Which was stronger? The searing hunger that tore and ripped at her stomach, or her own self control?
The answer seemed readily apparent to any observer who watched her jerky, anxious movements as she somehow managed to hobble down the empty street. Her eyes were crazed, twitching at the slightest sound and fluttering at the faintest scent. That sweet, seductive smell of young flesh, the hickory-smoke scent of corded muscles hard from years of labor, the heady waft of aged meat, ripe almost to rotting. How easy it would have been to gobble them up. With just a twitch of her new appendages still wet with birth she could have knocked down those flimsy locked doors, shattering the clouded windows those silly ponies managed to feel safe behind.
The observer would have been wrong. Perhaps they could console themselves thinking, 'Even as a monster, I'd never go about terrorizing villages, nosiree. Tis a silly hobby.' But how could anypony comment without ever having felt that nagging hunger? The seemingly unquenchable thirst that now assaulted her throat? The hole in her belly that threatened to tear her to pieces? Yes, the observer would be very wrong. Her will was iron clad, and she possessed self control that would be envied by the sagest of Camellayien monks. Even as she stalked down the street, warming the cobbles with her own unequine breaths, not a home was molested, not a shop was intruded upon.
When she sensed the arrival of six new ponies, her heart leapt into her sizable throat. They were young, from the smell of it, and female at that. She just knew the meat would melt in her mouth. Her body whined at her, demanding satisfaction. 'Nopony would miss them', Her mutinous stomach seemed to whisper. 'Nopony would miss ponies so stupid they don't hide from monsters.'
She almost agreed with herself, which was why she stopped stock still, waiting for the new arrivals to catch up with her. She turned towards them and they looked delicious, with every kind of meat you would ask for. Plump, lean, muscley, marbled. They stood arrayed in front of her like cakes in a sweet shop, each with a grim expression of varying severity on their faces. She dwarfed them all, even in their miniature herd. they'd probably not even put up a good fight. Ponies were soft, peace loving creatures, after all.
Her heart and body went to war inside her and she froze. She did nothing but watch as they approached, trying to talk to her? She couldn't tell, her ears had long since passed the threshold of uselessness. She took a shuddered breath, their scent filling her lungs. She wouldn't last at this rate, and neither would the foolish ponies. She tried to warn them, tell them to hide away and lock their doors, but all that came out was a low, hungry sounding groan.
In that way, her body was more honest than she was. The group of mares backed away, their faces set. One tried approaching her again but was stopped by her friends. They took another formation, and their necks began to glow, the crystals she had only just noticed shining like stars. A blast of rainbow as those stars' ascension came to a crashing crescendo, then the world was white and the pain of hunger was the tiniest pinprick compared to the searing judgement of Harmony. It tore into her skin, ripping at her hair, blinding her with pain and light. The sound of her screams were drowned out by the rainbow flood.
Then Love craft shot awake, trembling and covered in a cold sweat. She drew her covers around, her eyes flicking around her old bedroom. In the quiet of the night, it struck her that it hadn't changed at all from her childhood. Not the army of stuffed animals that guarded her hooves, not the muffled ticking of the clock downstairs, and not the soft glow of the moon as it shown its rays through her opened window.
She was home. Not on the streets, not drowning in Harmony, not feared by everypony she ever loved. She took a breath and smelled the old wood of her home, the scent of her shampoo, the slightly musty smell of her stuffed animals and nothing else. She stared at her hooves and coat. Not split onto razor hooks designed to rend flesh from bone. Not long and shaggy, covered in ichor and sweat. She was normal. She'd been fixed, cleansed. She drew her covers tighter, maybe to battle the chill making its way down the nape of her neck.
She was clean, the Elements had made sure of it.
So why, after a whole year, did she still not feel like it?
A new day affords new chances! Or so Love Craft tried to tell herself. Why shouldn't she believe it? Everypony she passed on her errands were friendly enough. The grocer packing her bags gave her a quick smile and an extra apple. The seamstress she picked up her saddlebags from was polite, only hesitating ever so slightly as she took the bits from Love Craft's hoof. Why, the Librarian even let her check out an extra book that day! Even if she felt just a little rushed out of the library. Even if the glances she felt as she walked by felt just a little suspicious.
It was all in her head, she'd convinced herself. They were just curious why a talented unicorn like herself would carry her basket in her mouth, or carry bits with her hooves. That's all, nothing more. She was sure of it.
A shrieking crowd of foals whisked past her, trying with all their might to make it to school before the bell. Most avoided her with practiced ease, these were, after all, those foals with a tendency to sleep in. But one was less skilled and ran head first into her legs, nearly bowling her over. She tried consoling herself with the fact that the child wasn't a unicorn even as a bruise started to form on her knee.
The foal's breath hitched in its throat, trapping the apology there. What was that look for? Did she have something on her face? She offered a hoof to help it up, but the foal scrabbled up and away, crying out for its friends to slow down. Love Craft watched it run off, a strange mix of emotions running the gamut through her heart. She shook her head. She didn't have time to wonder, she needed to get home in time for her appointment.
She kicked the door closed behind her as she entered her home. Well, her parent's home. Even after a year of searching it seemed that every apartment, house, or room to let was either already taken, waiting a safety inspection, or 'goodness me, I don't need the bits that badly.' (Never aloud of course, but she had better hearing than most ponies suspected.) She was lucky to have such understanding parents, she told herself. She didn't hold it against the local land lords though. After all, there wasn't anypony in Equestria who could afford the security deposit she'd warrant.
A glance at the clock told her she had just enough time to put on a kettle before the social worker came. She liked to think she'd gotten to know Field Work over the past year, that they could just chat over a cup of tea. That maybe they were friends? She didn't want to overstep her bounds though... The kettle whistled as a knock was heard on the door.
Love Craft turned down the stove and answered the door. Her parents were out of the house. The usually gave her privacy with her worker, telling her it gave them an excuse to go on a date. Love Craft thought it was sweet, if not a little suspicious. She greeted Field Work with a smile and ushered him into the living room. He was a solidly build blue Pegasus with the kind of jaw that gave him a perpetual frown. He kept his chestnut mane short and his mustache neatly clipped. He placed his hat on the coffee table along with a few folders he had brought in his wings.
Love Craft offered him a cup and he took it with an expression she couldn't read. He'd claimed that he enjoyed tea, but even the result of her best efforts after a year of practice was met with a stiff upper lip and furrowed brows. He finished the cup in a single draft. "Delicious." He said with a sigh, though Love Craft wasn't sure if she believed him. She sipped at her own cup, watching him with only the slightest tension as he looked through his files then turned his gaze on her.
His eyes were narrow from birth, she knew. Flat and fish like since his childhood, from too many comic books he claimed. Nothing to do at all with how he felt about her, though that didn't stop her from breaking out in a cold sweat. His eyes were accusatory in her sight, and she could think of no arguments or justifications to defend herself with.
"So," he began, breaking her from her quickly spiraling thoughts. "it's been about a month, 'asn't it? How've you been Love?" Ah, there it was. Probably the only reason he hadn't been fired from his position with such severe features. His voice was deep and strong, rolling over her like a bank of clouds in the hot desert sun. She relaxed her tense posture before answering.
"Great! I've been great! Everypony's still so kind to me, even after I, uh, well, you know. And I just know a room will open up soon, so I'll be on my then too! Life's been, um, great!" Field Work listened with a nod, pouring himself another cup as he did.
"I suppose that means you've found ya'self a job in that case, if you're so ready to move out of ya parent's flat?" He ended the sentence as a question, which struck Love Craft as unfair. What should have been a pleasant comment instead turned interrogative.
"Nnnnno, not yet," She tried to sound casual. "But I've been talking around town, and a few of the shop keepers look like they need a new hoof, so once they put up their signs I'll be the first through the door!" Field Work gave her a look over his third (Fourth?) Cup of tea, but didn't say anything.
"And what about the nightmares?" He asked far more casually than she'd been able to. She cursed herself. Why'd she ever brought up those dreadful dreams of hers? She'd only mentioned them once before, months back, but now he was hounding her about them every visit. He claimed it was a directive straight from Princess Luna, that he had to follow up on any matters pertaining to sleep and the activities thereof. Love Craft wasn't sure if she believed him, but she could hardly refuse to answer him.
"They're, uh, um..." Her mind was racing, trying to come up with an excuse to change the subject or a convincing enough lie, but she knew he'd pick up on any deceptions. His face didn't betray the fact, but she knew.
He didn't interject, didn't try to finish her sentence. She'd have had an easier time if he did, but something she'd learned about Field Work was that he wasn't interested in making things easy for her. The room had fallen into an awkward silence with Love Craft floundering for something to say that wouldn't spawn more uncomfortable questions and Field Work more than content to sip on his tea and wait for her attempt.
"They're... Okay. Not as vivid as they used to be."
"But still there?"
"...Yyyyes... Sometimes." All the time actually, sometimes as often as four times in a week. Field Work knew she was lying. Being a Pegasus didn't mean he was a feather-brain, even if some of the other guys at work thought so. Having a daughter of his own meant he could tell when a filly was hiding something. He emptied his cup and set it down next to empty pot before considering his words.
"First off, I want you to know I know yer lying." Love Craft knew that he knew she was lying, and Field Work knew that she knew that he knew she was lying, but neither pressed the issue. "Second off, if those night time bogeys are so bothersome, maybe you should see a real thera-"
"No! No, no it's not that bad! A few sleepless nights won't stop me from being a normal, functional member of society!"
Field Work sighed. "You do realize that according to regulations, I should have reported these nightmares to Princess Luna months, don't you? There comes a point where nightmares turn to nightterrors. It's a wonder her majesty hasn'a found your specters on her own!"
Love Craft stared guiltily at her hooves but offered no reply. Field Work's face softened, even if that essentially meant it went from granite to concrete. Then a thought occurred to him, something of a flash o' brilliance, if anypony had bothered to ask him. He rummaged though the pile of folders that sat on the coffee table before finding the pamphlet he'd been searching for.
"Here love, take a look at this." He said, offering her the brightly colored brochure. She turned it over in her hooves, looking at the almost childish drawing of a group of ponies, all different colors and races, smiling and holding hooves under an equally cheerful crescent moon, its long nose impaling a fluffy, optimistic looking cloud.
There wasn't much in the way of information in it, just the other half of the picture, a location, time, set of dates, and then finally the name of the anonymous(?) group.
"Kindred Spirits?"
