Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.

―Edgar Allan Poe, excerpt from ‘The Raven’

I was in a field, a luscious sea of green surrounding me and stretching further than my eyes could see. Dispersed in between this were splashes of colour, flowers of such beauty, that they would have put any artist to shame. The red of roses, the yellow of daffodils and the purple of violets mixed together with no bias along with others of colours that I could never hope to accurately name.

Above me was a clear blue sky, without a single cloud to tarnish it. Resting almost directly overhead, the beautiful jewel that was the sun shone merrily down upon me, and the verdant meadow.

To complete the image, a warm summer’s breeze wafted gently through the grass, bringing with it the scent of the innumerable flowers that surrounded me.

“Joshua,” a clear, sweet voice suddenly called out from behind me, “it’s so good to see you.”

Without any warning, I was greeted with an arm snaking behind my back, and pulling me into a warm hug. After a few brief moments of confusion I felt soft lips press into my left cheek which was reciprocated by the warming of my face. Then just as quickly as the sensation was there it was gone and instead I saw standing before me another pony.

She was undoubtedly a mare, that was already clear just from her voice. But even without that, there was just something about her that oozed femininity. Perhaps it was the flutter of her lilac eyes or the welcoming smile that she gave. Somehow, I could just tell.

Her coat was a light yellow colour. So light, that she was only a shade above white. To complement this, her mane was an aquamarine that, just by looking at it, reminded me of the colour of the sea on a hot summer’s day. She was noticeably shorter than me, but that somehow just added to her appeal.

I noticed that her eyes seemed to slowly drift down towards my feet before giving of an excited gasp.

“Is that for me?” She questioned hopefully, giving a slight bounce on the spot.

Slightly confused I looked down to see just what it was she was staring at. It was a present, a box done up in green wrapping paper that matched her mane with a large yellow bow on top.

“Uhh... sure, I guess.”

Though I did pick it up and hoof it to her, in my mind I was reeling. I couldn’t grasp why, but something felt wrong. Like I didn’t belong here.

My thoughts were interrupted, when the mare gave yet another gasp, this time one of delight.

“Oh, Clickity! It’s perfect!”

Held up in her hooves was a red scarf, which had stitched onto it a few tiny pale blue stars that complimented the mischievous glint in her eyes. Upon sighting it I gave a start and recoiled in panic. But after a moment the feeling passed, and I was left wondering just what it was that happened. Why did seeing the products of my special talent scare me?

Out of curiosity, I picked up the now-empty box that the mare had hurriedly discarded. Gazing inside I did not know what I expected to see, but I was unsurprised when the empty bottom greeted me.

Looking back up, it seemed that my companion had not noticed my odd behavior. She was too busy admiring herself in a small mirror that had probably always been there. She twisted in all manner of poses, as if she was some kind of model, her smile reflected absolute joy.

At seeing her, I could feel the glow of happiness within myself. It was always so nice to see the happiness a hoof made gift could bring to somepony.

“Please, it’s nothing,” I found myself saying, “it is my special talent, after all.”

“Hey, buddy! How’s it going?” A voice suddenly spoke, just off to my right.

It was Shieldwing, for the first time ever not wearing his armour, his white coat glowed in the sun. For a few moments, I stared at him in shock. Really, after yesterday, I didn’t expect to ever see him again.

Wait... What happened yesterday? For a few moments, I simply stood, trying to remember. Whenever I tried to cast my mind back, I only managed the fuzziest of recollections. Something about... a party?

“Oh, cool! Is that one for me?” Shield suddenly spoke, flashing that grin that he could only pull off without looking like a complete idiot.

Looking down once again, sitting on the grass before me was a package, practically identical to the last one. Though, this time, the wrapping paper was blue and the bow was white.

This time, I did not hesitate to give him the gift. Unwrapping it revealed a black cardigan, with the initials SW embroidered on the breast in fancy script.

Upon looking at it, Shieldwing’s face took on an expression that was nearly identical to the mare’s, when she had received her gift. Before I could even react, he had rushed forward and pulled me into a bone-crushing hug. Alongside this, I was filled with the exact same sense of pride and warmth as I had after giving the mare her gift.

“Is that one mine?”                                                                 

“I’m so excited to see what Clickity Clack made for me!”

“I can hardly wait!”

“Oh boy, oh boy!”

Once Shieldwing had withdrawn, I became aware of a seemingly innumerable number of ponies that surrounded us, conversing with each other excitedly. Though, for some reason, I expected them to rush forward and crush us, they seemed to all be content to wait. They formed around us in a circle that maintained a respectful distance. The crowd was an eclectic mix of colours, every single colour and shade represented somewhere. There even seemed to be an equal mix of gender. Some of them were standing, whilst others were laying down or sitting on their hindquarters, but every single one shared the same expression, anticipation.

Stepping forward was another stallion, this one having a green coat complemented by a blue mane. Staring at him for a moment in confusion, I glance back to my side, only to realise that Shieldwing had vanished.

Shrugging this off I quickly gave him his gift, somehow selecting it out as being his from the pile of gifts that now sat at my hooves.

I offered it to him swiftly, eager to once again experience the elation that came along with embracing my special talent.

As soon as he had it, he gave a few words of praise and appreciation before melting back into the crowd, only to immediately be replaced by another of its members.

So, the process continued for a length of time that I couldn’t even hope to guess. Despite the repetition, I never grew tired or bored, as each benefactor always expressed their thanks in a new way that coincided with a euphoria that made me feel whole.

Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of black out of the corner of my eye. It was made glaringly obvious, by the others’ vibrant colours.

Turning to look, ignoring the sigh of disappointment from the next in line, I caught sight of it.

The dark figure, the one that haunted my dreams. It was standing as one in the crowd. Somehow I knew that it was staring at me intensely even though I could see no eyes beneath the black cloak that surrounded its entire form and shrouded its face in shadow.

As soon as I laid eyes on it, I gasped out in terror and backpedalled until I was up against the far side of the clearing, the press of the crowd preventing me from going any further.

Taking a small step forward, it paused for a moment. Dread filling my heart, as black heavy clouds seemed to roll in from nowhere, hiding the sun and somehow making the now silent ponies appear menacing, looking like mourners at a burial.

“Dream, or nightmare?” it questioned, speaking in an eerily familiar female voice.

The words cut struck me to the very core of my being, making me shiver and feel incredibly lost.

Despite my happiness, something didn’t seem right. I wasn’t meant to feel this way about my mark, was I? I was meant to be... fighting it?

But that couldn’t be right, could it? Everypony knows that their cutie mark is a representation of what makes them special. It would be a tragedy to not share it with the world.

Though the figure remain looking at me with the void that concealed its face for a few moments, it did not remain. Just as quickly as it appeared it seemed to meld back into the crowd from which it appeared.

As soon as the figure had vanished from sight the clouds that blocked the sun seemed to suddenly dissipate and the crowd once again began its lively chatter.

When the next pony stepped forward, I hoofed him his gift without any hesitation. However, this time the now familiar feeling of gratification didn’t appear. Instead, I felt hollow. As if the most important part of me had been ripped out.

Despite this minor deterrence, I pushed forward. If nothing else, it was my duty to give these ponies, who made an effort to come and find me, their gifts.

But, the next one still did not produce any pleasant feeling. Rather, it made me feel off. Something was definitely not right, though I could not put my hoof on it.

When the next pony stepped forward, I made to give her the gift, but just before it was about to exchange hooves I hesitated.

Doubtingly, I looked at the mare. She gave me an encouraging smile, and stretched her forearms closer, though she never once made to take the package. As I stared at her, the realisation began to dawn on me, the fogginess of my mind began to dissipate.

I could remember it all now, Earth, my transformation, the mark. This was not who I was, I was a human. I was meant to stand unbound by the fates and manipulations, and bask in liberty’s light.

“NO!” I suddenly screamed, pushing back the mare in front of me, “This isn’t me. This is not right, IT’S NOT RIGHT.

Stumbling backwards the mare appeared more confused than angry, looking at me with inquisitive eyes. What unsettled me about it, was that she never once made to speak. Even as the crowd’s constant chatter faded into a drone. Slowly, I backed away, though I was brought to a stop when my backside collided with the wall of ponies, cutting off my retreat.

I became aware that I still had her package clutched in my arms. As I stared down at it with abstract fury, it suddenly burst into flames.

Letting out a yelp of surprise, I tossed the package away from me. By luck, it landed in the pile of gifts that was still resting where I had left it, the exact same height as it had been when I had first laid eyes on it.

With a ‘Fwoomf’, the whole stack was suddenly on fire. It seemed to burn with a brilliance far greater than what would be expect of a light source of its size.

The mare that had been meant to receive the gift gave out a cry of alarm, and rushed toward the flames. Without any hesitation, she stuck her hooves into the blaze, trying to dig her gift out.

Her actions seemed to break the floodgates. Suddenly, the whole crowd seemed to rush towards the flames, parting around me like a wave.

Just as quickly as the fire had caught the pile, the crowd was suddenly flaming, the collective light so bright that I was forced to shield my eyes, whilst attempting to look on in horror.

But they kept on burning, not a single one uttering a cry of pain or attempting to extinguish themselves. They all simply stood there, as the flames licked at their coats and manes, reducing everything to ash.

A few of them somehow managed to retrieve their gifts from the flame, clutching them tightly to their chests as they smiled in pure bliss, all whilst they were eaten alive by the fire.

Soon, all that was left was their charred skeletons, though they did not collapse but instead stood upright in the very same manner as they had when they were still living.

Then, with no warning, they all began to move again. Every single one turned, slowly, to stare at me. The burning gifts casting dark shadows on the charred ground, in spite of the sun overhead.

As the skeletons affixed me with leering smiles and empty, soulless eyes, I could no longer hold back my terror. I screamed with all my might and suddenly the world around me seemed to shatter.

*****

I awoke with a start, propelling myself into a sitting position in the process.

My pulse was thundering in my ears, and my breathing came in sharp shallow gasps.

The compulsion to knit was bearing down on me so heavily that I could only summon the most meagre defence against it.

I wanted my life to be like that dream, to share my talent with everypony and make them all happy. All I could feel at that was terror.

I was losing control, there was no doubt, I would be gone by the time that the sun rose and Clickity Clack would be all that was left.

But I wasn’t going to let that happen, I would die before I let it.

Lurching upward, I hurriedly made my way over to the kitchenette, almost tripping over in the process on account of my legs still being entangled in the blanket.

I knew what I needed to do. I could no longer fight my mark, I had lost, there was only one option left to me.

Wasting no time, I began to rummage through the drawers, paying no mind to the ruckus I was making.

I roughly pulled out the first drawer and sifted through it, finding only dull, tarnished forks and butter knives. With wild abandon, I wrench it out of the cupboard and let it crash to the ground, cutlery spilling over the stone tiles with a loud metallic clatter.

The second was also of little help, this time seeming to contain a number of washcloths and other cleaning utensils. I gave it the same treatment as the first.

So I continued on, searching through drawer after drawer finding nothing put everyday kitchenware that had no use for me.

By the time I reached the final row of drawers, my blind panic was beginning to be overtaken by despair. If I could not find what I needed, I would have no way to stop my mind from being overtaken by some outside influence, and I would die in all but name.

I pulled out the second-to-last unopened drawer, barely glancing over the various shapes inside, before shutting it again. Catching myself I pulled it out again and was graced with one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

It was a dagger, long and thin. Stored in a sheath made of hardened leather, with slight steel reinforcements at its tip that ran up along its sides. The leather wrapped handle itself was obviously made for a griffon, it being too short to be comfortably grasped in a forearm or mouth. It did at least seem possible for me to hold, though it would be tenuous. Grasping its hilt as best I could, I quickly drew it, holding the sheath with my teeth.

The blade was double edged, with a fuller that ran down the center of the flat. Testing it on the tip of my hoof I could feel immediately that the edge was razor sharp and well maintained.

It was perfect.

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, though it did little to calm my beating heart, I prepared myself for what I was about to do.

The elongated neck of my pony form made it easy to look back at my rump. The mark was still there, the ball of yarn and the two needles seemed to be such an innocent thing. I knew that that image would be forever burned into my brain, no matter the outcome of this night.

I first attempted to bring the blade back to its target on my left side, though this proved fruitless as the length of my body, coupled with my left foreleg getting in the way, prevented me from properly reaching it.

Instead I opted to sit down and by an awkward contorting of my frame I managed to have the dagger pressed against my coat.

Though I could not feel it at first as I began to apply more and more pressure I slowly became aware of the coolness of the blade. This was followed shortly afterwards by the beginning of the slightest of pain, no worse than the couple of times I had cut myself while cooking.

Taking a final deep breath I shut my eyes tight and thrust the blade downwards with as much force as I could muster. The pain hit my like a wall, making my grip on the knife weaken though I gritted my teeth and kept pushing. Second by agonizing second I could feel the blade move through my flesh. I still could not muster the courage to look at the damage I was causing my body, I knew myself well enough to know that if could see it, I wouldn’t be able to continue.

Finally, even though it felt like an eternity and my body was wracked with pain, I felt the dagger come free and I heard the wet sound of flesh hitting the floor.

By now, my breaths were coming in ragged gasps and my legs were shaking so alarmingly that I didn’t even try to stand.

For as long as I could, I resisted the urge to look at my self-mutilation. For a few minutes, it felt like I would succeed. In this time, I could feel the warm trickle of blood forging a path through my coat and dripping down onto the floor. I knew that there was no alternate path for me but to look eventually. If I didn’t, then I would bleed out and be left a free—but dead—man.

Slowly, I tried to bring my breathing back under control and it seemed to work slightly as they no longer sounded so ragged, though their speed did not decrease. Halfway there, I repeated like a mantra in my head, all I had left to do was check this side to make sure I had gotten every little bit and then repeat the process with the other side.

Opening my eye a crack the first blur that coalesced into a shape was the dagger itself. Where before it had been blindingly clean, now to was coated in blood, the bright red liquid running in rivets down its lengths and onto my foreleg.

Eventually, everything was once again in focus, and I gazed on my butchered flank in abstract horror. I had only managed to cut off about a third of it. The bulk of the ball itself remained, the part where the two needles once stuck out being replaced instead by a long deep gash that was bleeding profusely. The metallic stench of blood overwhelmed every other smell in the room.

Steeling myself I knew that I would need to hurry. I already was beginning to feel slightly light headed by the blood loss, and my shaking limbs were growing numb.

Bringing the blade up against my mark again I began to cut before I could hesitate any further. As soon as it pierced my skin a wave of dizziness and nausea swept over me that seemed to exacerbate the pain that I could feel in my side.

Swooning slightly on the spot, I could feel my grip on the knife loosen and begin to slide from my hoof. Making a grab at it as best I could the signals seemed to arrive a moment too late. As I saw it begin to fall I re-established my hold over it, managing to grasp onto its very edge.

I stood there, having no possible way to readjust the knife I was stuck in limbo. The knife’s handle was coated in blood, my blood, making it slippery. I could feel my grip gradually failing until eventually I could only observe in despair as it spiralled to the floor. As I watched it seemed to move in slow motion, flipping twice, end over end, before the handle collided with the ground with a ring, only to bounce up before returning to the ground with a sequence of successively smaller clatters.

Wasting no time I frantically clamored to retrieve it. However, the width of the dagger, coupled with the blood that coated it, made it impossible for me to retrieve it with the clumsiness of my handless limbs. I attempted it at least half a dozen times, growing more panicked as each one ended in failure. Once, I managed to lift it off of the ground, but my tenuous grip soon left it slipping out once again.

The realisation slowly dawned on me. There was no way that I could even hope to do this on my own, and there was only one person who could possibly help me.

With a great effort, I pulled myself onto my shaking hooves. As quickly as I could, I stumbled over to the doorway that Gilda had vanished through, only a few hours earlier. A smaller part of my mind was left to wander in awe at just how heavily she slept, having evidently not even noticed the racket that I had made previously.

As I stumbled across the room, I could hear the patter of the blood that I left in my wake, though the room itself was too dark for me to be able to see them make out any mark on the dark floor.

I was beginning to feel woozy, and I knew that there would not be much time left before I blacked out from shock and blood loss.

Managing to reach the door was a small victory, and I rested up against it for a moment to collect my strength.

Struggling to raise my hoof it simply refused to carry out what my brain was telling it to do. When I had fought it to an acceptable height it hung there, trembling slightly and for a moment it felt like it would fall back down to the ground. Somehow I managed to prevent this and with as much force as I could muster I began to slam it into the door repeatedly, not even pausing as I knew that if I did I wouldn’t be able to start again.

“Gilda,” I called, my voice sounding rough, and pathetically weak to even me.

Suddenly the door was wrenched open, sending me stumbling forward after my support was taken from me. Thankfully I ran into something that was covered in something so soft it made me even sleepier just leaning against it but refused to budge an inch, even after my full weight had collapsed onto it.

Looking up at what it was that had saved me from falling, I was greeted with the dangerously narrowed eyes of a predator only a couple of centimetres away from my own.

“Just what in Tartarus are you doing making all this noise,” spoke the unmistakably angry voice of Gilda.

Being so close to her I easily caught sight of the minute movement of her eye, along with their slight widening, that signified her noticing the mess that I had left behind.

“What have you done to my place?” she questioned, her tone moving away from anger and instead adopting a coldness that was even more dangerous.

Too weary to give the full explanation I instead opted to turn my torso slightly, giving her a clear view of my cutie mark, or at least what remain.

As soon as she did, I could see her eyes widen even further, so much that I half expected them to fall out, as she peered at me with undisguised shock.

“Gilda,” I croaked, “I’m not strong enough, please you have to finish it for me.”

“What in the deepest depths of Tartarus is wrong with you, you crazy horse?!” she shrieked, “I leave you alone for a few hours, and you start cutting pieces off of yourself!”

“Please, you don’t understand. It’s in my mind, if I don’t get it off, then it’s going to kill me. It wants destroy my human thoughts and replace them with pony ones.”

“You really are just crazy, aren’t you?” She questioned, before mumbling to herself so softly I could barely hear her, “Typical, serves me right for believing some dweeb I met in a bar.”

By now my vision was beginning to swim and was beginning to wilt under Gilda’s stare. Deep down I didn’t blame her, really I doubted my own sanity at the moment.

“Please Gilda,” I begged her for the second time, desperation filling my tone, “I can’t do this on my own, you need to do it for me.”

“Yeah right, like I’m going to do that,” she spoke with a snort of derision, “if I do, then the next thing I know the city guard will be busting down my door and hauling me off to jail.”

“Gilda, you said you believed me before, about being human. I need you to believe me again. If you don’t, then you’ll have left me to die.”

By now I was sprawled before her with my two forehooves clasped together in front of me. I was begging her, pride be damned. What good would it do me now if I wasn’t even here to have it.

“I’m sorry Joshua,” she spoke, her tone cold, “I can’t risk it, you’ll have to leave.”

At her words despair crashed down onto me so heavily I almost surrendered myself over to my mark, at least it would be less painful, and I wouldn’t spend the final moments huddled in fear out on the street.

“Here,” she said, a hint of kindness entering her voice, “I’ll bandage you up. I owe you that much.”

Still watching her with dread she turned around as I saw her form disappear into the bathroom off to one side, followed shortly by the sound of drawers being rummaged through.

Slowly my head began to droop down until it was comfortably nestled in my readjusted forelegs. I could feel my heavy eyelids begin to shut, as I let out a mighty yawn. I was so tired of fighting, all I needed to do was fall asleep and everything would be over.

NO! My head suddenly whipping up and my eyes widening in defiance. I did not come this far to give up at the final hurdle. I had already convinced Gilda once all I needed to do was do it again. The facts were laid out before me, all I needed to do was present them to her logically and I would finally be free.

Already my eyes were beginning to droop again, but I was not going down without a fight. With as much force as I could muster I brought my head down towards the floor. Upon impact stars exploded in my vision accompanied by a loud crack caused by my forehead making contact with the ground. Shaking my head to clear it I began to organise my thoughts.

It seemed the medical supplies were giving her some trouble if the soft curses were anything to go by. Luckily this gave me a few extra moments to arrange my argument, though my swimming head and the constant trickling sensation from my wound did not make it easy. I tried to focus more on the hot pain, to keep my head.

Eventually Gilda returned with a triumphant expression and a roll of gauze clutched in one of her claws. With a supreme amount of effort I hauled myself to my feet with a groan. Not even pausing she began to make her way over to me, which I delayed by positioning my body between my cut and her.

“Gilda, wait,” I spoke, whilst continually having to reorientate myself to prevent her from bandaging my wound. It was almost comical, a sort of awkward game where we circled each other in some bizarre dance.

Gilda’s patience seemed to reach its end fairly quickly as she gave an annoyed growl and slowed to a halt.

Taking the opportunity I launched straight into my argument, a state of calm falling over me as adrenaline coursed through my veins, seeming to dull the pain from the various injuries that afflicted me.

“Just think Gilda,” I started, trying to maintain a sense of balance whilst looking into her piercing gaze, “how important is a cutie mark in the eyes of the pony that has it?”

It seemed that the griffoness was reluctant to cooperate this time around, as for several seconds we stared at each other in silence, a battle of wits where no words were exchanged.

“Very,” she finally admitted grudgingly.

Seizing the opening she had made I pushed the advantage.

“And when we talked yesterday, did I seem crazy to you?”

“No,” This time the response came more readily, though I could still hear the hesitation in her voice.

“And I have already convinced you that I am not a pony. So it only stands to reason that what I’m saying is true.”

This time the silence continued on much longer. One minute passed, then another. By halfway through the next one I was so tense that I couldn’t move a muscle, even if I wanted to.

All throughout this time Gilda seemed to look at me searchingly, seeming to weigh up every insignificant detail about me before passing her judgement.

“Forget you,” Gilda suddenly broke the silence, speaking with a tone almost of disbelief, “I must be the crazy one around here.”

“Does that mean you’ll do it?” I questioned, hope dawning in my heart.

Gilda let out a heavy sigh, and nodded briefly, before quickly retrieving the knife from where I had dropped it, flicking off some of my blood that coated it. She simply stood there for a while, making no move to leave the tiled section of the room and approach me.

“Well hurry up before I change my mind,” she growled, “I don’t want any more of your blood all over my stuff.”

At a rapid a pace as I could manage I limped over to her, though I was thankful for the small size of the room, as I was still incredibly unstable on my feet.

Taking the initiative I laid my belly down on the cold floor in much the same style as a dog would.

Bringing the knife down slowly it appeared that Gilda was just as unsure as me about what she was doing, though she would never admit that.

As the knife grew closer I gradually shut my eyes until they were squeezed shut so tightly that I could feel the entirety of my face scrunching up.

Just as I felt the knife touch me again a bolt of panic struck me.

“Wait!” I cried, hurriedly searching for an excuse.

It appeared that by having someone else wield the knife it made it far harder to control myself. Sure, it was difficult when I had to do it, but at least I could predict exactly when the pain was going to start.

“A gag,” I exclaimed, overtaken by sudden inspiration.

Looking back at me Gilda gave me a strange look, “I’m not into that kinky shit.”

“No, I need one to keep me from screaming, or biting my tongue off.”

Giving an annoyed groan she gave a quick appraisal of the room before noticing something off to her side. It was the pile of junk that I had created, from which with little effort she was able to obtain a washcloth from, in the process causing a large section to collapse, creating a noise so loud that I instinctively flinched.

Before I could even react she stepped over to me and violently shoved it into my mouth. Letting out a muffled cry of surprise I tried to fight her off in a blind panic, swatted away her arm as best I could though she was far stronger than me and persisted with little effort.

“Look do you want a gag or not?” She angrily questioned all whilst forcing it in even further.

Her words cut through the haze of my panic and re-established my logical thought. Falling into silence I patiently waited for her to complete the process, fighting down my rising fear as the moment where the cutting would begin drew nearer.

Finally it was done and the true test of my humanity would begin.

“Are you ready?” Gilda questioned, laying a comforting claw on my back.

Abstractly I realised that this was the first time that Gilda had willingly touched me, though now was not the time to be analysing that realisation.

“Mrmph,” I replied, giving a resolute nod of my head, the gag restricting making my speech entirely incomprehensible.

“Okay, well... Here goes.”

After the briefest of pauses I could begin to feel the knife come into contact with my skin, its touch once again causing an involuntary spasm from my leg .

Then, suddenly, the knife bit into my flesh, and I was overwhelmed with pain. I could feel it moving just below my skin and its path left searing agony in its wake.

For the third time in my life I screamed without constraint, the muffled cries that escaped sounding insignificant compared to the energy that I exerted into each one.

My world was entirely focussed on my flank, and in that world was nothing but pain.

Dimly I became aware of another piece of my mark falling to the ground and the pain lessening enough that I could exert enough will to stop screaming.

Gilda spoke to me then, but in my world the words held no meaning and soon enough silence once again returned.

As suddenly as I experienced relief did I once again experience suffering as the blade invaded the other side of my body.

Once again did I scream without restraint, but this time it was accompanied by the edges of my vision succumbing to blackness.

Ushering up the last little bit of my will, I forced the darkness back. I would not allow it to claim me, until I knew that my chains had been broken.

So my agony continued. I did not know for how long I existed in the narrow world of suffering, but suddenly I felt the knife leave me for a final time. I experienced the sensation of the mark gradually lose contact with my body and I felt the rush of jubilation that accompanied it. But I would not allow myself celebration just yet, there was one final task for Gilda to complete.

Weakly, I attempted to pull the gag out of my mouth but the clumsiness of my appendage, coupled with the blood loss that sapped my strength, made it an impossible task.

Thankfully Gilda quickly caught on to what I was doing and without pause wrenched it out.

“Wow,” she began, “you must be a tougher bastard than I th—“

“Burn it,” I interrupted, not caring for the rudeness of doing so.

Catching onto my meaning she made her way over to the pot bellied stove that sat in one corner of the kitchen and began to pile wood into it.

At first, I tried to stand, though my limbs by now seemed to lack the strength to do so. My first attempt succeeded in getting my underside off the ground, but that only lasted for a few seconds before my quivering muscles gave out and sent me back to the floor, only leaving me winded. Eventually, I gave up and awkwardly managed to shift myself enough so that I could get a face-on view of the stove.

The blood was flowing down my coat still, but it seemed that the left side had begun to slow. The sensation of blood not being as prevalent as it did on my right—and more recently cut—side. Furthermore, I could also noticed that it had started to congeal, as every time I shifted, I could feel it tug uncomfortably on my coat.

I was fighting with all my might to stay conscious, as my vision seemed to fade in and out. My head was so heavy by now that I could simply no longer hold it up, and was forced to once again rest it against my forehooves. By this point I was running entirely on adrenaline, and even that was beginning to run low.

Soon enough, Gilda had made a roaring fire that crackled merrily, it would be perfect for the final step.

Perhaps sensing that I had little time left, she hurriedly retrieved the scraps of flesh still besides me and threw them into the awaiting flames.

They caught alight almost immediately, beginning to blacken and curl as the thin strips were subjected to the purifying heat. I stared intently as the various different parts of the needles and yarn were overtaken and replaced.

At the same time, the parts of my coat still attached began to give off a thick black smoke that caused the smell of burning hair to fill the room.

From the expression on Gilda’s face she found the aroma of the burning hair unpleasant as she did her best to cover her nostrils.

For me on the other hand, it was the most glorious thing I had ever smelt, my freedom.

Only once I saw the final bit of red overtaken by the flames did I allow unconsciousness to claim me. The final thing that I heard before I lost myself to it was Gilda frantically calling out my name.

My real name.