> Counterspell
>  by Sloppy Truth
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Counterspell
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was when she swung her hooves off the bed and onto the floor that Flurry Heart realised her dad was an idiot.

Last night he’d come into her room to tell her off. Why? Because she liked to light candles and cast protection spells before she went to bed. And she liked black. Lots and lots of black. She wore it all the time now because she looked so damn good in it. Her mum hated it. ‘You’re like me, Flurry, too colourful. Never wear black with colour. It makes the black look cheap and the colour look boring.’ But her dad was averse for the considerably dumber reason. He thought black was an omen of evil. She’d thought about it. He’d nearly married a changeling, and his wife’s empire had been ruled by King Sombra. So she guessed that for him two out of two was a long enough chain to trigger pattern recognition. 

‘Flurry,’ he had said, eyes wide with concern. ‘You aren’t becoming a “goth”, are you?’

Flurry didn’t really know what a goth was, but he’d spoken the word with so much fear that there’d been a mischievous impulse and she’d had to hide a smile. It was funny to see him so worked up about something so little. The truth was she loved the aesthetic. She liked a dark room lit only by candles, and she loved her new clothes. She was wearing black gutters, long black tights and thick, shiny black boots. Recently she’d added a studded choker. This was the first time she’d looked in a mirror and thought, ‘Wow. I really do look good.’ There was nothing more to it than that. But she hadn’t been about to tell her dad, not when he was practically begging to be messed with.

‘I am, Dad,’ she’d said with a blank expression.

‘Flurry!’ he’d said. ‘Do you even know what you’re getting yourself into?’ Flurry had shrugged. ‘Sitting for ages in a dark room, wearing these clothes – what’s happening to you? Why are you doing it?’

‘Lots of ponies dress like this because it’s a trend, Dad, but I’ve always wanted to do this,’ she’d replied, keeping her face and her voice deadpan. ‘I grew up with Mom forcing me to wear girly dresses. So I tried black to retaliate and realised how much I like it.’ And to maximise the effect, she’d turned away and closed her eyes, humming tunelessly, as though transported to another realm.

Shining Armor had stared as though his eyes were telling lies. ‘I don’t understand! I thought you liked your mother’s dresses! And what’s with all the makeup all of a sudden?’ Flurry had started wearing makeup too. Makeup was usually for mares who wanted to look younger and prettier, but she was using it for the simple reason that she’d needed finishing touches. Her mum had been right in a way. Her mane burst with so much colour that she’d needed a way to soften the contrast and bring the look together. Thick, black eyelashes, black lip gloss and some tasteful shadow had done the trick. But she’d been having so much fun that the next ridiculous lie had appeared effortlessly. 

‘Well, colts like big-filly goth princesses, don’t they?’ 

The effect on Shining Armor had been immediate. Horror had radiated from his face in waves of progressive desperation. ‘You haven’t been speaking to colts!’ he’d spluttered, eyes darting to hers, begging for reassurance. Flurry had swallowed a grin and fixed him with a look of indifference.

‘What’s it to you if I have?’ She’d felt a tiny bit bad because she knew he worried she was being taken advantage of. So she’d changed tack. ‘And I’m thinking of getting a tattoo as well.’ 

‘A tat—? No! No, no, no, no, no!’

‘A dagger, maybe, or a dragon. Not a sappy dragon like Spike,’ she’d added. ‘A big, strong, daddy-goth dragon. Like you but cooler – and a dragon, obviously.’ 

He’d started to clutch at his mane, eyes popping. Perhaps it had gone a tad too far, but she would come clean. ‘Why not enjoy it while I can?’ she’d thought. ‘By the way,’ she’d continued, nearly breaking character at the sight of her father’s deepening dread at what she might’ve said next, ‘it’s not “Flurry” anymore. It’s “Mira”.’

‘Wh-what?’

‘Call me “Mira” now.’

‘Mira? Why? What’s “Mira”?’ 

‘The demon inside me.’

‘What!’

‘Hell, yeah,’ she’d said, doing her utmost to prevent an accompanying snort of laughter. (‘Language!’ Cadance had shouted from the room upstairs.) ‘I get sleep paralysis because Mira comes to me at night and speaks to me.’ 

‘No! No!’

‘You think this is a phase or for attention, but it’s who I am. I don’t wear this stuff because I want attention. I wear it because I feel most comfortable in myself. And I’m probably going to start smoking too. Mira said I should.’ 

Shining Armor had nearly fallen over. That’s how weak his legs had grown. He’d shaken his head, dumbfounded, horror-struck, as though in the presence of the Equestrian Devil herself. He’d started to back out of the room. Then she’d thrown at him, ‘You’re trying to change who I am. You don’t understand,’ simply to undercut her giggling, but it had been the last straw, and he’d left and slammed the door. She’d fallen backward onto her bed and shaken with laughter. Then she’d sighed and read a little before turning in. 

Now that she’d woken up, she realised the joke had backfired. She was standing amid a sea of salt, strewn haphazardly across the floor, and the trail went well beyond her door. She followed it. The kitchen. The bathroom. The corridors. Down the stairs, even, and into the palace. She started to smile again. Even though her mum was going to kill her, it had been worth it. Her dad was so stupid that he couldn’t even spot a joke when it was deadpan in a choker and struggling not to laugh.

She found Shining Armor in the hallway, wide-eyed, scattering salt feverishly. Beside him stood a wheelbarrow of the stuff, bought in bulk and still in plastic bags. 

‘Dad!’ she called. He looked up and stumbled, shocked, horrified. 

‘Mira! I mean –’ He swallowed. ‘Flurry! I thought you were in bed!’

Flurry sighed, took off the choker, mucked up the makeup so that he could see it was her, walked over and planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘Dad,’ she said. ‘You missed a bit.’