it was the abundance of red in the composition. What a strange color, red. He’d never used much in his other landscapes and studies. There hadn’t been as much call for it, really, until Twilight’s Trilogy.
What had the first name been? It was lost. Oh well. This name would work.
His plodding hooves echoed in the silent and abandoned streets of Ponyville. This was a quiet village, and ponies here turned in with the sun. All around him, the lights were on. He could hear the last few sounds of chatting ponies, parents sharing a few moments together with the foals in bed. Caramel passed a house hosting a party, and he could see ponies inside talking and laughing. The light from their activity reached into the street, and he tried his best to stay right in the middle of the path. It was far too bright, too garish for him. He liked how easy the dark was on his eyes.
He wondered if Thunderlane or Baritone were at that party. Big Mac might have come in to town—he did that more and more these days. They were all convinced he was seeing someone in town. Caramel had watched it from afar.
He felt excellent. His hooves hurt, yes, and his headache was still there in the back of his head, but he felt great. With every step, he was happier. Twilight was closer!
Up ahead, the lantern in the window gleamed out at him like a winking eye. He grinned wide at it, and forgot the whining of his empty stomach. She had left him a light as she always did! She would soon receive her picture. She would know what it meant, and she could tell him what he meant.
When he came to the door and knocked, he found it unlocked. Smiling, he entered.
The main room was dark. Caramel ignored the books on the floor and the boards on the windows. He saw nothing but the light that came from the side hall, where the reference books were. Therein laid a candle next to a rug. His heart hammering with excitement, he bit the corner of the rug and pulled it back, careful lest his hindleg should catch on a discarded book.
Under the rug he found, as he had so many times before, a trap door he knew would lead down into the basement archives. There was a small copper handle and he bit it, ignoring how cold it was. The door opened easily, and the stairs were before him.
Caramel descended into the dark archives.
It was a wide room with a low ceiling. Low-burning candles on the walls illuminated the dim corridors of dusty shelves and silhouetted the forms of ancient chests full of maps and artifacts long forgotten. Caramel wondered if they had a Phylactery. He hadn’t ever seen one, had he?
Twilight was waiting up ahead.
Caramel navigated the narrow alleys of books, sneezing only once. He heard faint feminine giggling up ahead, and it made him smile wide.
At last, he came out from the forest and found Twilight.
The bed was red. It was here that he’d painted the second picture for her as she lay out leisurely. His heart thundered in his ears. Twilight was there, sitting on the bed, leaned back just a ways, smiling at him. Baring her teeth, saying hello, only he heard it in his head. He knew she was saying hello, even though she didn’t say a word.
“I came, Twilight! Just like your note told me to,” he said, like a happy child.His voice was soft, as if was afraid it might shatter something if he raised it.Somehow it seemed right. He guessed it was because he was still technically in a library. He giggled at that.
You did, her eyes seemed to say, filled with mirth. And I see you brought a painting, a new one, her eyes continued as she tilted her beautiful head. Her eyes were so black, and red as they had always been, two strong and vibrant colors. How he had grown to love them. How he’d lived without them dominating all of his painting escaped him.
“Would you like to see?” he whispered.
She nodded, still not speaking. She didn’t have to. This was what he wanted. She was looking at him! She knew who he was! Inside, he was dancing.
He set it up to show her, smiling all the while like the smile was glued in place. Carnivore sat proudly on his little easel like a statue on a proud pedestal. He watched her imploringly.
She looked at it curiously, tilting her head this way and that, and then smiled. She left the bed and walked over to him, kissing Caramel on the forehead. Where she touched him, it was cold, and he was suddenly aware of how hot he felt. Did he have a fever? Was it just that she was cold? He should help with that...
But she was admiring the painting, taking it in.
“Carnivore,” he whispered.
She looked back, startled.
“The painting. The still life, I named it Carnivore. Do you know what it means?”
She blinked at him, but then smiled. Twilight had always been quiet. But yes, her eyes promised, she knew exactly what it meant.
He laughed as one surprised by sudden luck. Of course she would know, she always knew the answer to the questions. All of them.
Finally, she came back to him and kissed him softly on the lips. It lit his whole body on fire, and he felt alive as if he had never felt tired before. He trembled, and his legs seemed weak and yet they had never been stronger. His head was muddled; everything around him blurred.
He was laid down on the bed. She was kissing him, her caresses and ministrations finding his shoulders and hooves. He felt her kisses against his neck. And then she sank in two sharp fangs and he groaned.
He stared up at the ceiling, crying out, and he no longer knew what he felt. As she feasted, Caramel began to lose feeling in his hooves. He remembered snippets: This is the last time Caramel. He knew. Caramel, do you know why? Of course he knew, it had come this far. Twilight caressing the black grimoire like her new lover and he hated it, but he loved her. He loves her, will love her. She needs this, blood for something that’s important, something very important and big and he doesn’t understand. It has to do with magic. Her eyes are red now. He wonders if it’s from the blood. He misses reading in the study. Twilight is cold.
Is he falling? It feels like he’s falling down some long pit but it’s alright, Twilight is warm. Why are the Archives so cold? Shouldn’t they be warm? Usually they’re so warm... He hated falling.
Oh. He remembered what he was going to call the painting.
An Offering.
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Commence read.
In the end, the painting was not the true offering.
I don't think you could've found a more perfect cover image, Cynewulf. If you'll pardon me, I'm just going to sit and stare at it for a few minutes.
I like this part.
So do I.
The original title... Oh man, that gave me chills. Good job on this one. I like it, I like it a lot!
1899805
I do concur. It is an enthralling work of art.
I am very, very impressed with this story. Without giving away storyline, I'll just say that you, nailed the characterizations of Twilight and Caramel. The pacing was wonderful, and even though I went into this story with an idea of what it would be about, the buildup and payoff were expertly executed. I tip my hat to you, sir.
Never go into a lady's basement after painting odd paintings. Got it.
Your stories are a carefully crafted formula, but it's a formula you reuse a lot. They're interesting subjects, and this one was one of the better ones (the romantic interests of the protagonists aren't a mystery the story tries to solve), but I can't help but wonder when your characters start to blend into the same one?
Good work today sir
1899933 That's probably true.
1899805 I found that picture a looong time ago. I knew one day I'd be able to use it.
1899920 That is always sound advice/
1899920 Best advice I've heard all day.
Perhaps you were thinking of An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge?
Lush and darkly gorgeous, much like its cover art. Nicely done! The final reveal wasn't a complete surprise, if the hints told the story, and that's not always a bad thing. Sometimes you know early what the destination will bring yet it's still that journey that's more important.
1901057 Yes! The Original Dallas Ending where you're all pissed at the end. :P Thankya
1901153 I meant it to be more of a surprise... but I just couldn't make it work as well. I think it would be better if it were a bit more obscure. :3 I got carried away with my pictures and bloody phylacteries
1902071 You did. There are many clues! :3
First, the Paintings. Carnivore and Rosebud are both full of red, red wine, knives, seduction... vampire things. Him being weak from being drained, for it's an unnatural tiredness. His creepy enthrallment with Twilight, too!
I saw the cover and said "damn, its a Twilight vampire story" xD then i saw the other Twilight reference, had to resist closing this and went to listen to some music for a bit.
Still a good one. So she was bewitched by a dark book she found huh.
Work of art.
Cool.
1902568 Best part? Wasn't intentional. Pre-readers pointed it out to me.
Besides Twilight is 4 books. :P
1903402
Shh, you dont need to know the number of books to see something as a reference to that. (but yeah i knew, my friend loves the series and has all the books , plus the extra ones or something like that)
Best part? Hmmm the fact that even if it was a vampire Twilight story the focus is on the "servant" Caramel.
Also since it implies that the painting is a trade for a story, we could assume that the "ending" is actually the ending of Twilights story huh
(not likely unless she knew what he would have named his painting and what he did name it, but shhhh no tears only dreams... )
1903903 Renfield is the most hilariously disturbing thing ever. :3
1903907
Added a last sentence while you were typing your reply, but its not that important anyway.
And yeah in some way it is, but Caramel wasnt the antagonist. Just a poor lost boy.
1903915 The story!
It's vague. Remember the memory of the big black grimoire book thing that flashed by, and the note? I figured you could read it as a lie!
Or what I meant: she's been working on the "story", using his blood to keep her magic strong. She reads it aloud at last as he lies dying on the bed. The work is complete. She needed all of him to finish it.
i like, very well set up, nice pacing, good emotives, great description, and yeah no more words for it 10 of 10
1955872 It really is, it really is. The original version was going to be about 10-15K longer and explain the Vampirism and it was Inceptiony
Thank god I cut it
1989349 Only petty fears
24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mc7ou82Zdp1rqr335o1_500.jpg
liked it. poor sap's dead now. probably.
2060577 Oh, Caramel is very dead.
2060588 like, door nail dead, or like, Cancer dead, or that book that caught on fire that one time dead?
2060594 totes dead, like
Samuel Jackson getting eaten by that shark in Deep Ocean Blue dead
2060821 he was the black one that gave an epic speech, then got bitten in half, right? or was that a different movie?
Owlcreek bridge? Is that the story you were thinking of? I can't say I see the similarities, though the writing does faintly remind me of it... Meh, probably just the difference in the subject matter clouding my perception. Still, good story. I figured out halfway through that she was (eating? killing?) him, but still... the reveal at the end was just awesome.
2062336
how do you not know who Samuel L. Jackson is? He's Samuel L. Jackson, dammit! You know, "I have had it with these mother fucking snakes on this mother fucking plane" Samuel L. Jackson?
2156402 Yes! Owlcreek!
The whole reveal, mainly. The whole "Oh, lol, nope, he dies horribly" at the end.
Glad you enjoyed it!
2156595
mmm... Nah, that's not the same. You lead up to it, throwing out clues and hints, telling us something bad is coming. Owlcreak's first sign that something is wrong is the line "and then the rope snapped taut." Not to say this method is bad, but it's just not the same thing- which is good! If I'd read this and it had ended like that, I'd have gone "Wow, way to pony-fy owlcreek bridge." As it is, the comparison,(though the writting style is somewhat similiar!) didn't pop into my head until after you commented on it.
2156644 Valid, and kind of agreed, actually.
It was more the original idea, which was different. Thinking about it, I guess the original clouds my reading of as it is now.
2156654
heh, that can happen. I've been forced to abandon projects because they reminded me too much of older ones that I didn't like anymore.
... not too say I have a great record with completing things anyway... (one completed one shot, four unpublished, one hiatus, one that probably should be hiatus even though there's like two thousand words left...)
God the way you speak fits with that avatar perfectly. In my head that was "valid. *sips wine* and kind of agreed..."
I might be slightly insane.
2156675 Ah but I was born to be a lady.
Sipping tea.
Yes. Is it not plain?
*sip*
As long as it's not Merlot. Yes.
2156690
The great bearded lady!
*shrug* personally, I'm not much for alcohol, aaaaand this conversation has veered wildly, wildly off course. Like, there's the original topic, there's the grand canyon, there's a cactus patch, and we're over here, running full speed towards a ditch. I do believe that if we wish to continue this silly chat, PMs would be more suitable than... filling this entire comment thread. more than 10% of the comments on this story are now this conversation. that's probably a bad thing
2156402 I've never watched that movie for one, and it has been at least... 2 years since I last watched the movie (likely a MAJOR understatement) and yeah.
I'm bit confused, Caramel offered himself; allowing Twilight to drink his blood but did he die at end? Or still alive, was just a simple offering of himself to show how much he loves her?
2393985 It is a weird ending.
Both. He has been offering himself over and over all along. And this time he just couldn't take and he died. He gave all he could until he could give no more.
2394004 How did exactly Twilight feel/felt after Caramel have died in her hooves? I'm curious
2394046 Good question. In the original idea? Remorseful, but not overmuch. She got more so overtime, as the original idea was... long. And weird?
I think part of her, deep down, is horrified and feels beyond awful. Pain unto death. But I think the majority of her is a real vampire. Cold. I think she feels some slight pity, some tiny remorse. Perhaps a touch of sadness that is not deep but at least is still there.
2394061 Final question, this is little bit stretched of question if I say so myself.
Will you consider writing a one-shot sequel to this? I'm curious of the consequences that she faces and what kind of feeling that Twilight is dealing with in in-depth; especially of what her mentor (Celestia), her "brother" (Spike) and rest of her friends feel about Twilight after learning that she was responsible for Caramel's death.
2394068
...
I ain't thought about it.
But now I am.
I might. Lemme think 'bout it, write somethin' down
2394076
...
Cool! Ill await on your decision on whether if you write that sequel or not, this story stands good by it's own.
In least I can take away from this story, even if she was one who caused Caramel's death; I'm sure she loved him back somewhere in depth of her.
Cheers!
2394083 Oh, she did at first, for sure. I mean, the first painting, I think, was before she somehow became... that. When they were cute and couply and happy
I thought it was a little like Stephen's King Duma Key :P . At first, later it became completely different but who cares, the story is still awesome.
2756990 Still need to read that one.
Great story. The first Twilight is a Vampire story I've read. 10/10.
Oh, and no joke, while I was reading I looked up a pic of Twi because I can't always remember eye color, and I looked at some Twipire pics.
Again great story.
Thunder Flash
3739657 Hilariously...
I didn't even get the Twilight vampire joke until like a week after I wrote this. I knew there were some other Twilpire stories, but yeah, I hadn't read any either! Thank you. I'm glad you liked it.
I was hoping this was the case with twilight here. I imagine her friends and the town most think she's gone with the boarded up windows.
And her lack of speech is I'd l interesting. That perhaps any expression from her is all in his head.