when one is sick, one goes to the forest to die

If the four kingdoms had a single thing in common, it was this: 

When a pony was sick or dying of a disease that could not be cured, they were to travel to the forest in the middle of the four territories alone to die. Good medical care was rare and expensive, and it was simply not worth risking everypony else.

So, young or old, noble or not, if you were sick and could not be cured, you had to go. 

This had been the way for as long as anypony alive remembered. 

Allegedly, a creature haunted the forest, and the walking dead were sent to it as an offering, a tribute to keep it away from the kingdoms. 

Nobody knew exactly what it was, but there were theories.  

The Northern Kingdom, ruled by King Coriander, swore it was a demon with yellow eyes and protruding fangs, with disfigured hands and nails as sharp as the winter was long. It eats you alive, they said, your blood-curdling screams music to its ears. 

The Southern Kingdom, ruled by Queen Saffron, said it was a ghost with a coat as pale as the moon and hollow eyes as black as the night. One look into the void, they said, and you would lose your mind at once, haunted by visions and nightmares so ghastly that the death brought on by your disease would be welcomed with open forelegs. 

The Eastern Kingdom, ruled by Queen Thyme, said it was a troll with green flesh that reeked of rotten eggs and decaying skin, peeling off with every thunderous step it took. If it caught you, they said, it would take you to its den underground where you would live and die its servant, toiling away until your disease finally took you, joining the dozens of skeletons of the unfortunate souls that came before. 

The Western Kingdom, ruled by King Violet, had no such theories. It was just a story, they said, meant to keep ponies safe from a mass grave in all but name, riddled with remnants of untold diseases. There were no monsters, they said, and ponies were sent away to keep everypony else safe, and nothing else. 

Out of all of King Violet’s guards, Twilight Sparkle was the best, unparalleled in every way, the pride and joy of his army. 

Though she was trained to be a soldier, as was tradition in her family, she was much more adept at being a tactician and diplomat, rivaling even the closest of the king’s advisors and eagerly providing a more grounded perspective, having been born not amongst the nobles but the common folk. 

The key to her success—though she would never call it that, for she felt she was simply doing her job and doing it well—was a very simple thing: her unwavering belief in doing the right thing, whatever that might be. 

While the other kingdoms were at constant war, squabbling and fighting amongst each other, it was largely because of her counsel that Violet’s kingdom was at peace. 

“You needn’t be a guard anymore,” the king had told her more than once. She could be a scholar, or purely an advisor, no need for any other title.

She always insisted she preferred to stay a soldier. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t enjoy the cushy life of the king’s many advisors, to be treated like a peer by nobles and the like, but the reality was that the people—the ones who mattered—did not respect scholars. To a farmer or a merchant, scholars were frumpy ponies who debated inane matters while the poorer folk struggled with their day-to-day. 

But a guard? A guard, they respected. Saw as somepony who did practical things, tangible things, working to keep everypony safe, to put their life in danger if it meant helping others. 

Like her beloved brother, when he fell sick and had to go to the forest. 

Dozens of doctors had tried to save Shining Armor to no avail. 

What ailed him had no cure; if it did, no medic alive knew of it. If it had been caught in time, maybe. If he had not been stubbornly refusing to get help for months, maybe, but now? Now was too late. 

“Twilight,” he’d said, his voice so raspy and weak she could barely make out her name. You don’t have to do this. 

She ignored him and her tears, adjusting the harness she’d use to pull a cart into the forest. He couldn’t even walk to the forest, and though she knew carts could be enchanted to take themselves, she couldn’t bear the idea of letting him die alone. 

Ponies had gathered at the forest’s border to see them off, a myriad of emotions warring within. Sadness at losing such an esteemed member of their community was the prevalent sensation, of course, but there was no small amount of envy, too. 

You see, nopony had ever been allowed to accompany somepony into the forest. For centuries, parents had sent their children to die alone, children had sent their parents to die alone, lovers had sent their hearts to die alone. Anypony who’d ever died within that forest had died alone. 

It was just because of who she was and what she’d done for the kingdom that she was allowed to go with him. 

She allowed herself to look back at him only when she was securely attached to the cart. He was lying still, the once strong and handsome stallion now a shriveled ghost of himself, surrounded by flowers and offerings townsfolk had piled onto the cart. Some were for him, but most were for loved ones who had died years before. 

If they hadn’t been allowed to go, she’d said, then she would bring them to their loved ones, one way or another. Childhood toys, letters never sent, any and everything they wanted the departed to have, she would get to them. 

Late in the evening, she started off towards the forest, muscles screaming as she pulled along three carts filled to the brim.

Leaves crunched underhoof as she made her way through the forest, the glow of her horn illuminating the way. 

She wasn’t sure where she was going, if she was going anywhere specific at all. She simply walked, winding through the trees and stopping every so often to clear mud from the wheels and check on her brother. 

His eyes were nearly always closed, the only signs of life being his shallow breaths and choking coughs. He tried to speak to her once or twice, but whatever words he said came out as strangled, pained whispers.

“It’s okay,” she’d quickly tell him, casting a spell to relieve some of his pain. They never seemed to work, but she cast them anyway. 

Her thoughts wandered as she walked. They were mostly about him, suffused in grief and despair, but sometimes they were about the forest and a curious thing she’d noted. Hundreds of ponies had died in this forest, she knew this for a fact, but she had yet to find a single sign of this. 

Not a single body, or skeleton, or anything. Animals, she thought, might have been the reason, but still. 

How could there be nothing? 

After what felt like hours of walking, of meandering thoughts and painful pulling, of searching for something, some place that felt right and had dirt soft enough to dig, she eventually stumbled upon a small moonlit clearing. 

A clearing she could not pull her carts through because it was full of scattered mounds of dirt. 

Again, her first instinct was to ascribe animal activity to the sight, but that didn’t feel right. Though they were scattered, they seemed to be following some sort of patterned order, and were far too neat to be the work of a wild creature. 

“I’ll be right back,” she called to her brother, not that he heard her. 

She unbuckled her harness, took a moment to stretch her back, and then trotted to one of the mounds, a shovel levitating alongside her. Careful as she could, she shoved the blade into the dirt and dug. She dug and dug, until her shovel hit something hard, and when she leaned down to check what it was, she stepped back in shock just as quickly. A skull. She’d hit a skull.

After the initial shock wore off, and with a private apology to the deceased, she continued to dig and soon enough found herself staring at a skeleton. A skeleton, she realized, that looked like it had been put to rest, their hooves crossed over their chest. 

They were buried? she thought, shocked. But. 

She lifted her gaze, her eyes scanning the mounds with increasing bewilderment at what seemed to be graves. Proper graves. 

But what? How? Who? Her thoughts ran wild until they stopped all at once when she looked back towards the carts, her blood running cold at the sight of a creature peering down at her brother. 

From a distance, shrouded in the darkness of the night, it looked like a pony. 

It walked on four legs, had a tail, and a horn, but as Twilight hurriedly closed the distance, the less ponylike it looked. Its long, indigo mane was tangled and messy, cascading down its face all the way to the ground. Its coat looked diseased, littered with crusty scabs and red boils and bald spots, all of them decorating its body like a nightmarish patchwork quilt. 

It was fast as well, for when Twilight jumped to attack it, her sword unsheathed, it jumped out of the way with almost eldritch ease. 

“Stay back!” Twilight snarled, standing between the creature and her brother, sword raised high, her voice trembling but only just. 

The creature stood several feet away, calmly observing her. It was only by looking at it from the front that Twilight recognized more ponylike features, such as a muzzle and piercing, unbothered sapphire eyes. 

“Take one more step,” Twilight threatened. 

The creature tilted its head to the side, its eyes glowed, and when it spoke, its voice was like sand. 

“Move,” it said, and though a primal fear gripped Twilight’s heart, she did no such thing. 

“No,” she replied. 

The creature blinked, and then smiled. 

“Oh, how interesting,” it said lightly. The smile then vanished, and the eyes glowed brighter. “Move.” 

To Twilight’s horror, her body obeyed against her will, stepping to the side just as her sword fell to the ground. She tried to say something, to yell or attack, but she couldn’t do either. Some force kept her in place, and she could do nothing but watch as the creature approached the cart again. 

The creature peered down at the unconscious Shining Armor momentarily before lifting its thin hoof and delicately brushing it against his cheek. 

“Poor dear,” it said, gently. “It’ll all be over soon.” 

And then it happened. 

To Twilight’s frozen, silent horror, the creature opened its mouth and leaned in towards the stallion’s neck, a pained gargle erupting from his mouth when it bit into his flesh. Stop, Twilight wanted to scream, tears rolling down her cheeks, stop, please, stop!

But the creature did not stop. It sank its teeth in for an eternal moment, Shining groaning beneath it, before eventually releasing him. When it stepped back, his blood was on its lips.

“There,” it said. “All better.” 

It must have been less than a minute. It must have been, in reality, just a few seconds that Twilight thought her brother had just been murdered before her, right up until the stallion let out a gasp and then.

And then tears burned at Twilight’s eyes when he spoke, his voice clearer than she’d heard it in weeks.

“The… The pain,” he said, still raspy, still sick, but clear enough Twilight could hear the shock she shared. He tried to lift his head. “Twilight?” 

Whatever force kept her grounded vanished, and Twilight was beside her brother at once, startled to see the hazy look in his eyes practically gone. 

“Twilight,” he said, his eyes full of tears.

“How?” Twilight gasped. “How is this—?” 

She looked back at the creature and was shocked to see that it looked somehow even more diseased, a fresh new bald spot decorating its cheek.  

“He’s still dying,” the creature said. “But it will be painless now.” It licked the blood off its lips and hummed. “Mm. I’d estimate about an hour, I think.” 

Twilight didn’t know what to say. What to think. 

“I will be back in a few hours,” the creature said, its eyes glowing anew. “You will be gone, or else you will join him.” 

That said, it turned around and walked off, disappearing into the forest. 

When Twilight Sparkle returned to the kingdom at dawn, pulling three empty carts and a heart light with a meaningful last conversation with a brother that died at peace and pain-free, she wished she’d thanked the creature. 

The king relieved Twilight of her duties for two weeks so she could grieve. 

The first week she spent in the library, tirelessly pouring through every book she could think of, trying to find some information on the creature. She read every book there was to be found on the occult, and the supernatural, and the otherwordly, looking for something that might help her understand what that thing was. A vampire seemed the closest match, but the creature had taken on Shining’s pain and disease, and no vampire Twilight knew of could do such a thing. 

She found nothing. 

The second week she spent sneaking into the forest, scouring it again and again, over and over, trying to find the creature, to interrogate, and examine it, and thank it, but she had no luck in that respect as well. 

She discovered only that the mementos she’d left in a neat pile at the edge of the clearing had been organized and placed atop their owners’ graves. 

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and Twilight eventually allowed her search to stop. She fell back into a routine, only thinking of the creature when she quietly ventured into the forest to visit her brother’s grave every now and then.  

Until a friend of hers fell sick. 

Fluttershy had always been frail for a pegasus, illness a constant shadow in her life, so it felt inevitable she would one day succumb to something—on this occasion, some disease she’d caught while traveling to a neighboring kingdom. 

The disease was known and, in fact, highly treatable if handled by a medic well-versed in that strain, but there were no such medics in their kingdom. A letter had been sent to bring one and would be there within a fortnight. 

But a fortnight, for one such as she, would not be enough time. 

The local doctor said that if the disease could be paused, then maybe she’d make it. But there was no such means, no medicine, spell, or concoction available. 

But, Twilight thought wildly, there was a creature.

They’d left in the middle of the night to avoid arousing suspicion. 

The forest was quiet save for Fluttershy’s coughing, the leaves crushing under the cart’s wheels, and Twilight’s desperate calls. 

“Help! Please! I know you can hear me!” she called out, tirelessly guiding the cart through the trees and towards what she hoped wouldn’t be her friend’s grave. 

“Tuh-Twilight?” Fluttershy called, clearly hating every second of being in the forest. “Who is here?”

“Please! Come out!” Twilight continued, heart hammering in her chest, and even more so when they reached the clearing, the graves illuminated under the moonlight. She untied herself and went to her friend, placing a comforting hoof on her shoulder. “You’ll be fine, Fluttershy. I promise. Somepony’s going to help you right now.” 

“But who?” Fluttershy asked, fear evident in her voice. “What’s happening?” 

Twilight ignored her, stepping away from the cart and further into the clearing. 

“My friend is sick,” she called out, “but there’s a doctor on the way, and—! And if you do what you did, if you can—take her disease away, or the pain, or—she might make it long enough for the doctor to arrive!” 

She waited a moment and then glanced towards the cart.

Nopony had arrived. So she continued. 

“You clearly care!” She gestured to the graves, to the objects thoughtfully placed atop them. “Please, you can help her!” 

Again, she looked to the cart, and again, only Fluttershy was there, shivering. 

Desperate, she reached into her saddlebags and pulled out a hefty bag full of silver coins—most of her life’s savings, which was worth little compared to her friend’s life. 

“I can pay you!” She levitated the bag into the air, tears brimming around her eyes. When again, nopony appeared, she fell to her haunches and buried her face in her hooves. “Please.”

“I’ll admit, I’m curious,” a raspy voice said, and Twilight’s eyes flew open. “What in the realms do you expect me to do with coins?” 

There, a few feet away from the cart, was the creature. 

Though, just as before, it looked sickly and plagued, Twilight felt a strange relief at noticing the bald spots that had appeared after Shining Armor’s encounter had healed over. It was still a shocking sight to behold, especially for poor Fluttershy, who took one look at the thing, screamed in terror, and fainted on the spot. 

The creature blinked at her. “Well, then.” 

“Please,” Twilight begged, stepping towards it. She noticed the creature eyeing her sword, which she quickly unsheathed and placed on the ground. “Can you help her?” 

“You really are interesting,” the creature said. “And foolish, for you seem to have mistaken me for a mare with a heart.” 

Twilight said nothing. She only made a mental note of the term the creature—pony?—had used for herself. 

The creature stepped towards Fluttershy and peered at her. “Oh, she is quite sick, isn’t she?” 

“But she’s not dying,” Twilight replied. “Not if you help her.” 

“Why should I?” 

“Because it’s what you do,” Twilight stammered. “Because it’s what’s right.” 

A cackling laugh filled the forest, grating at Twilight’s ears like nails on chalkboard. 

“What’s right? Oh, my dear, darling girl.” 

Twilight yelped, stumbling back on her haunches and seizing her weapon when the creature appeared before her, having moved at a speed that was dizzying to behold. The only thing keeping her at a distance was the sword now pointed her way. 

“Tsk,” the creature said, eyeing the blade. “All the same, aren’t you?” 

“No, wait,” Twilight begged, lowering the sword despite her every instinct yelling at her for it. She laid it down. “I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean to do that.” 

“But you did,” the creature replied. She hovered over Twilight, her fangs bared as she hissed, “And what would you know of what’s right? You and the rest of your ilk, sending your dead to die alone and afraid of the monster lurking in the dark.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “You think I don’t know of your stories?” 

“We don’t think of you a monster,” Twilight said. She gulped and added, “I don’t think you’re a monster.” 

The creature regarded her momentarily and then stalked off, back towards the cart. 

“You’d be the first.” 

Careful not to seem threatening, Twilight stood up, watching as the creature looked Fluttershy over.

“I’m only what I am because of you,” the creature said with a quiet finality. 

“Her name is Fluttershy.” 

The creature looked at her. “Excuse me?” 

“My friend. Her name is Fluttershy,” Twilight continued. “She’s a volunteer at a shelter, and—”

“I don’t care,” the creature interrupted. “Truly. About you or her. I will be having her regardless, and I don’t mind waiting a few weeks.” She tilted her head to the side. “Now, I will be gone for an hour, and when I come back, you will be go—”

“Help her,” Twilight interrupted, “and I won’t ever come back. Please, just—I’m only asking for one life. Please. One life. You only have to save one.” 

Eternity seemed to pass before the creature hissed. 

“Fine, but only because I want you gone.” 

Twilight looked away when the creature did her deed, and when she inspected Fluttershy minutes later, relief washed over her upon hearing her friend’s coughing subside. 

“She has about two weeks before it turns deadly,” the creature said, wiping her mouth. Just as with Shining, she suddenly looked sicker, several new boils decorating her haunches, and her voice somehow raspier than before. 

She expected the creature to leave at once, but it didn’t, watching instead with idle curiosity as Twilight resecured her harness.  

When she was ready to go, Twilight looked at the creature and bowed her head, eyes wet with thankful tears. 

“I—Thank you, Miss…?” 

“Don’t ever expect this again,” the creature replied. 

“I won’t. Thank you again, really.” She moved to leave, but stopped to say, “My name is Twilight Sparkle.” 

The creature was taken aback a moment, sapphire eyes blinking with surprise. And then disinterest just as fast. 

“I sincerely and truly do not care. Be gone.” 

And Twilight obeyed. 

For a while. 

As far as everypony knew, Fluttershy made a miraculous recovery, mustering enough strength to stave off her disease long enough for help to arrive. 

The two friends never discussed or acknowledged what happened in the forest. A pact of secrecy, the two intending to take their miracle cure to the grave. Or the forest, if misfortune struck. 

But Fluttershy was a kind soul. Gentle, and loving, and even more so after her second chance at life, and it wasn’t long before she apologetically arrived at Twilight’s door with a tear-stricken couple accompanied by a gravely—not yet deathly, but only just—ill filly. 

“Please, Twilight,” Fluttershy whispered, “she’s just a filly, and they’re out of options, and—” 

“I can’t,” Twilight whispered back, horrified by the position she’d been put in, acutely aware of the confused but hopeful couple trying not to overhear. “I told you what she said!” 

“You have to try,” Fluttershy pleaded. “She might agree.” 

“She might kill us,” Twilight hissed. 

“But she said she wasn’t a monster, didn’t she? So she won’t.” 

Twilight stared at her friend for one, two, three seconds, before her heart and her morals gave out, and she looked to the couple. 

“…There’s somepony I might be able to take your daughter to, but… you cannot tell anyone, and… and it might not work.” 

“Please,” the mare gasped, in tears, “we’ll do anything. Whatever you say.” 

“Okay,” Twilight whispered, bracing herself. “Bring her back tonight. Make sure you’re not seen.” 

“I know I said I wouldn’t be back,” Twilight called out into the clearing. “I actually meant it when I said it, but…”

She glanced back at the filly in the cart behind her, the poor thing put to sleep with a spell to avoid any potentially lasting nightmares.

She explained the situation as best she could, careful to pepper in apologies and acknowledgments of what she was asking and what she was doing. She spoke of the filly, her likes and desires, and even her favorite color—details her parents had willingly given when Twilight asked. 

They didn’t understand why, but they trusted her, and though the creature had insisted she did not care, Twilight had to believe she did. 

She was there for almost four hours, and it was when the fifth loomed as close as dawn’s first light that she swallowed the lump in her throat and decided she’d done the best she could. The creature would not be coming, and she should be grateful they were both leaving alive—for now, in the filly’s case, Twilight somberly thought. 

“I’m going now,” Twilight called out, and meant it when she said, “Thank you, anyway.”

It was as she was practically past the clearing’s border that a voice spoke.

“You wretch. You conniving, lying devil.”

Twilight stopped, her heart beating fast. 

“Bring her back.”

When Twilight Sparkle returned to the clearing two days later, under the guise of patrolling the surrounding areas, it was not with heavy heart and an unfortunate patient, but with a surprisingly cheerful gait and a freshly baked pecan pie. 

“Hello?” she called out. “Are you here?”

Nopony answered. Twilight did not mind. 

“I didn’t bring anypony sick this time!” Still, nopony answered, but this too was fine. She placed the pie down and took off her helmet. “I brought you something. The parents of the foal you saved made this for you. I—” She faltered. “I don’t… know if you even, er, eat, but I thought you should have it, anyway.”

“Well!” a voice said, from everywhere and nowhere at once. “It’s the least they could do.”

And there was the creature, standing under the shade of a tree, the fresh scars on her hindleg she’d gotten from the filly’s drinking not yet healed. 

In truth, Twilight found the sight of her wasn’t so shocking anymore. It wasn’t pretty, far from it, but she was starting to get used to it, to see past the disfigured, sickened edges and find somepony who maybe did in fact have a heart. 

“You’ve gotten bold,” the creature remarked. “I don’t see your sword.”

“I didn’t think it was necessary.”

“Interesting. What if I fancied myself a fresh meal? You do smell fabulously enticing.”

Twilight mulled it over a moment. “You would have already attacked me if you really wanted that.” She then confessed, hoping it would not seal her fate, “Actually, I don’t know why you haven’t already. I assume you haven’t had a healthy… er, patient, in a long time.”

The creature was silent. 

“I am not a monster,” she said, eventually. “I would not attack unprompted, or when I do not need it, or it would not be helpful.”

“Oh,” Twilight said, and smiled at the creature for the first time, “so you do like helping?”

“Silence, you wretch,” the creature retorted immediately. “Or I shall change my mind on the matter. Now, let us see this pie.”

The creature approached, and it was in this suddenly tentative comfort that Twilight allowed herself to examine the creature. She tried to imagine what she might look like if she wasn’t, well… whatever she was. Imagine the long indigo mane free of caked-on dirt and leaves, clean and brushed. The dusty, pale coat, vibrant with a healthy sheen. 

“What, pray tell,” the creature asked, poking at the pie with a hoof, “is so interesting you need to stare at me so rudely?”

“Oh, uh, nothing.” She stared at the pie instead. “Can you even eat it?”

“It wouldn’t do much for me,” the creature replied, lost in thought. Speaking almost entirely to herself. “It smells wonderful, though. It reminds me of the ones Mother used to make when I was a filly.”

“You used to be a pony, then?” Twilight immediately asked, jumping at this tidbit of information. “What happened to you?”

When the creature spoke after a pause, it was with glacial tones. 

“I think it would be best you left now, filly.”

“Twilight,” she corrected, and then regretted it when the creature’s eyes shot to her. She quickly backed away. “And. Yes. Uh. Sorry. Right. Enjoy.”

The creature looked back at the pie. 

“The next time you bring me somepony,” she said, “because I gather you do not intend me to live in peace, I want a book.”

“You can read?” Twilight gasped, and then immediately bolted out of the clearing when the creature carefully and slowly turned its frigid stare upon her. 

“A creature?” 

Sitting atop his throne, King Violet regarded Twilight with great curiosity. He had noticed his guard distracted as of late, and when he finally asked what ailed her, he had certainly not expected that to be the answer. 

“Yes,” Twilight replied, cautious but trusting her king. “She has healed several ponies already.” 

“Why have you not brought her to me yet?” 

Twilight winced. “I… I doubt she is easily caught, Your Majesty. She is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.” 

“What is she?” the King replied, glancing at the sketch Twilight had provided. 

“I don’t know,” Twilight confessed, then added with certainty, “but she’s not a monster.” 

“And her name?” 

“…She won’t give me one. She doesn’t exactly trust ponies.” 

“Do the other kingdoms know?” 

Twilight shook her head. “No,” she said, and explained that she’d tried to gather intel from spies and allied travelers, and as far as she knew, the number of ponies who knew of the creature were in the single digits. 

The king nodded, lost in his thoughts. Eventually, he looked up at her, smiling kindly. 

“Good find, Twilight. Let us take advantage of her help while she offers it. Keep an eye on her.” 

Twilight nodded, relieved. She’d been afraid of his reaction. Thank the heavens her fear was misplaced. 

“Of course, my liege.”  

It was a few months before Twilight returned with a new patient. 

She’d expected the creature to be hidden away, as per usual, but instead she found her waiting by the graves. 

“Good lord,” whispered the elderly stallion, boggled by the creature. “What a hideous thing! Is it going to eat me?” 

“I might,” she replied, scowling, “just for that.” 

“No, she will not,” Twilight quickly interjected, throwing the creature a glance halfway between apologetic and reprimanding. She bowed her head. “My Lady, thank you for meeting us.” 

“My Lady?” the creature asked, and for the first time, there seemed to be genuine delight in her voice. She rubbed her chin with a hoof. “Why! I rather like the sound of that.” She glanced at the stallion. “What ails this poor sod, then? Besides shocking incivility.” 

She listened with half-hearted interest as Twilight explained. 

“Did he bring me a tribute?” she asked afterward. 

The stallion stepped forward and placed a book before the Lady. To Twilight’s delighted surprise, the Lady’s horn lit up with magic and the book floated towards her, opening up for her to inspect. 

“Oh, my. What is this about?” she said with great interest.

“Agriculture,” he replied.

Her interest died a quick death. “Oh.” She dropped the book and looked towards him. “I am satisfied, I suppose.” She took a step towards him. “I’d suggest you close your eyes and brace yourself.” 

A hideous scar marred her face when she finished with him, her eyes now a sickly green hue, her voice weaker than death. 

“My lord, how awful!” he gasped at her again with a voice clearer of disease. 

“Thank you, my Lady,” Twilight quickly spoke over him, appalled by his manners. “The kingdom is in your debt. I—” She cleared her throat. “Is there anything I can do for you?” 

“No,” the Lady hissed. Then added, “Actually, yes. Get this ingrate out of my sight.” 

Twilight bowed her head and turned to lead him off. 

“Oh, and Twilight?” 

She turned around, pleasantly surprised by the use of her name. “Yes, my Lady?” 

“I’d like a dress next time. Make sure you don’t forget.” 

Out of all the tributes ponies brought, Twilight noticed the Lady loved clothes the most, delighting in and inspecting them with great care. 

Sometimes, if Twilight was lucky, and the patient was suitably grateful and polite, the Lady would be in a talkative mood and speak at length about the clothes, alluding to a tailoring knowledge Twilight was dying to learn more about. 

Who was she before she was what she was? What was her life like? 

Other times, unfortunately, when patients treated her as a monster and not their savior, her mood was understandably foul. She’d receive her offering, avoiding touching it as though it were poisoned, then she’d do her job and ask Twilight to take the patient away all in the span of maybe twenty minutes. 

When she talked the most, though, was when Twilight was alone. 

“Twilight,” she would say, sitting by as Twilight left flowers on Shining’s grave, “tell me about the city.” 

She loved asking questions, gathering knowledge on the world beyond her forest. Twilight indulged her, of course, speaking about everything and anything at great length. Unfortunately, the Lady never responded in kind, ignoring most of Twilight’s questions about her and her life. 

“My Lady,” she asked once, standing in a grave she’d dug for a pony there was nothing that could be done for. “Can you die?” 

The Lady was seated a few feet away from the grave, tenderly stroking the face of a young mare sleeping her last sleep. 

“Yes,” she said just as Twilight thought she would not speak. “I can die. I can be killed like any other living thing.” 

Twilight continued to dig. 

“I would die alone.” Twilight’s shovel stopped at the sound of the Lady’s voice. “In my forest. No grave, just a rotting corpse among the grass and the muck.” 

“You would have a grave.” The words left Twilight’s mouth, as unbidden as they were immediate. “I would bury you, my Lady.” 

“…You would?” the Lady asked.

“I would.” 

“Would you give me proper rites? And say kind words?” the Lady continued, her voice steady and quiet. “You would give a monster a proper repose?” 

“I would.” 

“What would you say?” the Lady asked, and Twilight could hear a tremble in the gravelly voice. 

“I would say that it’s not a monster I am burying, but a friend and a healer.” 

Twilight continued digging.  

“Dear Twilight,” she said after a few minutes, her voice soft, “tell me of your family, will you not?” 

Illness fell over King Violet like a great shadow. 

Medics from all over the kingdom came at once, and left days later, disheartened and horrified by the fact that there was naught to be done. Only a miracle could save him, they said. Only a miracle of the greatest magnitude. 

“Twilight,” said the king, his voice like sand, his body melting into his bed, coat pale with disease, “you must bring the creature.” 

“Your Majesty,” Twilight said, distraught. “She will not leave her forest.” 

“She must,” the king insisted. “She listens to you. Convince her. Try. Offer her anything she wants.”

Twilight was silent. Then eventually spoke. 

“Yes, my liege.” 

“No,” said the Lady at once. “You must be mad, Twilight Sparkle. I will not.” 

“…My Lady, please,” Twilight pleaded, kneeling before the Lady. “The king is to be trusted, he—” 

“No monarch that has ever lived is to be trusted,” the Lady hissed. “I would sooner perish than put my trust in somepony the likes of one.” 

“Then put your trust in me,” Twilight said. The Lady regarded her quietly, so she continued. “I will protect you and keep you safe while you are in the city. I will be your shield and your sword, and once you have healed the king, I will bring you back to the forest.” She knelt low. “You have my word.” 

She waited and waited, and waited until finally, the Lady spoke. 

“…Very well.” 

Twilight looked up and found the Lady watching her with unmistakable fondness. 

“But only because it’s you who asks, dear Twilight. I trust only you.” 

Everypony came out to see the creature.

Or, rather, see what they could of her, which was only the bottom of her hooves and the tip of her mane peeking out from under the black cloak covering her body. 

Two soldiers walked behind her, another two at her front, and walking beside her with steady, confident steps was the Lady’s personal guard for the day. 

Twilight had been afraid of the ponies’ reactions. She’d expected the buzz and the onlookers, but she feared they’d jeer at the Lady even hidden away as she was. 

But this was not the case. 

There were some jeers, of course, but the majority of the city knew what the Lady had done, knew of the many she’d saved, so as they watched her walk past with careful, cautious steps, they watched with reverence and respect. 

“You see,” Twilight whispered gently, “everything is going well.” 

“It would seem so,” her Lady replied. “Perhaps ponies have changed since I last left my forest.” 

“Thank you,” said the king, barely above a whisper, dying in his bed. “Thank you for coming. I am honored you would.” 

“I didn’t do it for you, foal,” her Lady said, quickly. “I am only here as a favor to Twilight Sparkle, and she will escort me back as soon as I am done.” She glanced at Twilight, sapphire eyes searching violet ones. “Isn’t that right, dear Twilight?” 

Twilight nodded. “Yes, my Lady.” 

The King coughed. “Of course, I understand.” He gestured her over. “Please, do what you must. I beg you.” 

The Lady hesitated. 

“It’s all right, my Lady,” Twilight said, comforting. “You are safe.” 

The Lady looked into Twilight’s eyes a moment, then nodded and tentatively stepped towards the king. It was only a few steps from him, however, that she violently recoiled. 

“Dear stars,” she gasped. “But you are sick. Truly sick, beyond the pale.” She turned to Twilight. “I can’t—This is—” 

“Please, my Lady,” Twilight begged. “Try.” 

The Lady hesitated before finally turning to the king, her face melting with compassion at the sight of him. “…Fine. I shall try.” 

He closed his eyes when she approached him, a natural response that she fortunately did not take offense to. It happened as fast as with all the others, the Lady lunging forward and the king crying out as fangs bit into raw flesh, every guard save for Twilight on instinct reaching for the hilt of their swords. 

“It’s fine,” Twilight quickly said, her eyes on her Lady. “It’s all right.” 

She was on him about a minute, the king groaning below her, and when she finally released him, he let out a great shuddering gasp. He coughed, and coughed, as if he were expelling demons living within, and then, as if by a miracle, color returned to his cheeks.

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse but clear, no longer a dying whisper.

“By the heavens,” he said, tears in his eyes, “by the heavens.”

But Twilight cared little for the king, for her horrified attention was set on the Lady’s transformation.

The Lady stepped back, practically tumbling to the floor as all manner of grotesque diseases appeared all over her body in a magnitude like Twilight had never seen before, chunks of her mane falling off as she gasped on the floor, sick.

She was revolting. She was hideous. There was simply no other word for it, several guards retching at the sight of her. 

Not Twilight, though.

“My Lady!” Twilight exclaimed, going to her at once, full of concern. She held her, the poor Lady barely able to speak beyond gasping breaths. 

The king, too, was focused on the Lady, stepping out of his bed with miraculous energy and vigor. 

“Dear creature, you poor thing!” he exclaimed, assisting Twilight in helping the Lady up. “Twilight, please, stand aside. Allow me.”

Disconcerted but ever obedient, Twilight stepped away, watching the king hold the Lady. 

“It’s all right,” the Lady said, her voice so weak Twilight was terrified she was dying. She looked at the king. “Are you—are you well?”

He nodded. “I am, yes. It’s a miracle, but you. Dear creature, are you dying?”

“No, but only just,” the Lady replied, and Twilight was shocked by how relieved she immediately felt. She smiled wryly. “With rest, I will recover.”

“I see,” said the king. “Twilight mentioned you had powers of sorts. Can you use them at all?”

“…Why do you ask?” the Lady asked, just as Twilight stepped forward with a wary, “Your Majesty?”

“Answer me, dear creature.”

“Twilight,” her Lady quietly said instead, her weak voice cold as ice, “I would like to go home now.”

“Thank you,” the king interrupted kindly, “for saving me. You are remarkable, and the kingdom will long remember your name. I’m sure you will understand.”

“I see,” said the creature, and nothing more. 

“Guards,” said the king, and Twilight’s blood ran cold at the sight of chains being brought out. 

“But she saved you!” Twilight gasped, standing before the king and his throne. “Your Majesty, she—”

She was beside herself, indignant and in disbelief, while the Lady lay on the floor a few feet away, dressed in chains. Her breathing was shallow, her coat peeling off, and yet, though her eyes were distant and hazy, they were focused on her bodyguard. 

“Twilight. A creature such as that cannot be allowed to live,” said the king. 

“You allowed her to live before!” Twilight protested. “Why does it matter now? She’s been living in the forest for centuries, and it was fine, and—!”

“Perhaps before, but no longer,” the king cut off. “The neighboring kingdoms know I was deathly ill. They will stop at nothing to find what cured me, and they will kill anypony who stands in their way.” His eyes filled with sympathy. “I understand you care for it. You must believe me, asking you to bring it here was not a choice I made lightly.”

Silence screamed in the room, Twilight’s eyes widening.

“You… Your Majesty, you—you intended this all along?” she whispered, betrayed. And then out loud as she slammed her hoof against the floor: “You sent me to bring her knowing you would kill her afterward?!”

“Twilight,” said the king, patiently. “I did what had to be done.”

Twilight couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. She felt like she was bleeding to death, crucified, inside and out, her haunted eyes meeting the Lady’s gentle ones. 

“My darling Twilight,” whispered the Lady, with immense affection… and finality. “It’s all right.”

I have lived long enough, regardless. 

It was a week later that Twilight Sparkle saw her Lady again. 

She’d been at her post, muted with grief and horror as she had been for days now, when a fellow guard fetched her. The king summoned her to the dungeons where the “thing” was being kept, in the cold and the dark and the forgotten. 

The king was outside the cell when she arrived, and she bowed at him if only so she would not have to look into his eyes. 

“It has told us it’s dying shortly,” he said, gently. “It wished to see you before it did. Take the time you need, child.”  

Twilight didn’t answer him. 

She simply nodded, avoiding his gaze, and felt her heart shatter when she stepped into the cell.

Curled up in the corner, her Lady had never looked more like a frail and sickly creature than she did in that moment. She was dying, Twilight was sure of it. Her coat was nearly gone, as was her mane, exposing the emaciated body that seemed as though it would snap like a twig if she even so much as tried to get up. 

Tears burned the guard’s eyes. 

“My Lady.”

“Come, Twilight,” said the Lady. “Close to me.”

Twilight quietly obeyed, standing over her Lady. 

“But you’re crying,” said the Lady, surprised. “None of that.”

“I’m sorry.” The words came out a strangled, choked whisper. “I’m so sorry, my Lady, I—”

“Whyever for? You have never done a single thing wrong, dear Twilight,” she said, and even as weak as she was, she managed a smirk. “Except perhaps lying that one time.”

“But, my Lady, I—”

“Twilight,” the Lady interrupted, soft but firm. “I need a favor from you. Will you grant me one?”

“Of course,” Twilight said, at once. “Whatever you want.”

“I will die soon. It will be slow and painful, I expect. It’s part of my… my curse, if you will.” She trailed off, deep in thought, and then her eyes went back to her beloved guard. “But you can make it quick.”

Twilight felt her stomach drop. 

“I’ve seen you use your sword,” the Lady continued. “You can make it fast, can’t you? Painless.”

“…My Lady,” Twilight whispered. “I…”

“Please,” the Lady asked. “Will you do this for me? I beg you.”

One, two, three seconds passed, and Twilight made a choice. 

“Of course,” she whispered, gutted. “Of course, I will.”

The Lady smiled. “Good. Tell that stallion outside I am ready.”

When the king stepped in a few minutes later, it was with a freshly sharpened sword. He offered it to Twilight and, after an encouraging pat on the back, stood behind her. 

“My Lady,” Twilight whispered. 

There was so much she wanted to say, but she couldn’t find the words. 

“I want full rites, Twilight,” the Lady said, smiling even in the end. “And a beautiful speech, or I will be more than cross.”

Twilight nodded. 

“Twilight,” said the king, “this is the right thing to do.”

“I understand.”

With one last glance to the Lady, Twilight Sparkle raised her sword up high, turned, and slew the monster. 

The only thing louder than the sounds of the wheels and the screaming of dead leaves was the thundering of her drumming heart. 

Twilight ran, and ran, ignoring the howling of her aching muscles as she wove her way through the trees, running somewhere. Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere, she wasn’t sure where, but her heart led her regardless, herself and the cart coming to a sliding stop in the middle of the clearing.

“You wretch!” said a voice, harrowed but forceful now that there was quiet enough to speak. “You fool, you idiot, you—! I can’t believe this, I can’t believe you’d—”

“Please,” Twilight called back, her mind a mess, “I’m trying to think.”

The city was probably already up in arms. The army was doubtless already mobilizing towards her. In less than an hour, the neighboring kingdoms would know, every and any pony searching for the unicorn guard who’d murdered the king in cold blood. 

“What have you done?” the Lady continued, not done. She sounded beside herself, her horror at Twilight’s action somehow breathing some sort of life into her soul. “I’m going to die! I was going to die regardless, you fool, you—! Twilight.”

“No,” Twilight snapped, not angry or upset, but determined. 

She took off her harness and turned to the cart, inspecting the Lady who currently looked like she would kill Twilight if she weren’t busy dying herself.

“There has to be something to save you,” Twilight insisted, desperate. 

“There isn’t, you idiot. You need to leave,” the Lady insisted right back, and it was then Twilight learned a creature such as she could not just cry, but cry for others. “You can still make it out of here, run away, be safe, you—” She wheezed out in pain. “You—”

“I’m not leaving you to die!” Twilight exploded. She gripped the cart’s edge with her hooves and shook it, desperate. “How do I save you?!”

“I need blood. Living blood,” the Lady hissed, clearly despite herself. “But even if I could find any, I—Twilight.” She went paler, if that was somehow possible, at the sight of Twilight ripping off her armor. “No. No, Twilight, don’t be fooli—”

“I’m healthy. I’m not sick, and I take good care of myself, and I—”

“No,” the Lady gasped, appalled. “You can’t save me. I am too ill, there is nothing to be done! I would—” She paused, and then forced the words out, “I would have to all but drink you to death to even have a chance to survive. You would die. I… I would have to kill you.”

There was no hesitation.

“Fine,” Twilight said, as the last of her armor clattered to the ground. “If that’s what has to happen.”

“No!” the Lady shrieked with the last vestiges of her life. “I am no murderer. It would poison me, it would—”

“I am giving it to you, my Lady!” Twilight snapped back, eyes welling with tears. “Why should you die? It’s not fair! You’ve saved so many, and now you should die for doing what’s right? No. I won’t let you.” Her voice fell to a desperate whisper. “Please.”

“I can’t,” the Lady pleaded. “I can’t.”

“You are a good pony.” Every word was measured, every word bleeding with sincerity. “You are not a monster. You have never killed a pony, but… Please, just—I’m only asking for one life. Please. One life. You only have to take one.”

Years seemed to pass. Centuries in but a second, and finally Twilight felt herself breathe when her Lady replied with great resentment. 

“Fine.” Sorrow colored her every word, soaked in grief and anger at a world that was so cruel and caring at once. “I can’t go to you. You’ll have to come to me.”

Twilight was beside her at once, gripped with fear and adrenaline that melted away when her Lady pulled her into an embrace warmer than any living creature could have ever given her. 

“Oh, my darling Twilight,” whispered the Lady. “My stars.”

“Will you be there if I wake up?” Twilight asked, because hope died last. Maybe they could both… Maybe neither had to… Maybe… 

“Yes. Yes, my darling, I will be. I will make sure you are cared for, as you’ve cared for me, you have my word.” A pause. “Close your eyes and think of something nice. It won’t hurt. It will be like falling asleep.” With the last of her strength, she kissed Twilight’s forehead. “Good night, dear Twilight.”

“Good night, my Lady,” Twilight whispered. 

She closed her eyes and thought of her brother. She thought of her family, and her friends, and in the end, when fangs ripped into skin and pain overwhelmed her, she drifted off thinking of her Lady finally happy and free of disease. 

When Twilight Sparkle opened her eyes, she was greeted by naught but an everlasting black, oppressive and endless. Her mouth opened next, but rather than words, a burning gargle came out, her throat searing with pain. Frightened, she tried to move, but her forelegs and hindlegs felt heavy and burdened, aching with pain. 

Was this death? Was this hell? The punishment she’d brought upon herself for killing the king? 

“Shhhh…”

A voice cut through the dark, which she clung to with all her might. She heard somepony moving somewhere close, and her breath held when a delicate soft hoof caressed her cheek. 

“There, there,” said a mare, her voice a velvet heaven, soft and delicate and warm, and… and certainly not the grating sand-like comfort Twilight longed to hear. “You need to rest.”

The Lady said she’d be there. She had given her word. Was she safe? Was she alive?

She tried to speak once again, but only a raspy hiss came out, so painful she shed tears over it. 

“You mustn’t speak,” the mare insisted, taking Twilight’s aching hoof in hers. “You are very ill. Recovering, but ill.” The mare patted Twilight’s hoof. “You’re a long way from home, as well, but you are safe. Now, res—”

“Hello? Miss Aurora?” called a muffled stallion’s voice. 

“Oh, Dusty! One moment, if you will!” the mare—Aurora?—called out. Twilight felt a hoof rest on her cheek once again, and a hushed whisper. “Listen. You might hear alarming things. Don’t believe them. Try not to react, will you?”

Sounds of hoofsteps filled the air, followed in short order by a door creaking open. 

“Dusty, thank goodness. Please, come in.” More sounds, of doors closing and chairs being pulled back. “Sit, sit. What’s the news? What happened with the guards?” A pause. “Dusty! Don’t mind her. What happened?”

“Nothing bad!” Dusty exclaimed. “They don’t suspect she’s here.”

“Oh, thank the king. That’s wonderful news.”

Oh, Twilight thought, so they’re looking for me.

“And it might not matter much longer. I heard them talking to Clover. Looks like they think the monster forced her to kill him.” A pause. “Probably did this to her, too.”

“You’re probably right,” she lamented. “Ghastly, wretched beast. Any news on it?”

“No, but I can’t imagine it’ll be long now before it turns up. Hideous thing like it, where’s it going to hide? Might be dead already.”

“I hope so.”

Boiling anger burned through Twilight’s veins at their awful words, but she forced herself to stay still. Not that she had any other choice, regardless, to be frank. 

“Well, thank you for telling me. Nopony else said anything either, I hope?”

“Aurora! You’ve lived here your whole life. Can’t believe you’d ask that.”

“I know, I know, but—”

“We don’t snitch on one of our own, you know that. If she’s with you, she’s with us.” 

When Dusty left some time later, the mare was upon Twilight once again, with gentle word and gentle touch. 

“Sleep, poor thing. Slee—” She yelped when Twilight held her hoof in an oppressive magic grip. “…What’s wrong, Twilight?”

The Lady, Twilight wanted to scream. What happened to the Lady?

But she couldn’t, so she continued to hold the mare’s hoof. 

“…Is it you? Are you in pain?” she asked, urgently. Twilight did not reply. “…No. Are you hungry? …No. Are…” A beat. “Is this about the creature?”

A despairing gargle burst from Twilight’s mouth. 

The mare gasped, horrified. “Oh! Oh, poor dear, I hope you didn’t believe what you heard! She’s fine, Twilight. She’s alive. You saved her. Your Lady thrives because of you.” 

Twilight’s magic fizzled out, her wide eyes staring into the dark. 

“And,” the mare continued, her hoof finding Twilight’s, “she ensured you would be taken care of. You will never again want for anything, Twilight. You have my word.”

Twilight barely registered her words, too lost in a dizzying thought. 

She’s alive. She survived.

Nothing else mattered now. 

After five days, Twilight Sparkle could sit.

After a week, she could speak.

After two, she could walk. 

But still, she could not see. 

Miss Aurora was patient with her, regardless, her dulcet tones filling every room at every moment. She sang when she cooked, she gossiped while they ate, and she would delight in reading to Twilight long into the night. 

But all Twilight could think of was her Lady. 

“Why are you doing this?” Twilight asked her once. 

“Whatever do you mean?” Miss Aurora asked from some adjacent room. The kitchen, Twilight guessed. 

“Why are you helping me? I killed the king. I aided the… My Lady, she’s…” Twilight swallowed. “She enchanted you, didn’t she?”

“She did not,” Miss Aurora replied. “Do I need a reason to be kind to somepony in pain?”

“…No,” Twilight replied. She was quiet, then asked, “Will my Lady come see me?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Miss Aurora replied, her voice level. 

“Why not?”

A long pause followed. 

“Miss Aurora?” Twilight prompted. 

“I think she feels shame.” Her voice was quiet. “You are ill because of her. A wanted criminal because of her, and likely permanently blind because of her. It is only by the grace of light you are not dead because of her. She feels it’s better she stay away.”

Twilight said nothing. 

“I am her atonement, Twilight,” Miss Aurora said. “Her parting gift. Let it be just that.” 

It was a month and three days later that Twilight Sparkle fell ill. 

Not gravely ill, nor deathly, nor in any frightening way that once would have warranted a one-way trip to a forest. She just had a rather terrible cold that rendered her bed-ridden and pampered by Miss Aurora, fretting over her every minute of every hour of every day. Drink this, take this herb, sleep this much. 

It wasn’t bad, really, and yet.

And yet, it felt like torture to Twilight to be sick, because it meant that staring out at the dark, all she could think of was the only healer she’d never get back. 

She missed her Lady. She missed her very, very much. 

“Twilight! But, you’re crying!” she heard Miss Aurora gasp, her velvet voice marred with concern. Gentle hooves held Twilight at once. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

“No,” Twilight whispered, not wanting to confess what truly ailed her, or burden Miss Aurora with her emotions. “I don’t know why I’m crying. It might be the cold.”

If Miss Aurora found that a ridiculous explanation, she did not express it. Instead, she surprised Twilight when the covers lifted over her. 

“Come, scooch. Make space.”

Soon enough, Twilight Sparkle remembered what it was like to be held. And held she was, comfortably in Miss Aurora’s embrace, warmer and gentler than Twilight had ever expected. The tears kept coming, wiped away by the Miss’ coat when she held Twilight’s head tight against her chest. 

“Poor thing,” she whispered, tender. “Sleep. Try to sleep.”

And Twilight would have. Should have. Felt like she wanted to, and almost managed to, except something very, very strange caught her attention as she lay there, her head pressed against Miss Aurora’s chest. 

Try as she might, and try she did for what must have been almost a minute, Twilight Sparkle could not hear or feel a single beat of Miss Aurora’s heart. 

“Miss Aurora,” she said, weak with something, a feeling she didn’t dare have.

“Yes?”

“Can you tell me what you look like?” Twilight asked. 

“What I look like?” She sounded surprised, a little confused, but receptive most of all. “Why, of course! Well, let’s see, I—”

“Promise me,” Twilight interrupted, “you won’t lie?”

It felt like forever before the Miss replied. 

“…I won’t,” she said at last. “What would you like to know?”

“Tell me about your coat,” Twilight asked, and Miss Aurora complied. 

She spoke, candidly and vividly, of a beautiful alabaster coat covering a beautiful, full unicorn body. Twilight allowed herself to touch it as Miss Aurora spoke, noting how soft it was, cool to the touch and yet warm all at once. There was nothing wrong with it that she could feel. 

“Is it healthy?” Twilight asked quietly. 

“Yes.”

“And it covers you all over?”

“From the top of my head to the bottom of my hooves.”

Twilight nodded. “Tell me about your mane.”

And Miss Aurora did, describing in great detail a beautiful indigo curled mane with a sheen that would make any other mare green with envy. It was perfectly maintained, insisted Miss Aurora, and matched a beautiful curled tail. 

“Is there a lot of it?” Twilight asked, quietly.

“Oh yes,” replied Miss Aurora. “Mane for days.”

“And your eyes?” Twilight asked next. 

“My eyes? Well, I have two.”

“And the color?” Twilight asked. “What color are your eyes?”

A pause, and then a reply: “Sapphire,” said the mare. “A vibrant, beautiful sapphire.” There was another pause, and her quiet voice cut through the dark. “What do you think?”

“I think… I think you sound beautiful,” Twilight replied, seeing her in her mind’s eye, caring little for the tears rolling down her cheeks. “You sound alive and healthy and beautiful.”

Before the other mare could say anything at all, Twilight buried herself further in the embrace, her face finding its home right under the other unicorn’s chin. 

“Thank you,” she said, “for keeping your promise.”

“…My promise? What promise?”

“That you would be there when I woke up, my Lady.”

“Oh. Oh, dear Twilight,” whispered the Lady, the breaking of her voice on the very cusp of hearing.

“I liked Miss Aurora. She was nice,” Twilight said, finally drifting off into peaceful sleep. “But I’m happy she was you, my Lady. I’m so happy it was you.”

And for the second time since she met her, Twilight Sparkle heard her dear Lady cry. 

As it turned out, the Lady had been unable to bring herself to kill Twilight Sparkle. 

She could not, so she drank enough to be able to walk and run and carry the dying guard. Which she did, out of the forest, past the kingdom’s borders. But she was still weak, so she kept drinking, and Twilight kept getting sick, lingering on the threshold between life and death, and it was only when she found this town, away from the capital, that the Lady was healthy enough to stop and try to nurse Twilight back to health. 

“And the townsfolk?”

“I enchanted them,” the Lady explained, contrite. 

Their current home was abandoned when they arrived, so, thanks to the great strength Twilight’s lifeblood gave her, she enchanted all the townsfolk to believe she’d lived there for as long as anypony could remember. An entire town, she finished, that would protect them both while she took advantage of Twilight’s blindness to masquerade as somepony else and be both close and away. 

“I’m sorry, dear Twilight,” she whispered when she was done, her voice harrowed. “I made you suffer because I couldn’t kill you, and then I tricked an entire town, and I deceived you, I—I am no better than what is thought of me. I’m sorry, Twilight, I—” Her voice broke. “And when I become hungry again in a few weeks, I don’t know what I’ll even do. There are no sick here I can feed from, and even if there were, to look as I did before would be dangerous for us, and… and… I just don’t know.”

For once, Twilight Sparkle felt the Lady as what she truly was—not a creature, not a monster, not even a healer. 

Just a frightened mare trying her best to survive and care for those she loved. 

“Why do you look different?” Twilight asked, unbothered. “You’re not sick anymore. Even your voice is different. Better. Clearer. Why? Is it because I’m—was healthy?”

The Lady sounded taken aback. “I… No.”

Twilight blinked, surprised. “No?”

“Twilight, I—” She struggled to explain. “I survive off stolen blood. Stolen life. Taking on the illnesses that plague a pony is the—it’s the price I must pay for stealing some of their life. The sicker a creature is, not just physically but in heart, the larger the price. It’s why drinking from the king nearly killed me, because he was—he was a wicked pony. It wasn’t the illness of his body that destroyed me, but the impurity of his soul, of his heart. But you…”

She faltered.

“…But me?”

“But you gave your life willingly. The most precious thing you have. It was not stolen, it was offered. You have given me so much when I thought all I had was a lonely forest full of death and a bitter eternal life, I…” Affection poured from every word, pushing past the fear and trepidation. “Any beauty I may have, any health, it is only a reflection of the purity of your soul.”

Twilight nodded, taking this in. 

“Will I ever see again?”

“…I don’t know,” the Lady replied, guilty. “I hope so, if… Maybe with time, you will. I think you might. I’m so sorry, Twilight.”

“Why? I asked for all this,” she said, unbothered. And then allowed herself a grin. “You’re welcome you look so well.”

The Lady laughed. “Dear Twilight, you can’t even see me. What if I’ve lied and look just as I did when we met?”

Twilight shrugged. “Then you’d still be beautiful regardless, my Lady.”

“…Oh, Twilight,” sniffled the Lady. “Dear Twilight.”

“About feeding,” Twilight continued, her tone quiet and focused, “you are not ill anymore, are you? So you wouldn’t need too much blood, and if I give it willingly, you would not get sick and the villagers would never know what you actually are. I would be fine with that.”

“…What?” the Lady gasped. “Twilight, you… you would…”

“I would.”

“Oh,” the Lady whispered, pulling Twilight into an embrace. “I’m sorry I was so frightened I could even think you would do anything but want me with you. I’m so sorry.”

The Lady was silly for apologizing, Twilight thought, but that was okay. It didn’t really matter, all things considered.  All that mattered was that buried in the Lady’s warmth, everything felt right. Everything was right, every choice that led them there, and the few wrong things would be righted soon enough. 

“Darling, dearest, Twilight,” laughed the Lady, her lips brushing over Twilight’s forehead as she spoke. She left an affectionate kiss, and then sighed. “Perhaps creatures are allowed happy endings after all.”

When they pulled back, Twilight could feel the smile radiating off the Lady. 

“Stars, but this is wonderful. This might actually work. We should celebrate, toast to our new life!” Twilight felt her get up. “I’ll go buy us some wine.”

“Wine?” Twilight laughed, wiping her own eyes with a hoof while the other blindly reached for her Lady. “But, wait! Does alcohol even do anything for you?”

“No, but I’ll have seven glasses, regardless.” The Lady lifted Twilight’s chin, adoration coloring every word. “You are a wonder, Twilight. I’m sorry to say it, but it was my blessing and salvation when your brother croaked.”

“My Lady!” 

Cackling like the creature she was, Twilight heard the Lady rush towards the front door. 

“I’ll be back shortly!” The sound of the door opening came next, but… it was not followed by the sound of it closing. “I…” The Lady’s voice cut through the dark. “It’s Rarity, by the way.”

Twilight blinked. “Er, what is, my Lady?”

“My name,” said the Lady. “It’s Rarity. I thought it was time you knew.” A pause, and then, “I shall see you soon, dear Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight smiled back. “…See you soon, Lady Rarity.”

“Lady Rarity,” murmured a creature who’d finally found a home and family of her own. “I do like the sound of that.”