Author’s Note: My Little Pony is owned by Hasbro, the concepts for the current generation of ponies belongs to Lauren Faust, Silent Ponyville was created by Jake Herritagu and edited by his crazy-green-ninja-friend-named-Brad.

Pieces of this fiction is based on stories I’ve heard from family and friends, but most of it is completely fiction. I do not condone ANY of the more horrible aspects within this story, nor do I think about this kind of thing usually, I just had an idea for a story that I felt could only work in Jake’s universe. Please enjoy.

(Author’s Note after a year: I started this piece with the story in mind, and I lost my will to write. I want to finish it, but after rereading it, I saw many, MANY problems that range from word choice to even continuity problems. I plan on continuing writing, of course with interference with school and life in general, but after I finish editing the pages I’ve written.

Thank you for your patience, and your support.)

EDITING NOTE: Look for green highlight to find place. Look for yellow to find things up for review.

The bright neon lights of the ambulance carriage lit up the dark night above Cloudsdale. It was pulled by a small team of Pegasi, each beating their wings as hard as they could to pull the bulky carriage against the force of gravity. The vehicle was carrying fairly important cargo: a nurse, an attendant, a middle-aged mare, and a young, badly injured filly. The foal was whimpering in pain as the attendant attempted to keep her still so that the nurse could sedate her.

The foal’s mother, on the other hoof, seemed quite unimpressed with the spectacle behind her. She winced every time her daughter cried out, not in sympathy, but in annoyance. Despite the fact her child was laying not ten inches away from her, the mother kept puffing away at the cigarette she had lit before getting into the carriage. It was rare for a non-unicorn to posses this habit, but it was even rarer for a pegasus to be an avid smoker. The mare spat the butt into the hazard-waste bin beside her, and began to reach for another in her night-gown pocket.

The attendant beside her had had quite enough of this, “Ma’am?” he said as he inserted an IV into the filly’s right foreleg, “Please refrain from smoking in this vehicle. We put up with you finishing the cigarette you had when we picked you and your daughter up, but if you want to smoke so badly please wait until we get to the clinic.” The mare ignored his warning and had now managed to work one of the thin rods from its carton. She was working on getting it lit using the lighter she was wearing around her fetlock when the attendant spoke up again, “Ma’am, plea-”

“Alright, alright, jeeze...” the mare said in a gruff and annoyed tone before taking the now lit cigarette and putting it out against her hoof. She had a luxurious, golden-honey like coat with an unkempt mane and tail of the same, but slightly darker color. Her face looked as if it could have been very beautiful at one point in her life, but after years of abuse and apathy towards her own physical appearance it morphed into a new, more stallion-like form. It was now smeared with cheap, hoof-friendly makeup accented by way too much brown eye shadow that only made her already muddy-brown eyes look more like large orbs of feces than they already did. A scar ran up one corner of her mouth, as if somepony had dragged a knife across it. She looked about forty-five years old, well on her way through a normal pony’s middle age. Her cutie mark, barely visible underneath her nightgown, was that of a metal frying pan.

“I swear, all you medical types just love to worry the piss out of us normal ponies. Watching us squirm must give y’all so much pleasure,” she said just before spitting the now unlit cigarette into the hazard bin.

The attendant snorted, satisfied with her putting the accursed thing away. He and the nurse began placing ice packs on the filly’s bruises to try to get the swelling down and to numb the pain. The poor girl was in bad shape: there were bruises down both sides of her body, most notably of which was one of a darker hue on her right shoulder; she had cuts of various stages of severity along with a broken wing on her right side. Her left eye was black and swelling rapidly. Despite the efforts of both the nurse and the attendant, the filly was still screeching in pain periodically every time the carriage hit a bit of turbulence.

The nurse was wearing pink scrubs and a stereotypical nurse’s hat fitted with a red cross. Her coat was white and her hair was a dazzling shade of yellow. Upon her flank was a picture of a large, red, sparkling heart with white wings erupting from either side. “You’re going to be okay sweetie...” she cooed into the little gray pegasus’s ear before turning towards her mother violently, “What is WRONG with you?” she cried in a low hiss, careful not to say it too loud to disturb the child who was only a heart-beat away.

“Eh?” the mother grunted in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“Look at her! She’s in pain, severe pain,” she hissed, “Hell, I don’t even know how she’s conscious, but all you seem to care about is having your next drag off of those disgusting things! Look at her wing! The injury’s so severe that she’ll have to go into surgery!”

“Look here miss...” the mare stopped and glanced down at the nurse’s name tag.

“Soft Cure, Nurse Soft Cure.”

“Alright, look here Miss Sofa Cause, my daughter just fell down the stairs in our apartment building. I’m sleepy; I’m tired, let’s just get this over with so I can take my daughter home and get to sleep.” The mare was clearly annoyed, which only angered Soft Cure even more.

“M-m-mommy...?” the filly managed to sputter after a few attempts. This shut Soft Cure up, she didn’t want to cause any more pain to this filly than was necessary to get her well.

The mare briefly looked down on her daughter before turning away completely. She amused herself by looking at the passing buildings and factories.

The assistant had finally managed to sedate the child adequately and was now taking down various readings from the foal’s blood pressure to her temperature. This allowed Soft Cure to look out of the carriage just in time to see the bright neon red cross over Cloudsdale General. She sighed and thought to herself, ‘Alright, I’ve done all I can. It’s up to Lance now...’

________________________________________________________________

The filly groaned as she came out of her drug-induced stupor. Even through the heavy-sedation she could still feel the intense pain emanating from all over her body.

The child was in a brightly lit hospital room with two beds; hers was the bed furthest away from the door. Beside each bed was a small wooden nightstand that visitors could place flowers or “Get Well” cards on, but neither table had either of those things. The window provided a stunningly beautiful view of the neon lights of Cloudsdale and (if it were not night at the time) a view of the mountains below.

The filly began to check her body. Her wing was in a cast and there was some sort of cream rubbed all over her bruises. The fur around her neck was shaved of, and she could feel that a few feathers missing from her broken wing as well. There was a large amount of gauze covering her black eye.

Just as she began to examine her broken wing’s cast, she heard a small voice pipe up from the bed beside hers, “Oh, y-you’re awake... that’s good.” The foal turned over to see a yellow filly with a bright pink mane and a cast around her right wing, “Are you alright?”

The foal could tell from the yellow filly’s body language that she was slightly nervous about being in the room with her, “Um... I don’t really know...” the foal’s voice was hoarse, but you could still hear the soft undertone that was unmistakable for fillies of that age, “Who are you?”

“Oh!” the yellow filly said in surprise, “My name’s Fluttershy, my dad was… um… your surgeon…”

“I... I had surgery?” the filly said with a confused tilt of the head.

“Y-yes, my dad had to piece the cartilage in your wing back together before they could put it in a cast. You m-might actually be able to fly when it heals now...” Fluttershy’s voice drifted off. The foal had quickly formed an opinion of her new yellow acquaintance: she seemed very mature for her age, but was shy to a fault.

“Hey, you’re wing’s broken too, how’d that happen?” said the foal. Fluttershy grew pale and began to sweat. From the way she was biting her lip the grey filly could tell that Fluttershy was deliberating with herself whether or not to answer her question. After about a minute the yellow filly finally took a deep breath, opened her mouth, and...

The door to the room burst open as the grey foal’s mother hastily cantered into the room, “Now listen to what I tell you you little brat...” she quickly hissed to the foal. Before the mare could notice her Fluttershy had hidden herself underneath the covers of her bed. “A nice stallion is going to come in in a second and ask you a few questions, and I want you to LIE your little ass off. Don’t breathe a word about your discipline to him, okay? ‘Cause if you do,” the mare frowned, “you know what’ll happen...”

The foal grew pale, “Y-yes Mama...”

“Good...” after that last word to her daughter her whole demeanor changed. The vicious grimace she wore lost all of its bitterness and her voice gained a happy and cheery attitude. “Alllllriiiight!!! You can come in now!” she sweetly shouted to the closed door behind her.

A pegasus stallion in a grey pinstripe suit cantered into the room and up to the foal’s bed. “Hey there squirt!” he said in an overly happy tone, “Do you mind answering a few questions for me?” The stallion was bright orange with a flaming red locks of hair. His cutie mark was that of a briefcase.

“Um... Sure?” the foal said nervously.

“Alright, Miss D-”

“Mama, my child and positively everypony else just calls me Mama!” the foal’s mother said with a big, phony smile.

“Um... Alright Miss... Mama... Could you please step out of the room?” the stallion said with a quizzical look on his face. Clearly he was confused by Mama’s over-enthusiastic performance.

“Yes sir!” Mama sang as she backed out of the room, but when the social worker turned his back Mama’s face peeked from around the door and returned to its violent look. The foal got the picture: Don’t tell him anything.

The child grew pale, but managed to right it before the social worker could notice. “Alright, let’s get started,” the stallion said as he sat himself in a chair close to the bed, “So, how are you feeling sweetie? Any better?”

The child was silent for a few moments before answering, “I... I guess?” She tilted her head down so that her bright yellow hair would cover up her face.

“Alright... So, how’re you doing in school?” he said with a tilt of his head.

“I don’t go to school... mommy teaches me things at home...” the child mumbled.

“Ah! Alright, now we’re getting somewhere,” he nodded, “Well, how about friends? Do you hang out with anypony in your neighborhood?”

The foal shook her head no, dislodging a few strands of hair.

“No friends? You’re sure?”
Her head sunk a little bit lower, “Nopony…”

The stallion winced and cleared his throat, “Well then, any hobbies? A cute little filly like you has to have something you like to pass the time with.”

Again, she shook her head no, “Just cleaning.”

“Chores? Does your mom assign them?” he began gently tapping one of his forehooves against the edge of his chair.

A nod.

“Do you like doing them?”

“I have to do them…”

The deadpan way she said it surprised the stallion, “Yes, but do you like doing them?”

The grey filly turned away from the stallion beside her and emphatically repeated, “I have to do them…”

The stallion bit his lip and steeled himself for his next question, “Does...” he cleared his throat, “Does your mother... Hit... You?” the question came slowly. Silently, he was mentally kicking himself for putting it so bluntly.

As the stallion’s watch ticked away, the foal remained silent. Sweat began to form along her brow, and she bit her bottom lip. When she found the right words, the foal simply said, “Only when I’m bad...” The child’s eye behind its shell of gauze began to hurt.

The silence within the room was deafening. Fluttershy held her breath and kept as still as possible under her covers. She didn’t want to be noticed, because she knew what her father would do to her if he found out she was anywhere near this room. Not an hour had passed since her father had told her that a stallion from social services was coming to check on a filly at the hospital, and that she was to stay in his office and stay away from him at all costs. Fluttershy disobeyed him, because the idea of conversing with somepony who was in a similar situation as her intrigued her. Perhaps she could even befriend this kindred spirit, or perhaps they could rescue each other from their respective situations. Alas, these hopeful fantasies would ultimately amount to nothing.

“I... see... I mean... What does she do when she hits you then? Does she cause you enough harm to...” the stallion’s voice trailed off. His expression had long since lost its mask of happiness. He sighed harshly, “I’m going to level with you, kid. I’ve worked on cases similar, even almost identical to yours for the past three years, and do you know what the single most common thing shared between all of them was?” the foal shook her head, “Most of the kids involved had never told a soul about their abuse. It baffles me, all of the pain that they experience on a daily basis would...” he softly clicked his hoof against the bedside table, “stop, instantly, if they had only told somepony about it. Oh, I can see why they never tell, their parents or uncles or yadda-yadda-yadda have scared them so much for so long that they begin to think they’ll be punished if they let even one detail slip. Hell, sometimes they try to tell the wrong pony, and that pony just refuses to believe that that pony could ever do such a thing. They sometimes accuse the victim of lying, and that only further alienates the foal from the rest of society.” Fluttershy began remembering all the times she had told Nurse Soft Cure about her father. She tensed up as she listened.

“And yet,” the stallion continued, “because of their silence, the pain, the torture, the sleepless, nightmare-filled nights continues on for a lifetime. Even when they leave the nest, these tortured foals never find any real peace. Some of them even go on to beat their own colts and fillies, not because they really want to, but because that’s the only way they know how to raise a foal. That’s all they’d ever really known throughout foalhood, so they pass it on to their kids. It never, ever leaves you, kid. I should know,” he leaned down and tried to look the foal in the eye, the look on his face was dead serious, “I’ve had firsthand experience.” He let that sentence stew for a few seconds before finishing, “I also know that the only way, the only way, to escape, is to tell somepony. I’m right here; you’re never going to get a chance as good as this. Just say the words, ‘Help me, my mother hurts me,’ and I can have her restrained within seconds. She’ll never be able to hurt you anymore. There’s enough evidence in your home and even in your demeanor to keep her away from you, but the only way we can really help is if you tell me right here, right now, that she’s hurting you.”

The filly kept her head down. Despite the stallion’s best efforts, he still couldn’t see the tears streaming down the filly’s face. Not four feet away, a certain yellow filly also began to cry. The grey foal began to take in air to tell him everything: that her mother hurt her, that she was unhappy, that she wanted to be taken away; but just as she opened her mouth to let him know, the stallion sighed and stood up. He was mere inches from the door when he finally said, “Alright kid... I really hope I was wrong about your mother,” he smiled before opening the door, “I’ll be right back kiddo. I just need to talk with a few of the nurses that rode with you on the way here. I’ll be right back.” And with that, he exited the room.

The foal was stunned. The breath that might’ve alleviated her pain was instead used to fuel her sobs as she cried into her hospital-issued blanket. Before Fluttershy could uncover herself to console her, the foal’s mother burst into the room.

“Well, well, well...” the foal’s mother said as she cantered up to the bed, “You managed to keep your mouth shut for more than a minute, how nice...” she was now uncomfortably close to her daughter, nuzzling the child’s head with her snout, “Too bad for you though, if you could’ve only kept your mouth shut back in surgery this would have never happened...”

The child could feel the mare’s warm breath on the nape of her neck. Her entire body tensed up; she had a good idea as to what was going to happen.

The mare bit down hard, grabbing a large wad of the filly’s hair in her mouth. With one of her hooves she covered her child’s mouth to muffle the scream, with the other she held her tiny body down to prevent squirming. She began to yank her head back, sharply, eliciting a series of muffled shouts and cries from her young daughter.

Fluttershy began to shake and shiver under her covers. Despite the mare’s efforts to muffle the shouts they could still be heard by the young pegasus in the nearby bed. With each cry of pain the yellow filly grew more and more panicked.

The mare gave one final, hard, tug and pulled a mouthful of hair from her daughter’s head. The child gave one last muffled cry before sinking into tears. This only bolstered the mother’s enjoyment, and after spitting the tuft of hair into a nearby wastebasket she angrily quipped in with, “Oh, suck it up you-”

At that moment the door opened, “-precious little thing, what’s wrong?” The mother’s tone and demeanor immediately changed to that of a loving, caring parent.

The stallion who entered the room was dressed in a white doctor’s coat and wore a pink ponytail holder in his mane. His fur was amber, and his hair was a muted red. His deep blue eyes had dark bags beneath them, hinting at long, sleepless hours spent over patients. “Ms. D-”

“Mama! Practically everypony just calls me Mama!” the mare chimed in with a warm smile before turning back to her daughter.

“Alright, Ms... Mama...” the colt said as he stepped forward, “I’m your daughter’s surgeon.”

“And thank you for the great job you’ve done. So, what is the-”

“Her injuries are fairly severe ma’am,” he interjected before approaching the filly’s bed and placing a hoof on her chin, lifting it up so that the filly’s mother could get a better look at her daughter’s face. “Her left eye is badly bruised, and may take some time to heal. We’ve managed to get the swelling down with a few medicinal herbs, but the blood is still going to pool there for about three weeks,” his voice matched his demeanor, namely apathetic, as if he were separating himself from the situation to have a better grasp on his prognosis.

Mama kept her smile up despite the cold behavior of her child’s doctor, “And what about-”

“And here,” he used his hoof to remove the blankets covering the filly, “both of her sides are badly bruised, most likely from blunt force trauma.”

“Well, she did fall down the stairs-”

“And here,” his constant interruptions were beginning to annoy Mama. The stallion lifted the child’s broken wing, eliciting a groan from the filly, “Her wing’s been snapped at her carpel joint, splitting the bone in twain. We had to cut open the skin and manually piece the cartilage back together. As it stands, there’s a small chance that your daughter will never be able to fly again. Which brings me to the point of this little chat,” he closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath, and turned on the mare, “Around some of the more darker bruises on her side, we could clearly see the imprint of hooves, which we believe to be the blunt instrument I mentioned before that was used to injure this child.”

Mama scoffed with surprise, “Are you insinuating-?”

The doctor cut her off, “Furthermore, around the fracture of her wing we found bite marks, marks that fit the general size and shape of a middle-aged mare’s.”

“She fell down the stairs!” the mare spat furiously, “I’d never harm my own child!”

The doctor raised an eyebrow and grimaced, “Also, I happened to notice a lock of this child’s mane has been discarded in the waste bin beside you. It’s virtually impossible for her to have pulled that much of her hair herself, and besides the social worker I called (whom I know to be honest) you’ve been the only pony alone with her for the past few hours.” Mama had long since dropped her facade of happiness and was now positively furious. “Also, to further back up my theory, there’s a strand of yellow hair in your teeth.”

Mama’s surprise got the best of her for a moment, but she immediately showed her anger once more. “Listen here Mister...” she looked down at the doctor’s chest to get a look at his name tag.

“Strongshy, ma’am,” he said, without letting a sliver of emotion slip into his voice.

The filly looked back and forth between her mother and the doctor. She had a vague idea that this stallion, this Strongshy, was trying to help her and she was tempted to ask for his help, but she knew that if she spoke up her mother would backhoof her across her jaw. She blinked her good eye a few times before glancing at Fluttershy’s bed.

Fluttershy had all but stopped breathing. Every possible expression of fear and panic flew across her face as she tried to remain as silent and still as possible. The struggle to stay hidden was beginning to become too much for her.

“Alright Mr. Strongfly or whatever your bucking name is, listen here,” Mama leaned in uncomfortably close to Strongshy and glared at him through a lock of her hair that had shaken loose at some point during the confrontation, “This is my daughter, how I choose to love, raise, or punish her is my own business, not every filly-floozer-who-walks-by’s.”

“So, punishment eh?” He said as he lifted his eyebrow in surprise, “That’s the reason you beat your child half to death periodically?” he snorted, “Of all the... Look, I admit, it’s none of my, nor the hospital’s, business what you do to your daughter, but it is the government’s. I saw signs of foal abuse, and I reported it. It’s also obvious to the social worker they sent that you’re abusing this filly, but without any clear testimony they won’t act upon it,” with this he turned towards the foal who was shaking and shivering in the hospital bed. His facial features began to soften, “I’m not here to tell either of you what to do, but if you want it to stop, tell someone. Don’t keep silent and take torture lying do-”

Mama bucked him in the face, sending him reeling against the second bed. The bed itself tipped over, sending its only occupant flying to the floor in a pile of yellow and pink fur.

The doctor slowly pulled himself off of the floor and wiped away a stream of blood that had begun to flow down one corner of his mouth. Before he could verbally retaliate, he noticed and recognized the small filly that was now splayed out on the floor. Any kindness, any anger, any emotion that might have been on Strongshy’s face was replaced by a cold, hard stare that was directed at the small filly. “What are you doing here?” he asked calmly.

The filly picked herself up off the floor and immediately hid her eyes from him, “I-I..”

“Didn’t I tell you to stay in my office?”

The filly tensed up and dropped her head even lower, “Y-yes... But... But I...”

Strongshy’s teeth began to lightly grind against each other, “But you decided to leave despite my orders, why?”

The small pegasus began to back away, only to be blocked by a wall. She was visibly shaking at this point, “I-I heard that the filly you treated was... Like-”

“Like what?” he tilted his head to the side and began to walk towards his child. He was so close that the filly could feel his breath on the nape of her neck.

“L-like... Like... me...” tears were now openly flowing down the child’s cheeks.

Her father snorted, “Like you? This filly’s being abused for no other reason than her parent’s enjoyment; I hurt you because you deserve it, because you need to be punished for what you’ve done. I do it because you’re a monster,” Fluttershy felt as if his eyes were peering into her very soul, as if-

“Wait... What?” Mama said after coming out of her surprised stupor. Strongshy turned around. Because of his anger, he had forgotten she was there. Fluttershy kept her head down, but one could tell that she was still crying.

The filly in the bed kept her eyes trained on her mother, who was beginning to sneer.

“So... Let me get this straight...” Mama said as she inched towards the surgeon, “After that whole ‘Holier than thou’ speech you just gave, you’re ‘punishing’ your own daughter as well?” she scoffed, “Honey, who are you to judge anypony else?”

He faced her and raised an eyebrow, “Hmmf... I’m nothing like you,” he spat.

“Who’s kidding who now?” the sneer fell from her face, “You said you were punishing your daughter, well so am I. This little bitch ruined my life,” she said before turning towards the object of her hate.

The filly just frowned and looked away. Her eyes were red enough from tears already; she couldn’t stand to cry anymore.

“I was a cook, a damn good cook,” Mama began, “I could fry and fricassee and stir-fry anything you wanted, but my most favorite thing to do was bake. In fact, I worked at a bakery, and that’s when I met him, the stallion of my dreams...” Mama paced about the room as she explained, “Oh, he was a handsome stallion. Had a silver coat and the most beautiful black mane I believe I’d ever seen. He...” she smiled, “was a charmer. I doubt there was a single mare in that town that hadn’t had a turn with him ‘sides me. I knew he had his eye on me from the start, as he knew I had my eye on him,” she righted the upturned bed and placed her relatively thin flank upon it. Despite previous warnings, she reached in her nightgown pocket, grabbed a cigarette between her jaws, and lit it with one of the bedside lamps. Strongshy didn’t object to her smoking.

Fluttershy still had her head down, but had stopped shaking. She began inching towards the door, but a sharp look from her father stopped her short. “So,” Mama continued, “one night, as I’m closing up, he canters up to me all casual like and asks if I want to take a stroll, and I accept in a heartbeat. We did walk for awhile, but, after a bit, things got a little... heated...” the mare was beaming, lost in her memories of lost passion, “We had a good thing going there for awhile. He’d come see me after work, we’d ‘play’ the rest of the night, he’d leave the next morning with a peck on the lips and a promise of joys to come, but then...” she glared at her daughter, “she had to ruin it all,” Her gaze honed in on her daughter’s form, “I began to get bigger and bigger, and he began to show up at the bakery less and less. Eventually, he never showed up at all. That was the first time she had ruined my life...” she had practically whispered that last sentence.

Strongshy stepped up to the filly’s bed, but still showed no emotion. His sleep-deprived eyes were trained on the mare’s face, and he never once spoke a word.

Mama let a small puff of smoke escape her mouth from around the cigarette, “The second time was when she was about a half a year old. Takin’ care of her had become a real hassle, and a tiring one at that. Day and night she’d scream bloody murder until she got what she wanted, and this had driven me to the brink of exhaustion. Because I hadn’t had any sleep, I had accidentally mistaken one of the pill bottles in my saddle bags for a seasoning. The customers who were served my Vallium-laced dish all passed out, and more than a few had to go to the hospital, Hell! A foal nearly died!” She let a dry chuckle escape from her throat, “I’m surprised nopony, let alone my workplace, filled a lawsuit on my flank. I was let off easy with being fired... I wouldn’t have blamed them if they had reciprocated all of the pain I had caused them onto me.” She spat the butt of her cigarette into the wastebasket, “Needless to say, I was unemployable in the culinary world.” She stared at the tiled floor of the hospital room, “I had lost the only two things that had ever made me happy. I was destitute, lonely, scared, and I had to take care of the very thing that had ruined my life...”

Muted sounds filtered in through the door to the room. Outside, doctors were rushing to and fro, creating a loud racket that would deafen any sounds coming from inside the soundproofed hospital rooms.

“So you see...” Mama looked back up at the doctor standing beside the bed before letting a large sneer creep onto her face, “I hate her. Her very existence has ruined mine, and I do so enjoy the pain I bring her to heal my own.”

She had heard this story many times in the throes of her mother’s abuse. It was all lies though, and it switched around with every telling. “M-Mama? Could we... Can we go home... now...” her voice trailed off. She was biting her lip in nervousness; she didn’t really want to go home. Home was hell for her, but she knew that if she said anything she could only expect more pain to come her way. She loved her Mama, despite everything she had ever done, despite everything she had ever said. She was still her Mama.

“I dunno,” the mare replied without even looking at her daughter, “It’s up to Mr. Strongshank.”

Strongshy opened his mouth, as if to say something, but stopped before he could voice his opinion. After a second he sighed, and turned away. “Come on Fluttershy, we’re leaving,” he said with a gruff voice before biting down on his daughter’s mane. He began to drag her towards the door.

“No... No!!! You’re not gonna help her!?!? Why!?!? Why!?!?” the normally docile Fluttershy screamed. Every fiber of her being told her that despite her father’s abuse, despite all the evil he had showered upon her, that he would at least save this one helpless filly.

“I said,” he grunted through her mane, “let’s go.” He pushed the handle of the door with his shoulder and pulled the filly through the door, her kicking and screaming the whole way.

Mama smiled. The filly covered her head and turned away from the door. ‘Just like everypony else...’ she thought.
_______________________________________________________________

Fluttershy kicked at her dad’s ankles as he pulled her down the hallway, passing by other doctors and nurses who looked on with confusion plastered across their faces. Nurse Soft Cure had just so happened to see them when they passed by the hospital room where she was tending to a patient. She gained a worried look upon her face, and began to rush through the checkup of the colt she was working on.

“Let me go!” Fluttershy screamed as her father dragged her into the stair well at the opposite end of the hall. The hospital was set up so that every floor had a balcony for the doctors and various other workers of the hospital could land easily, and there were elevators sparsely placed throughout the building for transportation of patients. In key areas of the hospital (such as the maternity ward and pediatrics) there were also stairwells for evacuation purposes. “She’s going to hurt her! She’s-” her cry was silenced by a hoof that smacked her across her face, sending her crashing against the railing.

“I know that,” he said after a moment of silence, “I still plan on helping her, but this makes it easier.”

“Ugh...” her broken wing had hit the railing, “B-but why? You w-were going to-”

“She’s lying. She’s out of touch with reality and dangerous, if either of us stayed in the room for much longer there’s no telling what she’d do.” He approached the prone filly. A fresh bruise began forming around the place where he had hit her.

She began to cry for the umpteenth time that day as she shook her head. “You can’t just let her... I mean... I know... I know you’re punishing me, but why does somepony else have to suffer? If you were going to help her anyway, why not help her now?”

He snorted, “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“You can’t... You can’t...” she pulled herself off of the floor and began to trudge towards the door. She was going to save that filly even if it killed he-

He kicked her, hard. Instead of hitting the railing she was sent down the stairwell. She rolled as she fell; bouncing every time her frail, young body hit a step. She finally stopped on the floor below. Strongshy looked down upon her, but showed no emotion, no remorse for his actions.

Soft Cure had come into the stairwell just as his hoof had impacted against Fluttershy’s chest. A look of horror spread across her face. She had guessed that this had been happening for a long time now: the mysterious bruises, the broken wing, the way he acted around his daughter. Every time the foal had tried to explain to her what had happened, she had interrupted her or had slapped her to keep herself from hearing the truth, but she had never witnessed the abuse first-hoof. It shocked her to see just how cold, how unfazed Strongshy was to the violence he caused. He turned toward her before she could get a word in edge-wise.

“See that my daughter has medical attention, Miss Soft Cure,” he said before cantering past her.

“S-Sir?” she said. He stopped and turned his head to face her.

“Yes?” he said coldly.

She bit her lip, “Nothing sir... I’ll... I’ll get her to a room immediately...” She couldn’t do it. He had saved hundreds of lives so far, eventually he may save thousands. What’s the happiness of one filly compared to the well-being of an entire society? Besides, she loved him; how could she ever do him any harm?

“Good,” he grunted as he passed through the door and out of sight.

Softcure descended the staircase and examined the small filly: her breathing was strained, her previously unbroken wing was twisted at an odd angle, and a thin pool of blood was beginning to form around her head. With a sigh, she began her usual routine of healing the filly and hiding the signs of abuse on her body.

__________________________________________________________________

“What happened then Mommy?” the small unicorn filly asked as she shook excitedly beside her mother on the bed.

“Well,” the grey mare said as she nuzzled her daughter, “as the great, golden serpent wrapped itself around the Princess’s body, her most trusted Knight burst into the tower!” the mare said dramatically as she pantomimed the scene with her hooves.

The mare and her daughter were laying on a small bed (obviously made for a small foal) cuddled up together. The mare had been telling her daughter a bedtime story, one of the stories she had written on her rounds the day before. The room around the pair of ponies was decked out in various shades of pink and purple, and the walls were absolutely covered in the filly’s drawings. They depicted the unicorn filly and her mother doing various things: playing, dancing, and hugging to name a few. Love radiated off of everything in the room.

The filly’s eyes went wide, “Oh! Is this where the Knight comes back in?”

The mare smiled, “Yes, Dinky, the Knight had heard the Princess’s cries for help and had come to rescue her as quickly as he could. The Knight’s silver armor glistened from the light of the full moon that filtered into the tower through the open door behind him. He readied his brandished lance, and charged at the beast.”

Dinky tilted her head, “So, wait... What does ‘brandished’ mean?” she said while looking up at her mother in confusion. Dinky’s mane and eyes matched her mothers. Her irises were tinted with soft shades of yellow, but instead of having a grey coat like her mother she possessed a very beautiful shade of purple. Despite her age, her flank was still blank.

“Well, to ‘brandish’ means to ‘carry’ or ‘hold’. So, The Knight is holding the lance out towards the serpent.” She smiled and got back into character, “The brave warrior’s blow struck true, and it knocked the beast off balance. In its confusion, the serpent loosened its grip on The Princess, and she was able to escape from its evil clutches.”

Dinky barely managed to suppress a cheer, “Was it over, did the Knight win?”

“Oh, heavens no! The battle waged on, The Knight would land a blow, and the serpent would immediately bound back and strike again,” the mare smiled and closed her eyes, “But the Knight refused to give up. He stood his ground, and faced his adversary with dignity and honor,” she opened her eyes and turned her neck towards her daughter, “And, do you know what happened then?”

“Um...” Dinky though for a second, “No, what happened?”

“The Princess stepped in front of him and took the blow instead. For you see, his gallant rescue had inspired her, had awoken her from a trance that she had been locked in for years. She finally had the courage to stand up for herself.”

Dinky tilted her head, “Mommy, you sure use big words.”

The mare smiled, “Sorry, muffin. Mommy didn’t mean to confuse you.”

“Oh! You aren’t confusing me! I like it when you use big grown-up words...” the mare could tell that her child was getting sleepy. Dinky’s eyes were drooping and her speech was getting much slower.

“You ready to go to bed muffin?”

“No... Please finish the story...” she said before letting loose a large yawn.

“Well, alright...” the mother cleared her throat, “The Knight didn’t hesitate in the slightest. He jabbed his spear into the great beast’s hide before it could retreat, and gave the lance a great buck, sending it straight into the serpent's black heart.”

Dinky (still half-asleep) looked worried, “But what about the Princess mommy? Was she okay?”

The mare grinned, “Of course she was! It wouldn’t be a good bedtime story without a happy ending! The Princess was alive, but injured. The Knight, being the gallant gentlecolt he was, lifted the Princess onto his back and carried her all the way back to her kingdom, where he was rewarded for his bravery by the Princess.”

“What’d she give him mommy?”

The mare nuzzled Dinky, “Well, she gave her the only thing she truly valued, a small, stuffed lion she had received when she was just a little foal.”

“Like mine!?” Dinky said excitedly as she held up the stuffed lion she was snuggling with her magic.

“Yes, Dinky. Like yours,” she said gently. “And they all lived happily ever after, the end.” The mare sighed, “All right, time for bed my little muffin!” She wiggled off of the bed and turned around to give her child a kiss goodnight.

“But, wait… What happens afterwards, Mommy?” Dinky said with a tilt of the head. A light, cool breeze slipped through the room’s open window.

“What do you mean?”

“What happens after happily ever after? Does the Knight and the Princess get married? Is the King alright? Does the kingdom ever recover?”

The mare’s eyes widened, “Huh, I don’t really know muffin.”

“But that’s boring!” the child was fired up, “A happily ever after isn’t enough! Something has to happen after it!”

Well, I’m sorry, Dinky, but I don’t know. That’s all I came up with today, if you want I could write more tomorrow.”
Dinky thought for a moment, but finally shrugged, “Nah, it’s alright. It’s probably for the best, who knows what’ll happen. Maybe one of them will get sick or maybe someone will die fighting a monster. It’s probably for the best that it ends there, it’s much happier that way.”

“Uh… huh…” The mare smiled, she was used to her child having small bouts of oddness every once in awhile. “Welp, it’s time to go to bed,” she said before aiming a kiss for her daughter’s cheek.

“But Mommy! I wanna stay up longer! I just gotta!” the filly dodged the kiss and hid under the orange quilt that covered the bed.

The mare raised an eyebrow, “And why is that?”

The foal peeked her head out from under the blanket, “Because the monsters’ll get me when you leave...” The child’s voice was serious; she was absolutely afraid of being alone.

“Hmm...” the mare thought for a moment, “I got it! You won’t sleep if you’re alone, so how about I sleep with you here tonight? You just have to promise to go to sleep.”

“YAY!” the filly yelled as she leaped across the bed to hug her mother. “Mommy! I love you!” The child’s voice exploded into fits of laughter as she grabbed a hold of the gray mare.

“Ooof! Dinky! Heh! Dinky! I love you too muffin, but you’re hurting mommy!” she managed to get out between outbursts of her own laughter.

The filly let go of her mother and flew back under the covers. “Can we make an animal fort? Please mommy, can we make an animal fort?” the child begged as she began floating various stuffed animals off of the floor around the bed.

The mare smiled warmly before climbing into bed with her daughter, “Sure we can muffin, sure we can.”

__________________________________________________________________

About thirty minutes later they were snuggled up together in bed. Around both of their bodies was a ring of stuffed animals of various species and colors. In between them was a small stuffed lion, clearly the prized one of the bunch. Dinky’s precious orange quilt was covering the both of them, enveloping them in pleasant warmth. The mare was facing away from her daughter towards the nightstand on the right side of the bed, and Dinky faced her and had her front hooves around her mother’s neck. The mare was looking at a framed picture on the nightstand: it was a drawing of Dinky’s that depicted her and her mother on a hill outside of Ponyville, playing. Above the image was a caption that read, “Dinky and Derpy (Mommy!)” That picture had always brought a smile to her face.

“Mommy?” Dinky had said softly.

“Mhmm?”

“Don’t ever leave me...”

Derpy was silent for a few moments before replying, “I’ll never leave you, Muffin...”

Dinky smiled, and they both drifted off to sleep...

______________________________________________________________

White. That was all she could see. Pure, brilliant, white. The room she was in had nothing but a large, menacing, wooden door and an unearthly light that seemed to shine from every corner of the room. Derpy herself was lying on a mattress that was just as white as the room. The air around her tasted stale, as if nopony had entered the room in a very long time.

Derpy tried to stand up and examine her surroundings, but for some reason she could not will her body to move. All she could do was breathe steadily, in... And out... In... And out... In a soothing rhythm that kept her muscles relaxed. Every fear she had of the room was washed away by the tides of her breathing.

What she didn’t notice, was the little speck of blood running from underneath the door. It crept along slowly, dragging a dark trail of red along the pristine floor. Another speck followed, along with another, and another, and another.

She opened her eyes just in time to see a pool of blood seeping from under the door, but still, despite her panic, she could not move. She couldn’t even make a sound in protest. The blood began to pool around the mattress. From outside of the room, Derpy could hear somepony breathing heavily in the exact same rhythm as she. In... And out... In... And out... Except, the sound no longer relaxed her.

Blood began to flow up the walls around her in strange, vein-like shapes. Blood also began to flow up onto the mattress, soaking the mare’s back with sticky, red liquid. The light in the room began to grow darker and darker as the blood coagulated, until all she could really see was the wooden door, which had lost its pristine shine and had instead become splintery and rough.

A disfigured claw pushed the door open just as the last bit of light left the room. Derpy could hear a dull scraping, as if something metallic was being dragged across the floor. Despite her mental protests, she still couldn’t move. All she could do was breathe, in and out... In and out... Needless to say, her breathing was much faster.

The shuffling and screeching stopped, but the sound of the Beast’s breathing could still be heard. Derpy heard herself say, “Please, please... Don’t do this... Don’t-”

She heard her legs snap before the pain even registered in her mind. The bones folded in on themselves, and her muscles were flattened. Her blood was now seeping into the bed, mixing with the already hardened blood that it had absorbed before.

The beast grunted as it lifted the large, blunt weapon back into the air. The room allowed her to scream, and she seized the opportunity fiercely. Pain shot up and down her spinal column as her injured limbs communicated distress.

After what seemed like an eternity, the weapon came down again against her chest. Her ribs snapped and stabbed into her vital organs, yet she still lived. She could feel blood rushing into her lungs, warming and drowning her.

As it raised its weapon again, she tried to plead to it. She tried to scream that she had a daughter, that she had to get home to take care of her, but all that escaped her throat was a large glob of blood that spilled out across her lips and a series of croaks that held no semblance of language. The darkness seemed to strangle the last bit of life, the last bit of hope out of her frail, broken form just as the metal truncheon buried itself in her skull, sending bits of fractured bone and grey matter flying in all directions.