Twilight Sparkle thought that she'd succeeded in curing Fluttershy of the bat's influence, but she was wrong, and she must pay a nightly price to keep her friend alive.
The situation has gotten ... out of hand.
Twilight Sparkle had thought that she'd cured Fluttershy of the bat influence, but it soon transpires that she was mistaken; now with their friend at risk of serious injury or death every night, Twilight and the others must do everything they can to keep her safe while they search for a more permanent solution.
I suppose if I wanted to, I could spread the blame out a bit; especially Applejack, who, in her obstinance, had been the one to insist on going ahead with the plan over the objections of Fluttershy. Sad to say, even after all this time, we still don't listen to her as much as we perhaps should. All of us should have done better that night, but I'm the one who has – who should – shoulder the brunt of the responsibility. It was my magic, after all, that put us in this situation.
The others, their actions were borne out of fear, and rash action in the midst of mortal panic is at least forgiveable. What I've done isn't. Still, we all have to deal with our guilt, and try to pick up the pieces of the life we ruined as best we can.
A tune pierces through the relative silence of the library; I cross over to the balcony and watch the residents of Ponyville go about their contented lives below, my heart grateful for the fact that they don't know what we've done to one of their number. Looking at her now, whistling merrily, fluttering along so blissfully in-tune with the world around her that she doesn't even realise she's hovering several inches off the ground, her outstretched wings and streaming mane quivering slightly in the gentle breeze.
It's difficult to believe that there's anything the matter with her, isn't it?
She offers a polite good morning to every pony that she passes; some of them respond, and some don't. Even when her overtures are rebuffed, she's so sickeningly kind-hearted that she immediately assumes that she's the one at fault, and starts to offer those tremulous apologies that she's famous for. Nothing can put a chink in her armour, however; the wall of positivity that she radiates is a shell that both protects her, but also stops anyone from getting too close. It's pretty safe to assume that no one really knows Fluttershy.
Not like we do.
I can't help feeling like a stalker, watching her like this, but it has to be done; the five of us make sure that at least one of us is watching her at all times of the day. Even when she's at home. None of us enjoy invading her privacy like that, but it's the price we have to pay for our … for my foolishness. For my arrogance. They may have been myopic, blinkered by the necessity of the situation, but I was cocky. I'm a Princess of the Realm, with more magical ability than anyone since Star-Swirl the Bearded, and I thought – just for a moment – that I could do anything.
Boy, am I an idiot. When I fail, it's on a grand scale. I'm surprised Princess Celestia hasn't had me dragged back to Canterlot in irons for all the times I've royally screwed-up.
A harsh, bitter laugh, which I have trouble believing is my own. I'm so tired. I used to think that failing Celestia, serving detention, being held back a grade, these were the worst possible things that could ever happen to me. I know better now. If this experience has done anything for me, it's crushed whatever naivete I may still have been clinging to.
Well, now I know better. Now I know what punishment actually means. It's an ongoing, brutal process that leaves you forever changed. It's a lesson that they can't teach you in school; it's something they can't even prepare you for, and when it smacks you in the face and throws all of your ill-thought out assumptions straight out the window, well, that's what failure really is.
Hell, if Celestia ever does get wind of just what happened here that night, she'll most likely have me banished to the Moon for a thousand years. And you know what? I would have no complaints whatsoever. I thoroughly deserve the most ruthless sanctions she can mete out. I've done the worst thing imaginable: ruined the life of one of my best friends. Those hard-fought companions that, just a few years ago, I never wanted, but now could never imagine my life without. All of them now suffer, but one suffers more than most.
And what really carves me up is that I can't even make a token apology because she doesn't realise what I've done to her.
I don't know about the others, but I watch her not just out of a sense of duty – we're cautious, but we're fairly certain that it can't happen during the day – but because this is how I need to remember her. I want to think of her always as that sweet, innocent, naïve pony who can capture the hearts of even the most terrifying of Equestria's beasts as easily as she does those of the ponies closest to her.
Why did it have to be you? The one pony least-equipped to deal with this abomination. If I could give my life to free her from the torment, I would do so in a heartbeat; magic is rarely so simple, however, and every day I feel my inadequacy renew itself.
Shaking myself out of my reverie, I find that I've been lingering on the balcony for quite some time, and the sun is now beginning to set. Fluttershy has long since disappeared from the town centre, but it's pretty obvious where she's heading to. We've gotten to know her routine pretty well by now: feed and pamper her animals, shower and relax, hit the hay.
As I make my way to her cottage, I'm for once grateful that it lies on the edge of town, close to the border between Ponyville and the Everfree Forest. Any unusual noises can be brushed off, any unusual happenings will go unseen.
Perfect.
It's my turn tonight, with Applejack as my backup. I'm secretly grateful for this, as she is the physically strongest of us all.
Not-so-secretly, I'm appalled that this is what it has come to.
When we first realised what was happening, we had to think fast to prevent anyone else from finding out; one of the measures we put in place was that there should always be two of us present at the scene, since she doesn't always know when to … stop. Who knows, maybe she wouldn't stop? Hunger is one of the most primal of urges, and some ponies keep feeding even when they're full.
Even after all this time – I can't count how many weeks since that first night – my heart shatters like glass when the transformation begins. That this is all my fault is just the ice-cold shard of lemon stuck directly into the open wound.
Speaking of wounds, we're beginning to run out of excuses for why the five of us turn up everywhere covered in scratches, bites and puncture marks. We've managed to keep the secret confined to our group, and I'd dearly love it to stay that way, but we know it's not a performance we can keep up forever. Hell, that we've managed to do it for this long goes to show just how trusting the ponies around here are. I hate to say it, I really do, but being a Princess does have some advantages. No one wants to question you too hard in case you have them banished, or beheaded, or something.
Something has to give eventually, though.
Right now, my focus is on getting through the night. I need to keep all other details shunted firmly to one side of my mind or else I'm going to lose it. I have to think of it as a grim ritual; like the daily observation, we take it in turns so the others can rest for when they have to cover their own shifts. I sleep very little, even though tiredness hangs over me like a blanket made of clouds. I spend my time reading, looking for a better solution, but even old Star-Swirl can't help me out of this one.
Oh, Celestia, that look. The torture it causes me, I can't even describe it; I feel like a piece of my soul is rent asunder every time I witness it, and I wish so hard that it didn't have to be this way. Applejack has broken out in a sweat, knowing what is to come.
“Um,” Fluttershy says, looking down at us from the second level, having just come out of the bathroom, her pink mane falling over her eyes in a way that makes her seem more child-like and innocent than ever. She wonders why we've ushered all the animals outside to our waiting friends, why we've barricaded all the exits, why everything breakable has been surreptitiously moved out of her reach.
We've done this a lot. We've got it down to a science.
Her beautiful blue eyes radiate anxiety, and it's all I can do not to break down and cry. “That is,” she continues in that meek voice of hers, barely audible above all the clanking and clanging as Applejack quite literally nails down anything that might be used as an implement of battle. “I'm curious, why are you sealing us in? Is there a problem?”
“Um, it's for your own good,” I reply. This is what I say every night because she always asks me the corresponding question. I want to tell her the truth, that it's for the good of the innocent ponies out there who might succumb if she were to ever escape from here, but this is hard enough as it is. “Really,” I add with a smile that has no genuine warmth to it.
Hate-filled eyes look back at me, raging and bilious, flecked with carmine and burning with a fury that made the fires of Hades seem like candlelight by comparison. It's an anger that seems as old time, an anger that has never properly been expressed before, and I have to remind myself that – until sunrise – my friend is gone and what I see before me is a monster.
I have to tell myself that what I do, I do for her.
Because I have to stand here.
And let it sink its disgusting fangs into my body.
Knowing its going to happen doesn't help, bracing myself doesn't make the pain any less intense.
My faithful companion is off to one side, ready to intervene when she is needed. It's not a question of if. Her face is tensed in concentration, muscles taut, making sure that she is close enough to leap into action at a moment's notice.
I can only imagine how I look. How ridiculous and bedraggled, how weary and dishevelled. I can't remember when I last got a good night's sleep, ate a decent meal, or even had a good scrub. It's certainly less than what I deserve, and Princess Celestia would see to it that slight discomfort would be the least of my worries if word of this ever got back to her.
For all I know, she's already aware of the situation, and this is another test. I'm sure I'll be required reading at Magical Kindergarten: “Today, we discuss Princess Twilight Sparkle. Please turn to the chapter headed, How Badly Can One Alicorn Screw Things Up?”
A blur of yellow flows like liquid toward me, and it's all I can do to keep from crying out when my skin is perforated by a set of razor-sharp cuspids. It begins to draw blood from the thick vein in my neck, and my vision begins to go blurry far more quickly than I'd anticipated. I know it's only going to get worse the longer this goes on, but I have to persevere.
For Fluttershy's sake.
Wine-red eyes stare at me, into me, through me. I can see the loathing it has for me, for everything, and I can't imagine anything that is more the antithesis of my friend than this … beast.
Its mouth is cut into a cruel leer as it feeds. This isn't just a life-preserving necessity for it, it enjoys dealing pain.
I'm seconds away from passing out and I give Applejack the signal to come to my rescue; left unchecked, the beast's rapacious appetite would consume me, my companion, and soon, everyone in Ponyville. A pint is just enough for it to make it through a night, and we've managed to work out a system were we can each donate that much to it in order to keep Fluttershy alive.
It takes its toll on our bodies, but there's nothing we would not do to help our friend.
“Why do you always look so tired?” Her first question to us, every morning. Even before asking what we're doing there at all. Like I said, kindness is ingrained within her.
The next hour or so will be peaceful; even though it has far less than it wants, the hunger is sated for the moment, and it will rest for the time being. It gives us a respite, meagre though it is, to recover our own flagging strength. For now, we have to keep it boxed-in until the sun rises and our friend is restored to us.
With no memory of the previous night, of the previous innumerable nights just like this one.
I look at it sleeping; I search in vain, as always, for some trace of the pony I love. The familiar soft curves, delicate expression and kempt mane are gone; sharp-edges, a permanent sneer, leathery coat, bat-like wings and teeth that can – and will, given the opportunity – cut through anything they come into contact with.
My eyes alight on the clock, seconds ticking away far-too-slowly for my liking. Sunrise will be in about six hours; I'll sleep for an hour, throw something vaguely edible in my mouth, then spend the rest of the day studying. I will find a solution to this problem.
Its eyes are pointed in my direction, but I know those bile-flecked orbs, the colour of the sun-ripened braeburns Applejack grows at the farm, aren't really looking at me; they're looking past me, at the front door of Fluttershy's cottage, and it isn't exactly a huge mental leap to guess what it's planning. Gore-stained fangs peek out over its pale, bloodless lips, and that cruel smirk is enough to curl my mane.
Oleaginous breath hangs heavy on my snout; its every respiration is a tart, coppery assault against my nostrils. I'm dimly aware that part of what I'm inhaling is my own essence, but blackened by the mucasoidal filth of the creature's disgusting innards. I wish I didn't have to be this close to it – close enough that I can see every flare of its muzzle, every serrated point of its teeth, feel every undulating wheeze tickle my nose – but I don't have any choice in the matter.
If she makes a break for the door, I have to stand in her way.
No! Not she, not her.
This loathsome beast before me is a parasite occupying my friend's body, but I still can't help thinking of it as Fluttershy. The creature is just using her, occupying her body, to satiate its desires. I don't know what went wrong with the spell, but all I've done is remove the fruit bat influence, leaving just the vampire behind. A nightly craving for apples would be annoying, sure, but we'd be far better equipped to supply that sort of demand.
We can't keep this up forever; we all know it, but none of us wants to be the first to say it loud. It'd be admitting defeat, and we all know there's only one other option.
A normal-sized vampire bat can subsist on a meagre twenty grammes of blood per feeding, but the bat we're dealing with is the size of a fully-grown pony. Its needs are correspondingly enlarged; the pint or so a night we're doling out isn't quite enough to fill its belly, but it staves off death for another day. It's the best we can do under the circumstances; we're pushed to the edge as it is, and any more would likely kill us.
Fatigue catches us throughout the day; there just isn't enough time to fully rest and recover from the trauma, and more than once, one of us has passed out due to the exhaustion, constant blood-letting and stress.
I never knew just how my friends would be willing to go for me until this moment. Never once have they complained, never once have they tried to back-out, never once have they suggested we turn the whole situation over to Princess Celestia. The strength of their loyalty and faith in me, undeserved though it is, fills me with hope that we'll find an answer to this crisis.
It's resting now. I desire to do likewise.
The struggle has become as dully routine as everything else about this sad enterprise; only an hour or so remains before sunrise, but I don't even contemplate for a moment trying to snatch this precious crumb of sleep. Its ferocity is unmatched by anything short of a timberwolf, its speed would leave Rainbow Dash trailing far behind … even with Applejack's lasso snugly secured around its waist, I don't trust it. It is without fear, without concern.
If it had to damage Fluttershy's body in order to escape, it wouldn't even hesitate to do so.
We do our best to leave no … lasting impressions … of our encounters, but sometimes the rope is bound too tight, or we have to tackle it to the ground, or put it down through some other means. Try explaining strange bruises and scratches to an already-timid pony first thing in the morning.
That face – if you took away the sharper features, the hate-filled eyes, the slavering jowls and animalistic fury – looks so much like her that I find myself on the verge of tears. My sweet Fluttershy, what have I done to you, the most kind, the most gentle of all the ponies in Equestria? In that split-second of pointless recrimination, my concentration is gone; all of a sudden, I'm being barged out of the way by a wall of rapacious savagery.
Left dazed against the fireplace, I wonder how such a slight frame could pack so much power.
Fortunately, it never reaches the door; the creature is strong, but Applejack has a body hardened by years of manual labour. She's straining, but the monster isn't going anywhere as long as that lasso keeps it bound. Shaking my head to clear the Breezies suddenly dancing around it, I once again settle into my customary position in front of the horrifying façade.
My vision is going blurry. I really hope that I don't have a concussion.
“Twilight?” asks Applejack, her voice radiating concern. She's undoubtedly noticed the slight shake that has come over me. “Are you all right, sugarcube?”
How do you want me to respond to that, Element of Honesty? I'm more tired than I've ever been in my life, I can't remember the last time I had something decent to eat – the way my stomach is protesting, I can only assume that way too long is the correct answer – and I've been drained to emptiness by a monster in the shape of one of my best friends. And the icing on the cake: I can't do anything to save her from the madness that I wrought. “I'm fine,” I finally reply. “I … uh, just lost it for a moment.”
“A moment's all it needs,” my friend reprimands me sharply.
I don't want to look at it, but I find that I can't divert my eyes. It looks so much like her! All I want to do is wrap my arms around her, hold her close, tell her that I'm trying my best – that we all are, that her friends are here for her – but I can't. I can't even tell her I'm sorry for what I've done. Fluttershy is lost to us from the beginning of the night, and she never remembers anything of what has happened the following morning.
I envy her that. It's a blessing that she doesn't have to remember the worst of times. I haven't the stamina left to sob openly, but the tears prick at the corners of my eyes, anyway, letting me know just how weak and useless I am.
Applejack carries off the shabby appearance much better than I do; while her apricot coat is flushed and ragged, it actually suits her. She's used to hard work, so it's no surprise that she'd look her best while under exertion. We're all coping as best we can; it isn't enough, and we all need a respite, but the safety of Celestia's golden dawn still seems so far away.
Celestia. In my heart, I know what the right thing to do is, but what if even the Princess can't help? What then? What will happen to Fluttershy? Cast into the royal dungeon, forgotten until she starves to death? It doesn't seem likely that she could be so cold-blooded, but I have to keep in mind that my tutor is the same pony who banished her own sister to the Moon for a thousand years. The same pony who vanquished King Sombra. Her ire is a terrible thing.
The only one of us who wakes up feeling vaguely normal is Fluttershy; no matter what happens during the night, she always arises refreshed. I guess it gives me a small sense of comfort to know that she's sleeping inside there, unaware of what the monster is doing with her body. She deserves peace, and I swear that I will find a way to end this nightmare once and for all. The faintest trace of a smile creeps unbidden on to my face, and it probably looks fairly ghastly considering what a wreck the rest of me is at the moment. If Fluttershy knew what was going on right now, she would feel compelled to apologise for the behaviour of her counterpart.
There's an irony for you, and don't think I haven't thought about it in great detail. Fluttershy could probably find some way of talking the bat down long enough for me to work my magic. We considered trying the mirror trick again, but since it was that which put us in this situation in the first place, none of us are exactly eager for a second attempt.
“Uh.” I look up to see a pair of gorgeous blue eyes, as pure and free as a cloudless sky, staring back with a mixture of trepidation and concern. It would be so easy for her to break me down; her stare has bewitched tougher opponents than me, and I'm always fearful that her curiosity will get the better of her one day and she'll demand to know what's really going on.
It's not like that innocent, beautiful gaze of hers doesn't hurt enough by itself. It burrows into my soul, and I want to confess; I want her to know what I've done, I want her to know that I'm trying to put things right. Applejack is off to one side, her expression one of apprehension: she's afraid that I'm going to do just that.
Fluttershy will never push, though; never with her friends, not even with those we might regard as enemies, unless there's absolutely no other choice. Or she's pushed into doing it by those ponies she regards as friends, who are supposed to be looking out for her well-being.
“What are you and Applejack doing here?” she enquires, her face a mask of surprise.
One day. A day will come when she will no longer be put off by our evasions or explanations, and she'll demand to know just what the hell has been happening over the past few months. And I'll tell her. It's all I can do not to spill the beans right now. After a hundred iterations of this same question, there's nothing I can even say any more that sounds vaguely plausible; we've been through every excuse in the book, and now that we're running on fumes, we tend not to fret over it quite as much as we used to.
It's all getting a bit … samey.
All those times we've tried to push Fluttershy into overcoming her meekness, my stomach knots up as I find myself grateful for the fact that they've never quite stuck. She's too timid to pry, she trusts us too much to search for anything deeper in our words. Bless that gullible, child-like heart of hers.
We destroyed something beautiful.
I destroyed something beautiful.
Applejack stammers something out. “Oh, uh, well, you see, the thing is ...” Her eyes dart rapidly around the room, looking for something, anything, that might inspire a believable lie. It hurts her to have to be dishonest, but she recognises the need to keep our friend in the dark about what is happening to her. A flock of blue jays flit past the window. Inspiration, desperation, strikes. “Some of your animals escaped during the night. Me and Twilight here sprung into action to get them back to you before they got lost in the forest.”
Fluttershy's eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, dear,” she says plaintively, her soft pink mane falling over one eye as she shook her head. “They managed to get out again?”
Damn it. That's the problem with so many sleepless nights in a row: everything blurs into one amorphous whole until you're not sure if you've said or done the things you think you have, or if it's merely a fabrication of your overtaxed memory. In any case, I do remember having used this exact same excuse not so long ago. And the accompanying trip to the hardware store to get some industrial-strength chicken wire to make sure it didn't happen again.
The retail clerk wanted to give us a discount because of my presence, but Fluttershy insisted on paying full price. I wonder what it would be like if I were to start abusing my power, and accept all the gifts and perks that ponies want to offer to me. Could be a lot of fun.
Good thing I have friends who help me keep my head screwed-on properly.
For a moment, her expression wavers uncertainly; I can almost picture the cogs turning in her mind, weighing up her unshakeable faith in us versus the odd events that have been taking place over the past few months. A decision is made and her eyes practically blaze. “Okay,” she says in a chipper tone that immediately relaxes me. “Thank you for your help in returning the animals safely, girls. I'll check the fencing again later today and see if I can't find out how they've escaped so many times.” A scrutinising glance is sent my way. “They were uncooperative, weren't they?” she asks me sadly.
I spit out a befuddled huh before I realise that she's eyeing my wounds with a sombre face. I take stock of my litany of cuts and scratches received whenever the creature lashed out, as well as the deep puncture wound that has only just begun to scab over on my neck. Any deeper, I fear I might've bled out during the night. Some species of vampire bat excrete special enzymes which aid in the clotting process, and we're lucky that this hybrid here has the same mechanism, or we'd probably all have died from exsanguination by now.
In the same way that the fruit bats promote stronger, faster regrowth of saplings, vampire bats spur on healing. After all, it's only good practice for a parasite not to permanently harm its food source. “They were a bit peckish,” I reply, smiling feebly at my lame attempt at humour.
Fluttershy disappears into another room for a moment; I think it's the one where she treats her animals when they are injured, and my suspicions are confirmed when she returns a few moments later with a bottle of disinfectant and a wad of cotton balls. Her tender treatment of my various abrasions is a marked contrast to the untempered brutality of the fiend we've had to endure all night long, and I find myself whimpering slightly and pulling her into a tight embrace, my forelegs locking the startled mare into a hug from which she could not escape, tears soaking her shoulder.
“Twilight!” she gasps in a soft, pained voice, and it dawns on me that I'm hurting her. With nothing more than an overenthusiastic hug. “I'm sorry, I was doing my best to be careful. Some of those cuts look pretty bad. I didn't mean to hurt you.”
“I know you didn't,” I reply, cupping her delicate face gently and forcing a smile through my anguish. The sting of my wounds has been replaced by a stabbing in my heart. With a supreme effort of will, I add, “You would never hurt anyone, would you? That isn't you at all.”
She looks at me baffled, and I can't blame her. She probably just thinks I've gone crazy, but she continues to patch me up, and her gentle touch reminds me of what I'm fighting to save.
The Everfree Forest wasn't somewhere you wanted to be unless you had a good reason. Too many things lurked in here. Things that could turn you to stone, things that could swallow you in one gulp, things that would stay with you forever if you weren't careful. Visitors were discouraged unless they came prepared, and very few sane individuals made their home amongst the oppressive flora and dangerous fauna.
Hell, the smell was off-putting enough; some source of heat – an underground spring or something similar – raised the temperature several degrees, but it also meant that the mingling scents of rotting flesh and decaying plant matter were rendered especially pungent.
Still, it beat the foul stench of the Flutterbat, as Rarity had dubbed the creature. I opposed the portmanteau name, wishing to keep Fluttershy and the bat separate in my mind, but the name had stuck with the others.
I'm on my guard as I approach Zecora's hut; I've never had a problem reaching it before, but the forest seems unusually menacing today, and I wonder if my own internal fears are being reflected in the environment around me. Maybe it's just the exhaustion playing tricks on me? My tired hooves make squelching noises in the soft, loamy soil, and I picture the ground suddenly giving way and swallowing me up whole.
A pang of guilt thrills through me as I find the herbalist – some call her a shaman, some call her a witch doctor, but they're usually frightened ponies who have no idea what she really is – already waiting at the door for me. I don't get out here often enough, and when I do, it's usually because I need to enlist Zecora's help in sorting out some imminent peril befalling Equestria. Things never really change.
If only her hut wasn't so far away from Ponyville. However far away it was from Ponyville, no one really knew just how distant it was from the lands Zecora called home. I'd never asked her, and she'd never spoken of her compatriots; I picture an entire tribe of shamanic-zebras, spreading out across the world, putting down roots wherever they think they'll be most needed. Certainly, Equestria would be a very different place if I couldn't call on Zecora's advice now and again.
When I asked her why she lived out here in the forest rather than in Ponyville, she'd told me that there were dozens, if not hundreds, of plants that grew here that couldn't be found anywhere else. They had to be picked when the time was right, or they would be useless in her potions.
“You look terrible,” Zecora said sympathetically, appraising me as I entered her hut with a definite slump in my withers. “The pain you are feeling must be unbearable.”
“I can cope with the physical pain just fine,” I lie. Actually, I fear that the near-constant agony I'm in is going to slowly drive me insane, but it's just one more thing I'm pushing to the back of my rapidly-overcrowding mind. I'll worry about myself once I sort this nightmare out. If only I could sleep for a bit. The heady aroma of brewing leaves, coupled with the sedate warmth of Zecora's hut, is having a soporific on me. There's something very soothing about this part of the forest, and I wonder if that's why the zebra chose it in the first place. “What's going on here,” I add, tapping my chest, “is what really hurts.”
Zecora looks at me with a benevolent expression; when I discovered that Fluttershy was still transforming into the bat-creature, she had been my first port of call, and she had promised to continue searching for an answer while we got on with keeping the monster confined and the residents of Ponyville safe. “When I was much younger,” she had once told me, “all too often, I made a blunder.”
“With side-effects as bad as this?” I had enquired.
The zebra had smiled, shaking her head. “Never like this, I'm afraid, but that never stopped me from fearing an upbraid.”
She disappeared into the kitchen, and I must've spaced out for a moment because it seemed like she was only gone for a split-second before returning with a steaming bowl. “Drink this elixir,” the witch doctor said, pushing the dish under my nose, “and we shall begin forming a plan to fix her.”
Something spicy hit my nostrils; I'm not much of a cook, so I couldn't even guess at what it was that was getting my snout all tingly, but it was definitely not unpleasant. Even the smell alone was doing much to revive my flagging spirits. Credit to her, Zecora really knows her stuff. Okay, it wasn't a hayburger with a side-order of fries smeared with ketchup, but beggars can't be choosers.
No fizzy apple juice either.
That's my idea of Heaven, anyway.
Now I'm not much of a meat-eater; I have partaken once or twice, nibbled on something at a party just to be sociable, but it's never been a big thing for me. That said, as the warm, slightly-metallic taste of whatever it was – I'm not an expert, but I think it might've been beef – hit the back of my throat, I wasn't complaining. Zecora's soup was loaded with all sorts of fresh vegetables, ground herbs, spices and nuts, but it was the raw piquancy of the meat which lingered longest on my tongue.
Maybe because it was such an unusual taste for me? Not unpalatable by any means, though the connotations of the act – consuming another animal for sustenance – did leave me feeling slightly regretful.
One time, I watched Zecora preparing a potion and I'd asked her about the animal remains used; she told me that she never killed anything herself, but only scavenged what she needed from beasts that had already died. It made sense, I suppose; living deep in the Everfree Forest, with the nearest supermarket being bit of a trek from your home, you had to make sure that nothing ever went to waste.
It was with a rather unmarelike slurp that I finished my soup – even if she noticed the loud guzzling sound, I don't think Zecora would've minded – and, for a second, I was the most content I'd been in a long time; not that it was much, but it was certainly an improvement over the last few, fraught weeks. I've never been overly self-conscious when it comes to eating, so I made sure to literally lick the bowl clean before pushing the bowl aside. I'm trying to hold on to the glowing hotness now suffusing my body, but I know it can't last for long.
Funny. Just a couple of years ago, spending my days researching magic and spells with a like-minded individual would've made me as happy as a filly; breaking off only to eat and sleep every now and then, not having any other care in the world but for the joy of studying. Mm. Sleep.
“I wish there was more time to let you repose,” Zecora said sharply, cutting into the serene haze that had descended over my mind, “but before I can let you do that, the Flutterbat we must depose.”
The periphery between consciousness and unconsciousness is an interesting state; everything feels as though it has been drenched in treacle, even time itself. Every sense operating at a diminished rate, until it feels as though you're trapped inside a bubble and the world is passing you by. I feel as though I've been trapped in this frame of mind forever, even though I know it's only been a few weeks. My memories have begun to run together, and keeping everything straight is becoming increasingly difficult. Between trying to keep the library running – Celestia would soon become suspicious if it was kept closed for too long – finding a way to help Fluttershy, and keeping the beast she transformed into in check, I can't remember any other time when I'd felt so much pressure on my shoulders.
Discord. Queen Chrysalis. King Sombra. I would rather take any of those three – Hell, all of them together – than face this. At least with my friends by my side, I'm confident that we'll always prevail.
“Do you have something?” I ask, hope making my voice crack. “I feel like we've tried everything at this point.” I know it's a rather petulant thing to say; if we really had tried everything, we would've found a solution. No problem is truly inextricable.
Understanding what had gone wrong was the first step to finding a cure; the fruit bat influence had been removed from Fluttershy's body, but the vampiric half was still lodged in there somewhere, in the deepest recesses of her soul. It slept there until nightfall; some quirk of sunset triggered the metamorphoses, although we don't know if it's the light, some kind of cosmic radiation, or if the beast simply prefers the dark. Whatever the reason, it was proving nigh-impossible to shift.
I don't want to think of it as an entity in its own right; it makes thing easier if I consider it nothing more than a parasite, feeding off the body of my friend, but it seems too … perspicacious to be just a mindless, rampaging demon. It knows we're trying to kill it; it fights back when we use magic, it spits out or potions, it laughs every time we fail to end it.
When this is all over – if it's ever over – the laugh is what I'm going to be hearing in my nightmares for the rest of my life. The ugly, grating howl of a beast celebrating its victory. Even now, in the safety and warmth of Zecora's hut, I'm shaking as I recall the creature being mere inches from my snout and cackling ruthlessly.
It was with a profound sense of uneasiness that Zecora spoke, “There is one other method that could see an end to this sad venture, but it entails great risk, and you may end up as the demon's thirst-quencher.”
“That's all I am to it at the moment,” I say in an annoyed tone, indicating the myriad wounds I've picked up over the weeks. The fact that the shaman hadn't brought it up before now, though, was sparking off some doubts in my mind; it was easy enough to guess that it was something terribly drastic, given that we'd exhausted all other options ages ago. Guess she finally gets just how close to the edge we are. “The others, too. What's your idea?”
“The vampiric influence is a magical infection of sorts, therefore it stands to reason that it would be capable of resisting magical intervention,” Zecora explained. “In order to draw it out of sweet Fluttershy and restore her to normal, we may have to do something that will cause you some perturbation.”
I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat, knowing instantly what the witch doctor's words were implying.
“If we keep it starved, close to death,” Zecora went on, her voice turning dark with a hint of menace, “then we may be able to trap the monster on its last breath.”
Yup. Drastic. It was certainly that. If we got this even a little bit wrong, we would kill Fluttershy as certainly as we would kill the monster residing within her. And if it was a magical infection, then it would be free to seek out another host. Even if we succeeded in this … “How do we trap it? How do we stop another pony getting infected when its forced from her body?”
“With some effort, a soul container I can create,” the zebra replied, looking reluctant, “caught within its walls, the monster's curse will soon abate.”
“I take it making a soul container is, um, problematic?” I ask with a frown.
“Yes.”
That brought me up short. I'm so used to Zecora's rhyming couplets that her abandoning of that convention has brought me out in a cold sweat. “What does it require? Whatever it is, I'll make sure that you get it.”
“A piece of a willing pony's soul must be sacrificed to create the vessel,” expounds the witch doctor gravely, “to serve as a catalyst that will capture the devil.”
“You can have mine,” I say without hesitation. This whole sad catastrophe was my fault, and it's only fitting that I be the one to put it to rights.
“Be warned, Twilight Sparkle, this procedure will leave you … lessened,” advises Zecora, her look is ominous. “Your magic, even your life, might be relinquished.”
“But this will save Fluttershy?” I insist, ignoring the fact that the words didn't quite rhyme.
Despite her mind consisting of nothing but sugar, confetti and sickening positivity, the pink one with the mane of bubblegum was proving to be a surprising challenge. Her tenacity, her strength, would've put even the orange farm pony to shame; no matter how much the creature struggled to escape, the bindings around its waist held firm, its wings pinioned tightly by its sides. It wished so desperately to break free, to feed on the rich, tasty blood flowing through the hard-working ponies around it, to soar once more into the beautiful night. It had but two yearnings in life: to flee and to satiate its hunger. Its mouth began to involuntarily water at the prospect of draining the two ponies holding it dry.
The pink one's companion, a creamy-white unicorn with a dishevelled amethyst mane, was bearing up less well; while she clung to an appearance of courage, it was obvious – especially when one was skilled at seeing past the façade directly into the very depths of the soul – that she was frightened out of her mind and just wanted to be as far away from this ordeal as possible. She was tired, weak, and whatever reserves she might have possessed were drained by being the designated victim of the evening.
With the pretence of settling into a more comfortable position, the creature infesting Fluttershy's body allowed itself it to go limp, practically sprawling out across the soft carpeted floor.
“Is she … is it,” the unicorn quickly corrected herself, remembering their unspoken agreement, “giving up?”
“I don't think so,” replied the pink earth pony cautiously, making sure her hold on the creature's restraints didn't slacken in the least.
It had been worth the attempt, but the pink one wasn't stupid, in spite of the fact that she liked to play the fool. It had been given much less to work with tonight; the squeamishness of the unicorn had meant that she'd backed away before the creature could even take a sliver of what it needed, but it would do … for now. Tonight would be the final night it spent in custody.
For the creature to escape, it would need to act docile, beaten, and lull them into a false sense of security; the pink earth pony had great vitality – it could only imagine what it would be like to feast upon her – but as the evening wore on, she would tire, she would make a mistake. With the alabaster unicorn already close to her breaking point, liberation was now only a matter of when not if. Neither of them had expected things to drag on for so long.
If nothing else, the beast inside Fluttershy had to admire their faith, misplaced as it was. They had thought that their dear princess would find a solution, as she always did. They thought that she could bring back the timorous wretch whose body it had corrupted so thoroughly.
An interminable waiting game was developing: the beast continued to act defeated, keeping its body as free of tension and its face as relaxed as was possible for it, while idly scratching at the carpet to relieve its boredom. The mousy presence in the back of its mind was aghast at the damage, but as she was no more than a mute spectator, there was little she could do except complain mentally.
The two ponies it was contained by were alarmed by the cruel smirk suddenly playing across its features, and it felt the reigns tighten. Oh, yes, she was aware. Every moment was indelibly scribed across her fragile psyche. She allowed her friends the small comfort of believing that, when the dawn came, she had no memories of the previous night, but it was all a lie to protect them … and herself. If they knew, they would reject her, treat her differently, and she didn't want to lose the only people who loved something as worthless as herself.
Fluttershy wept, just wanting the nightmare to be over with. She wanted to die if it meant her friends would be released from their suffering.
Finally! The rope slackened. The pink one had faltered, loosing her grip on the binds just for a moment while she yawned, and the white unicorn was nodding off into her hoof. With a ferocity that it had been saving up for a long time, the beast moved.
Wings with razor-sharp dactyls scythed through the rope as if it was made of gossamer. The two ponies tried in vain to recapture it, or at least keep it shepherded into the cottage, but there was no way to bottle this much untempered fury once it had been unleashed. It wished it consume them, but something was urging it out into the night; the desire to spread its wings, to cut through the cool night air, was the greater of the two cravings at the moment.
It had spent so much time here in pain, hungry and weak, and it wished to see the back of it. It wanted to feel the wind caressing its body like a lover once more.
With pure, unbridled hate fuelling it, it pushed its way passed the earth pony and her unicorn companion, crashing through the front door and sending shards of wood in every direction. It ascended, letting moonlight play across every inch of its pale yellow coat. Its expression was one of pure, orgasmic bliss.
“What do we do now?” asked Rarity, watching the bat take flight, feeling more helpless and miserable than she'd ever had before.
“Only one thing we can do,” Pinkie Pie said, no trace of her usual bubbly optimism in her voice. It had long since been burnt out. Her eyes went soft and watery as she watched the creature stalk toward the heart of Ponyville. “Hope that Twilight has a plan to save Fluttershy … before somepony gets hurt.”
Neither of them wanted to contemplate the unthinkable: that it might be Fluttershy herself who got hurt.
*
With her goodbye to Zecora said and a solid plan in hoof, Twilight Sparkle felt something akin to relief course through her body; it was the first such positive feeling she'd experienced in weeks, and she was almost bounding back to Ponyville so that she could inform her friends as soon as possible.
It wasn't to last, however; once she got within sight of the village, gloom took up its customary position in her heart once more. Ponies were dashing frantically in every direction, screaming and hollering in terror.
A stallion, clutching a young filly to his chest, brushed passed her. She put a restraining foreleg on his withers and asked, “What's happening?” Somehow, she already knew the answer. It was too much to hope that this was just a coincidence, and that an entirely different threat had revealed itself, after all.
“Some kind of monster is attacking,” the stallion said breathlessly. “It broke out of Fluttershy's cottage about a half hour ago.” There was terror in his eyes; not just for himself, but for the frightened yearling sobbing in his arms.
“Has anypony been hurt?” the alicorn princess asked, not really wanting to know the answer. Her litany of failure would be complete if somepony was killed or injured.
“I'm not sure. I've been trying to get my daughter to safety.” There was a note of pleading in his voice, and Twilight released him from her grasp and he took off as quickly as he could.
“Twilight, you have no idea how happy I am to see you!” That was Rarity, approaching her with Pinkie Pie in tow. In contrast to her usual mien of immaculate perfection, she was looking ragged and battered. “Did you …?”
“Find a solution?” Twilight finished, her eyes meeting those of the unicorn. “Yes, I did. What happened here?”
Rarity bit her lip. “I'm so sorry,” she said, a strangled half-sob escaping her throat. “I just … I just looked away for a moment, that was all!”
“It was my fault,” interjected Pinkie, not willing to let Rarity shoulder the blame for the creature's escape. “I let go of the rope.”
“It doesn't matter,” said Twilight, holding up a hoof to cut the argument dead. A single moment of carelessness had allowed the monster its freedom. It scarcely mattered who was responsible. “Right now, we have to recapture Fluttershy before she hurts anypony.”
Pinkie Pie hissed angrily.
“What?” the stressed alicorn demanded.
“You called it Fluttershy.”
Twilight sighed, remembering their agreement. When the bat took Fluttershy over, they had taken to referring to it as a monster or beast. It was a psychological thing: they wanted to distance the heinous acts of the parasite from the body it had co-opted. “Sorry,” she muttered lamely.
“We have more important things to worry about than what we call the damn thing,” Rarity stated tersely.
The trio met up with Applejack and Rainbow Dash, and together they began a methodical search of the town; Rainbow took to the skies, but even with her heightened senses on full alert, she wasn't having much luck. While the thing was fast, it was also unimaginably stealthy. It was too quiet.
Suddenly, an agonised scream cut through the silence.
“That came from Sweet Apple Acres!” cried Applejack, and she bolted away from her friends. At top speed, even Rainbow Dash would have had trouble matching her.
“Wait!” Twilight Sparkle shouted to the fast-disappearing earth pony, but to no avail. Can't say I blame her, though. Her entire family are in danger.
When they reached the farm, neither Applejack nor the creature were anywhere to be seen; in fact, Sweet Apple Acres was eerily still. There would normally be critters padding around underfoot, but they seemed to have scampered off. Rainbow Dash and Pinkie went in the direction of the barn, while Twilight and Rarity approached the house proper.
“Applejack?” Rarity stage-whispered into the darkness, earning an eye-roll from Twilight as they tip-toed nervously into the living room.
“Up here,” the farm pony replied, her voice muffled by the intervening ceiling. Even despite that, Twilight and Rarity heard the curiously emotionless tinge. “It's gone.”
“How can you be so sure?” asked Twilight, heading toward the staircase.
“Because it already got what it needed.”
They found Applejack in Big Mac's room; even in the dim light, two puncture wounds were visible in his neck. He was blanched and shivering. “Took him right to the limit,” Applejack said with barely suppressed anger, “but it didn't kill him. Why?”
“It's still recovering, still getting used to feeding as much as it wants. It was probably too weak to take everything,” explained Twilight.
“Apple Bloom?” asked Rarity.
“She's fine, thankfully.” Applejack laughed bitterly. “It must've missed her. Or it didn't need to bother with her after almost killing my brother.”
Crossing to the window, Twilight looked out over the orchard. “Why here?”
“Huh?”
“Sweet Apple Acres is on the opposite side of Ponyville from Fluttershy's cottage. Why travel all that way when it could've attacked anypony in town?” the alicorn wondered. “Instead, it came straight here.”
“Darling, is it really that important?” challenged Rarity, apprehensive over the fact that Twilight Sparkle was seemingly so indifferent to Big Mac's suffering.
“Everything is important.”
“We couldn't find it,” Rainbow Dash said, hovering outside the window and looking in. She caught sight of Big Mac and placed a hoof over her mouth in shock. “Is he …?”
“He'll be fine, eventually,” said Twilight in response. “Somepony needs to stay with him and call a doctor.”
“I'll do it,” said Rarity. Off Applejack's look, she elaborated, “They'll need your help far more than they'll need mine.”
Twilight nodded at her, then said, “The rest of us need to search the grounds. The creature is still around here somewhere.”
“You know that for a fact, sugarcube?” asked Applejack with narrowed eyes.
“Not for a fact, no, but … it was created here. I think it's rooted here, for want of a better word, which is why it was in such a hurry to get back when it could've gone anywhere else in Equestria,” Twilight said. “It may consider Sweet Apple Acres to be its habitat, and bats are very difficult to shift once they take up residence somewhere.”
*
Back to where it all started. The creature's nostrils flared as it inhaled the sugary-sweet scent of ripened apples; a lingering remnant of its previous existence, before the interference of the alicorn princess' magic had so drastically altered its nature, caused it to flutter close to the trees in order to imbibe more of the tart aroma.
It was almost, but not quite, as intoxicating as the stallion's blood had been. It would have to return and finish him off when it regained its former might.
“There!” shouted Applejack, barrelling out of the house and pointing her hoof at a fast-moving blur. “It's heading into the orchard.”
“Slow down!” Twilight called. They were having difficult keeping up with the farm pony; no one knew what was she was thinking, and they feared that her anger at what had happened to Big Mac – to say nothing of what could have happened to Apple Bloom if they had been a bit later – might be clouding her judgement. It was entirely possible that she would forget that the beast was inhabiting Fluttershy's body and she would choose to fight it rather than trying to subdue the monster. “We need to work together.”
No answer. Applejack was no longer visible either; the darkness, the thickness of the trees and their foreboding branches, meant that clarity was at a premium. Twilight Sparkle illuminated her horn and Pinkie Pie found a flashlight in the unruly briar that was her mane. “Rainbow Dash, up high,” the alicorn said to the pegasus. “Make sure it has nowhere to go.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Rainbow Dash with a mock salute. She zoomed above the treetops, keeping her eyes peeled for even the slightest sign of the beast; it may have been fast, but there was no way it was going to outrun her. The prismatic pegasus wanted her friend back too damn badly to let it get away.
Twilight Sparkle and Pinkie Pie were afraid, but doing their best not to show it as they proceeded into the thicket; despite the glow of her horn, the shadows continued to encroach up on them. After a few minutes of slow wandering, they caught up with Applejack. Despite her exertions, she wasn't even breathing hard.
“Did you see where it went?” asked Twilight.
“I lost it. I think ...” The earth pony never got a chance to finish as a black, twisted shape dived toward them; they scattered before it connected, and the creature shot upwards, snarling something guttural at them before it disappeared into the cover of the trees.
“Rainbow Dash!” Twilight shouted. “It's heading your way!” She prepared her own wings for take-off, even though she wasn't a natural flyer the way the pegasus was. This mess was her fault and she was determined to be the one who brought it to an end.
“I got it!” Rainbow replied, accelerating to her top speed in pursuit of the bat. She fancied that she was close enough to touch its tail; urging herself forward, Rainbow Dash reached out to make a grab at it. It was as long as Fluttershy's, but the strands were spikier and sharper-edged, and the needle-thin locks were whetted enough to draw blood from Rainbow's hooves. That was both a good and bad thing, as it turned out.
Catching a whiff of Rainbow Dash's cruor, the bat brought itself to a stop and turned. It began to hare toward the pegasus, its mad dash for safety forgotten; its fangs were at the ready, and Rainbow Dash steeled herself for what was to come.
The expected bite never arrived and Rainbow Dash slowly opened one eye. Surrounded by a magenta aura, the creature thrashed futilely, not understanding what had happened to it. “Good timing,” the pegasus said to the alicorn. “Now what?”
“Now,” Twilight said, the strain showing on her face, “we get it somewhere out of sight while I prepare Zecora's remedy.”
“No!” a booming voice cutting into the darkness said. “Now you turn her over to me.”
“Princess Celestia!” Twilight said, her mouth agape. She supposed she oughtn't to have been that surprised that someone had gotten around to telling her what had happened in Ponyville earlier. If her expression was anything to go by, she wasn't happy. “We have the cure.”
“You have nothing but hope in a bottle, Twilight,” replied Celestia, floating over to the prone bat and gazing at it sadly. So little of gentle Fluttershy remained in its loathsome visage. She pressed her horn against its head and it disappeared in a blinding flash of white light.
“What have you done with her?” demanded Rainbow Dash, her irate face level with Celestia's.
“She has been transported to the dungeons of Canterlot Castle. I never thought I'd ever have to use them again, especially not for something like this.” The princess shook her head. “We shall proceed there immediately and attempt to rectify this situation properly.” She couldn't look at Twilight as she spoke her next words. “You should have come to me in the first place.”
“But you feared my anger,” the princess finished for her former student, her tone one of supreme disappointment. “You feared that I would reprimand you for your mistake. You let this spiral out of control, you placed the lives of your friends at risk every night, because … you didn't want to upset me.”
Twilight's shame-faced look said it all. She knew that she should've gone straight to Princess Celestia and Luna as soon as the bat-curse had returned, but … but she'd thought that she could handle it herself.
“She didn't force us to do anything,” Rainbow Dash snapped tiredly.
“Yeah,” chimed-in Pinkie Pie. “We helped her because we wanted to keep our friend safe until Twilight found a cure. And she has.”
“Maybe,” said Celestia, unmoved by Twilight's friends' loyalty. “Come. We shall discuss it further at the castle.”
Twilight Sparkle looked into the soft cyan eyes of Fluttershy and said, “You know, I'd almost forgotten what you looked like.” The statement was intended to be humorous, but neither one of them felt like laughing at the moment, and the alicorn looked away, her gaze falling on the decrepit walls of the dungeon, embarrassed by her attempt at lightening the mood.
According to Princess Celestia, this particular part of the castle had gone unused in centuries; crime was almost unheard of in Equestria as a whole, never mind in Canterlot itself, so the cells were mostly a relic of a time when friendship and harmony didn't hold much sway over the populace. They certainly smelled that way. Crumbling pillars, rusty gates, flaming torches instead of the lanterns found throughout the rest of the palace.
The torchlight just about illuminated the pale, waxen form of Fluttershy; she was resting against a cot set back against the opposite end of her particular cage, somehow managing not to show the terror that she felt. The sheets on the bed were woven from some coarse fabric which irritated her skin, but it was a better place for weary haunches to rest than the floor; damp and stinking, with something that looked suspiciously like lichen sprouting from the cracks in the ancient tiles. The pegasus opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged.
“What is it?” asked Twilight, moving closer to the cell, hoping that she could encourage her friend to say what was on her mind.
“I ...” Fluttershy trailed off, barely suppressing a sigh. Her eyes were moist, and her muzzle was trembling slightly – as was her entire body – as she fought to hold back the tears. “I don't even know what to say right now.”
“Why didn't you tell us?”
“I was afraid.” It was such a common feeling for the timid pegasus that it was almost second-nature to her to hold back. “I didn't know what was happening, not right away, but as time wore on, I began to remember more from each night.” Memories came unbidden to her; each and every one of her friends putting their lives on the line, letting her – no, it, the monster – take what it needed to survive. “It comforted you and the others to believe that I was unaware of what was happening, so I played along to protect you all.”
“And yourself.” It wasn't a question.
“Yes,” admitted Fluttershy with a slight smile. “If you'd known the truth right away, you'd have begun treating me differently. I wasn't … I mean, I knew that you were following me during the day, but I tried not to let on.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, recalling how they had taken it in turns to monitor her, ensuring that nothing untoward happened while she was out and about. “I needed that semblance of normality as much as you did. I would've gone crazy otherwise.”
“No one blames you.”
Fluttershy's luxurious pink mane fell over her face, hiding its fragile appearance from Twilight. She spoke quietly, softly enough that the alicorn had to prick her ears up in order to hear clearly. “It doesn't matter whether it was me or not. This thing inside me used my body to get what it wanted.” She hesitated, tugging gently on her bottom lip with her teeth. “Big Mac?”
“He'll be fine,” Twilight assured her gently. “All of us will be fine. As will you, once we get rid of this parasite.”
Fluttershy understood some of what Twilight Sparkle had planned to defeat the bat infection. Blue eyes met purple as the pegasus walked toward the gate separating her from the friend who had done so much to protect her. Not just in the present, but so many times before. “I don't want you to make any more sacrifices for me, Twilight. Just … end it.”
“I'm going to,” replied Twilight, confused as to what Fluttershy was implying.
“That's not what I meant,” the normally-gentle pegasus snapped, an edge of frustration creeping into her voice. “This idea of yours is a long-shot at best. It could kill you. I don't want you hurting yourself further on my account.”
“It isn't your decision,” Twilight said simply. “What happened to you was my fault, and that makes it my responsibility to fix it.”
“Even at the cost of your own life?”
“Yes.”
*
Princess Celestia had gathered Twilight and her friends in the grand dining room of the castle; it was normally reserved for state occasions and the like, but today, it was playing host to four very tired, very hungry, ponies who hadn't a decent meal or a proper night's sleep in many moons.
The only absentee was Applejack, who had returned to Ponyville in order to be with her brother as he recovered from Fluttershy's attack; while his wounds were grave, he was in a stable condition at the hospital, though it would likely be some time before he was back on his hooves. Twilight had implored the farm pony to stay, citing Fluttershy's importance to all of them, but Applejack's response had been rather bitter, almost chilling:
“Honestly, Twilight … I know she can't be held responsible for her actions, but out of all the ponies in town, she went STRAIGHT for my brother. Even if you do safely bring her back, I'm not sure how to feel about that.”
Twilight struggled to see the earth pony's point of view; the bat was a creature of instinct, and its instincts had drawn it back to the place of its creation. Big Mac was an unfortunate victim of happenstance; being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it very easily could've been Apple Bloom had the bat chosen to go left instead of right when it raided the house for food. Applejack, in her anger, was looking for some deeper reason that wasn't there, and it was bothering the alicorn that she would feel that way.
“Don't worry, darling,” Rarity said, putting a comforting foreleg around Twilight's withers. “She's very upset at the moment. I'm sure that once Applejack has the chance to cool down, she'll realise that she's being unreasonable.”
“Oh, I don't doubt it,” Twilight replied, exhaling sharply. She leaned into Rarity's embrace, enjoying the warmth and almost drawing strength from it. “But if the bat escapes again, we might need her.”
“The cell seems pretty secure,” said Rainbow Dash. She had been gleefully and gratefully taking advantage of Celestia's hospitality; chowing down on the finest cuisine Canterlot had to offer, and not minding one bit about the huge mess she was going to leave for the cleaning staff in the morning.
After months of hard work and stress, all of them were finding it unusual – though definitely welcome – to be able to rest, relax and eat as much as they wanted. Rarity had been nibbling on some black grapes, while Pinkie Pie had been scoffing down sweet pastries as if they were the last such delicacies in existence. Twilight had taken a bite here and there, but she had felt bad about enjoying such gluttony while Fluttershy was trapped down below.
Celestia had refused her request to allow the pegasus to join them. “She doesn't transform until sunset,” she had told the Sun Princess, “there's no threat to us or anyone else from her during the day.”
“I'm aware of that,” Celestia had replied coolly, “but if there's even the slightest risk of it escaping and raising Tartarus in Canterlot, I'd rather keep it confined until we have a workable plan.” The princess was still unconvinced that Zecora's soul jar idea had any merit.
“Your Majesty,” a harried-looking guard said, stepping into the dining hall. He was flanked by another guard, while a figure in a dark brown cloak stood between them. “This zebra claims to be a friend of Princess Twilight Sparkle. She is carrying something about her person, but she refused to consent to a search. Normally, we'd have turned her away, but since she knew that the princess was going to be here ...”
“That's quite all right,” said Celestia, cutting off the guard's blather. “We've been awaiting our zebra friend, and the item which she carries.”
“Very well,” said the guard with a curt nod. They both smoothly exited.
“You have it?” Twilight breathed, hope surging through her for the first time in months.
It was rather … unimpressive, to say the least. Zecora reached into her cloak and retrieved a small glass jar with a simple metal lid. It looked like the sort of bottle that Pinkie Pie would keep gumball candy in.
“That's it?”
“Do not be fooled by its simple looks,” Zecora said. “Used properly, the creature will not be able to escape its many nooks.”
“How does it work?” asked Celestia, peering through the jar and feeling more than ever that Twilight's faith in the zebra herbalist was misplaced. She didn't doubt her skill when it came to mixing potions, but dealing with magical infections was a whole other order of sorcery.
“To activate the jar's containing magic, a willing donor must impart a small amount of their own life-force,” explained Zecora, looking into Twilight's eyes. “From there, one must then breach the creature's defences and purify the source.”
Twilight looked at the zebra, perplexed. “I don't know what that means.”
“It means,” Celestia said, cutting-in sharply before the herbalist had a chance to offer any more of her headache-inducing rhymes, “that you'll have to enter Fluttershy's mind and attempt to draw the parasite out. Psychic warfare, essentially.”
“Be warned, Twilight Sparkle,” Zecora said, her voice turning black as pitch, “for every moment that you spend in fight, more time will be lost under the jar's blight.”
“Huh?”
“The longer that you're engaged with the bat in Fluttershy,” the princess translated, “the more life-force the jar will drain from you.”
“How long will I have?” Twilight wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.
“No more than twenty minutes, I would think,” replied Celestia. She hadn't seen such magic used in a long time due to the dangers involved, but the bat infection had resisted all other attempts at a cure. “Any longer and you'll most likely burn yourself out.”
Rainbow Dash, Rarity and Pinkie Pie approached her. The cyan pegasus was the first to speak. “Twilight, you don't have to do this.” She wanted Fluttershy back more than anypony, but she didn't want to lose another of her friends in order to do it. “We'll find some other way.”
“I agree with Rainbow Dash,” chimed-in Rarity. “There has to be another option. One that doesn't involve sacrificing yourself.”
“We'll be with you,” said Pinkie. “No matter what you decide.”
Twilight Sparkle was on the verge of tears. Nopony could've asked for better, more loyal, more caring, more generous, more amazing friends. She pulled the group into a hug. “This is all that we have,” she said to them. “Let's go get Fluttershy back.”
*
Twilight Sparkle hadn't ever had much call to enter Princess Celestia's private bedchamber; once or twice, she had snuck in as a filly to see what it looked liked. She dryly noted that the room hadn't changed much over the years. She idly wondered if it had changed at all in the centuries since she'd moved from her original castle in the Everfree Forest at all.
It was impolite of her to barge in the way she did, but the alicorn didn't have much time to dither. The hour was fast approaching when it would be time for the Sun Princess to lower that orb which she controlled, and for her sister to correspondingly raise the moon in its place; Twilight hoped that tonight would be the last night of Fluttershy's curse, but either way, she had rapidly come to the conclusion that it could be her own last night. “Good evening, Princess Celestia,” she said, affecting a formal bow that she hadn't had much call for since her own elevation.
“Princess Twilight,” Celestia said quietly, having difficulty even looking at her former student. “What can I do for you?”
The faint traces of anger colouring her eyes were bad enough, but much worse, to Twilight, was the sense of disappointment she radiated. “I came to apologise to you.”
“What's done is done,” said the princess, waving a dismissive hoof. “You have your own choices to make, and whether I agree with them or not is immaterial.”
“No, you were right,” stated Twilight strenuously, her voice cracking just a bit under Celestia's displeasure. “I should have known that I could trust you, even with this. I should have let you know right from the beginning what had happened, but … I was blinded by my own arrogance. I was so confident that I could resolve things by myself.” She lowered her eyes to the polished marble floor, seeing her own sad gaze reflected back. “But more than that, I was afraid.”
“What were you afraid of? That I would punish you for your failure?”
“No, well, yes,” admitted Twilight sheepishly, realising how ridiculous it sounded to worry about something so banal when her friend's life was hanging in the balance. Her head felt as if it were an overinflated balloon, ready to pop. She had to say this, she had to get it all out, even if it was only going to make Celestia hate her more. “Forgive me for saying this, but you once sent your own sister to the moon when she became a threat to you and to all of ponykind. I couldn't take the chance that you would see Fluttershy as a similar danger.”
Princess Celestia almost recoiled physically, such was the sting of the words. What she had done to her sister was a burden of guilt that sat daily upon her withers, and to have it thrown back in her face in this manner caused a rage to build within her. She took a deep breath and turned to the stained glass window, depicting some obscure facet of history long-forgotten by most. Even herself. “I can forgive your arrogance, even your lack of faith in me, but I can't forgive your reasoning.” She finally looked at Twilight, her eyes red with tears. “What I did to Luna was terrible, and it pains me to believe that you think I am capable of taking such action so lightly.”
“I didn't mean to imply ...” Twilight shut up, realising that, once again, she had royally screwed things up. “I was hoping that we could put things right between us before I went to face the bat. Just in case I'm not capable of saving Fluttershy.”
“You are not immortal, neither are you all-powerful, Twilight Sparkle,” said Celestia, “but I have no doubt that you will triumph through sheer force of will. Not even the bat can stand up to the strength of the friendship which flows through your heart.” She affected a smile. “Your actions prove that, heedless though you may be at times, you act only with the best of intentions.”
A tinge of crimson coloured Twilight Sparkle's cheeks.
Celestia was not slow in noticing. “You feel something more than friendship for Fluttershy?” She didn't sound surprised, simply … curious.
Before Twilight could answer, there was a knock at the door. Luna stood pensively. “It is time, my sister.”
*
The butterflies in Twilight Sparkle's stomach refused to settle, no matter how many deep breaths she took. Her hooves were sweaty, and a clammy chill shot through her spine. Rainbow Dash and the others had offered to join her in the dungeon, but she'd refused them; there was very little that they would be able to do to help, and she wanted them to finally get a good night's rest. The events of the last few months would've strained even the hardiest of ponies to breaking point, and they'd more than earned a respite.
That said, Twilight very much doubted that any of them were actually slumbering; the physical and emotional wounds they had suffered would be weighing on their minds, but more than that, they couldn't rest until this came to an end. However it would finally play itself out.
Under Celestia's guidance, the sun would soon set, and the moon would rise to take its place in the skies above Equestria; for whatever reason – black-body radiation, the wavelength of light it emitted, or even just thousands of years of pre-programmed instinct – it was the chalky bauble which triggered Fluttershy's infection, bringing forth the beast within. At least, that was Twilight's working theory.
Maybe the bat just really enjoyed the night-time? Maybe I can ask it once I'm in there? she thought with a rueful smile. It tugged at her, the sense of incompleteness; she wanted to understand the creature, to learn from it, but it was much too dangerous. Better that it was defeated, banished to the soul jar, and left to rot somewhere a million miles from anypony.
“Twilight?” Fluttershy said, hearing the sound of approaching hoofsteps and sensing that it was the alicorn princess. “Twilight, if that's you, please don't do this. Don't kill yourself for me, I'm not worth it.”
“You're worth it to me,” replied Twilight, “and to many others. All of the ponies up there would trade their lives for yours in a heartbeat. But,” she added, “I'm the only one who is actually capable of doing it.”
Tears formed in the pegasus' eyes. She'd hurt them all so badly already, and now she was going to be responsible for the death of Twilight Sparkle. “I don't want this.”
Over the months that they had been keeping the bat imprisoned and fed, Twilight had given much thought to the price she'd willingly pay to end her friend's suffering; nothing seemed too high, even the cost of her own life – assuming that all other options had been exhausted and it was a last resort – so the alicorn was experiencing a curious moment of peace as she placed the jar in front of the heavy iron gate and unscrewed the lid. “This requires direct physical contact to work, so I'm gonna need you to get as close as you can to me.”
Oh, how I wish I was using those words in a different context.
“No.”
“Fluttershy, please ...”
“I. Said. No.”
Biting her lip to keep her temper in check, Twilight ignited her horn and telekinetically dragged the recalcitrant pegasus to her; she hated doing it, but she was being left with no other option, and the night was looming. Fluttershy's expression betrayed her own sense of righteous indignation, and Twilight's resolve weakened just a hair. “I'm so sorry, I really am, but I have to do this. I have to get this monster out of you.”
With maddening precision, Twilight manoeuvred Fluttershy until her head was practically lodged between the bars; there was just enough of a gap to keep her firmly lodged without hurting her, and the alicorn took the opportunity to caress her friend's cheek softly. So soft, so lovely. I'll see to it that you are free to be yourself again.
“Don't do this,” Fluttershy repeated, trying to worm her way out of Twilight's vice-like grip. Tears were streaming down her face, but she was powerless against the alicorn's magic. “You could have a long, long life helping other ponies, spreading friendship throughout Equestria. Don't throw that away. Not for me.”
The merest hint of a smile pulled at the corners of Twilight's muzzle. “What sort of princess would I be if I didn't use all of my power to help one of my subjects in their time of need?”
Twilight sensed the sun set. In a split-second, Fluttershy changed. It was an almighty effort to keep the beast in place – it had a strong resistance to magic, and given enough time, it would eventually break the hold she had on it – and to divert enough of her life-force into the soul jar, and the tension was evident on Twilight's sweat-soaked face.
“Let's see what's in there,” she growled hoarsely, looking into the baleful red eyes of the creature as her own blazed pure white.
