Part One

The biggest changes in life happen at the most innocent times, blind-sided while idle, spontaneously combusting the warm, gentle world and leaving the bleak, charred prison in which we all are bound, shackled in misery.

“Ready or not, here I come!” Scootaloo excitedly yelled and turned from her position against the tree, blinking her eyes and narrowing them to readjust to the evening sun breaking through the forest’s foliage. She had counted to 50 and hopped happily, peering one way and then the other for the best hiding spots, knowing her friends were there somewhere. Her fledgling wings fluttered like those of a hummingbird in her childish glee, her whole being electrified with the intensity of the game and the friendship she shared with Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle. The orange pegasus giggled, the rosy blush of youth dancing on her cheeks, and cantered off into the nearby brush in pursuit of her friends.

Sweetie watched the pegasus from her hiding spot, ducking her head out of sight as Scootaloo looked in her direction and then peeked from behind the tree again as Scoots sped off opposite her hiding place. Sweetie chuckled to herself and crouched, further concealing herself in the tall, yellowed grass. She knew she should be quiet but couldn’t help giggling gently, mirthfully, innocently as the child she was. The world was warm around her and it seemed everything was there for her pleasure; a singing cricket played a melody just for her, Celestia’s sun heated her core and filled her belly with a spreading feeling of safety, and the games with her friends, those comrades she knew would be there with her life-long granted her a peace of mind so succinct that the cold nights of life could not pierce. Sweetie was thankful, as thankful as the most devout worshiper of Celestia, for her friends and yet, above them, was her sister Rarity.

Rarity was her family, her protector, her best friend, and her beacon of hope. She loved her friends, but Rarity was on a whole other level. The bonds of sorority were the most tightly knit and those threads looped within the filly’s soft chest, wrapping her heart and embracing it with the most divine and truest of loves. Sweetie was in the cusp of her youth and yet understood her blessings and celebrated them. She smiled to herself, completely content, and silently thanked Celestia for the life she had as she hid from her friends.

“I see you, Apple Bloom!” Scootaloo’s voice echoed from the far side of the clearing they used to play hide-and-seek and Sweetie giggled to herself, ducking even lower. If Apple Bloom was tagged, she would be it and Sweetie would get to hide again. She already had ideas where to hide next but tried to remain focused or else she may lose the chance to hide again. She heard the thrashing of pony legs roaring through the scrawny underbrush and popped her head up to seek her friends.

It sounded as if they were circling her, Apple Bloom fleeing Scootaloo’s outstretched hoof as she weaved through the trees and attempted to circle back around to the clearing and the safety of the home-base tree. She couldn’t see them very well, just flashes of color illuminated by the lines of light from the canopy, brilliantly jostling glimpses of red, yellow, purple, and orange and the jubilant laughter of their race. Sweetie’s heart bloomed and she lost track of herself as Apple Bloom burst from a nearby bush with Scootaloo in tow, reaching and giggling. They came too close and Scootaloo’s expression changed to bewilderment as they stumbled upon the white unicorn hiding behind the scrawny tree in the yellowed grass. A small smirk appeared on the pegasus’ face and she skidded to a halt, allowing the nimble earth pony to go free having found an easier target.

Sweetie barely had time to move, let alone run, and Scootaloo’s hoof tapped her back. “Got you, Sweetie Belle!” the triumph in her voice was real and she beamed joyously.

“I’m it, I guess!” Sweetie remarked, not bothered by being the searcher; It was fun too, though she did prefer to hide. She looked out at the happily hopping Apple Bloom with her hoof planted safely on home-base.

Sweetie stepped from the grass and marched to Apple Bloom, Scootaloo following her closely. “Okay, I’ll count to fifty while you hide. Make sure you hide well!” She put her forehoof against the solid bark of the tree, pressing her eyes against the silky softness of her foreleg and began to count while the sounds of her friends scampering into the brush was caught in her perky, white ears. She counted, thinking of how much fun she was having and the excitement of searching, finding, and chasing those she cared for. A smile formed on her lips as she listed numbers in an ascending pattern, “ eighteen, nineteen, twenty …”.

She thought about where Apple Bloom would hide; probably inside the old hollow log, letting the shadows conceal her or maybe in the thicket of berry bushes that always seemed to offer plenty of hiding spots and tasty snacks that often enough caused the hunter to find you. “ Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one …”.

Scootaloo would probably go to the rock formation and hide in the natural bowl it made, safe from immediate sight or down by the stream where the babbling sound would mask her movements if Sweetie came to close. Sweetie grinned to herself and thought about them, how she loved them. “ Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine …”.

“Fifty,” a strange voice sharply finished, coming from right behind her and impossible to identify in the instant before Sweetie felt a sudden flash of heat and the world went dark around her. That was the moment that her world crumbled; the moment she was introduced to the stark cruelty of the world; the day her soul began to die.

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Sweetie Belle’s eyes popped open to reveal the dirty, flat pillow, brown-stained sheets, and strewn filthy blankets. The dream had come again, the last happy memory of her life haunted her dreams often enough to sting, penetrating the dead layers that shielded what remained of her hope. It had been a long time since tears had formed in the corners of her eyes to moisten the dark circles that marred her once-beautiful and innocent face. The memory had, long ago, stopped drawing water from the well of sorrow that drowned her heart but reached into its depths to pluck at the obdurate lump in her chest. That time was so long ago, did it really exist once or was it just a dream that belied the harsh reality that caged her? She wasn’t sure she knew the answer to that question anymore. In some ways, she wished it was just a dream, a fancy formulated by her fevered mind; at least then she could dismiss it as a fancy, an imagination, a lie to her enured life; then it might not hurt her.

Sweetie raised herself from the bed, the aches of her young adult body having become normal to the point of numbness. The sheets were a disaster of dried brownish streaks from those who used her, much like her coat. She wore the white of innocence naturally but it had become a dismal mockery of her character now, she was filth, trash, refuse. Her captors did everything to remind her of that every moment of her life.

Time was ersatz in her life, the windowless room did not allow for sunlight or natural darkness, only the false light that came from the overhead lumination tubes, unnatural and inorganic, like her continued sustainment in this mockery of life. She did not know when she slept or how long, to the point where it no longer mattered to her; it was just another thing lost to another life. She was trapped in a timeless survival only dotted with the few routines that gave some semblance of structure to her time. She was dimly aware of the length she had been incarcerated, but those few moments were single sparks in the blackness of the sunless world. She could only see the sunlight in her dreams now, some subconscious image of an outside world as tangible as those images of her friends and family.

And yet as locked in immeasurable time as she was, it did not cease, lengthening her legs and neck, and filling out the child body into that of a late teenager. Her form was thin, gaunt, and shadowed with slight malnourishment, but mostly darkened from the acceptance of her fate. Her lithe form was still attractive despite the hollows beneath her eyes and cheeks, the sullen ghostlike color of her once radiant coat, and the flickerless, lightless dead of her eyes. Her body, unfortunately, was what mattered and not the wormhaunt that resided within. Her head lifted to the spotted yellow wallpaper of her room-like prison as if noticing something different for the first time in years but drooped once more, eyes flittering across the ugly brown carpet dotted with cigarette burns and splashed here and there with water damage where a bottle of some strong spirit had fallen and poured out its guts. Her body quivered lightly and she wished for a few drinks of the burning liquid to suppress the need that was beginning to grip her.

She debated forcing herself up to shower in the only other room of her small prison. Doorless, so she couldn’t hide, it held a stained toilet, steel mirror, wash basin, and a curtainless shower. At least the water was hot and it may buy her some time before the shakes began.

She got to her hooves and walked into the bathroom, adjusting the handles of the shower until a thick steam rolled from the moldy, tiled washroom and she stepped beneath the spraying head. The heat felt good across her body and the quivering seemed to subside. The soap she had diminished to a thin strip of curled and cracked futility had been replaced by her captor, the disembodied voice that called to her from the speaker by the metal door when she had done something wrong or when it chose to mock her. She could not see his face and the speaker seemed to spread the voice out, making it bigger and rustier than it was. She knew it was the same voice that finished her counting that day long ago, but she could never discern the true tonality of it, the distortion too great. That voice still frightened her despite the years of acclimation. She could imagine the beast behind it; the ever-watching thing that had ruined her life.

Her ears perked at a coarse, grating noise from the other room, a sound like grinding teeth across a hoof file. She knew the sound well, the way it forced her spine to tingle, the faint internal discourse it caused. The tinny clash of metal and subsequent splash of thick, viscid liquid meant only one thing; it was feeding time.

The teenage unicorn’s legs had been chattering as they always did when that door opened, ever expecting her captor to reveal himself for one final, bloody moment when she had become too old for use. Such were the threats that she had heard for such a long time and she never knew when “too old” would occur despite her youth. If anything, she knew she could not trust the metallic voice that offended her senses like a rake on a chalkboard. Someday, his threats would cease to be idle and her life would end abruptly, violently. Her existence was a tragedy play but it was still life and the young mare had steeled a tiny piece of her resolve to escape, to hope, to freedom despite the desperation of her situation. Her dim eyes glanced to the tiles below the shower handles and the strange lack of grouting around them. She didn’t know how long he would keep her alive to serve those who sought her sexually but, with a tiny inkling of a smirk in her lips, Sweetie Belle knew she would live long enough.

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Sweetie had woken up face-down on a bed confused. Hadn’t she been counting just a moment ago in the forest, eagerly checking off time before she could begin the hunt for her friends? Her head ached and she could feel a diluted burn filtering through the back of her skull, expanding in little waves of dissolving pain radiating down into her neck. She tenderly brought a hoof to feel, touching a short lump that intensified the seething and bolted a fresh jolt of terrible pain throughout her head. She nearly blacked-out once more, tears forming in her eyes with each thrumming beat of her heart that racked her injury and prompted the young filly to bury her face into a starchy pillow on the hard mattress of the bed with deep breaths and eyes clenched in a weak attempt to guard against the pain. For a long time she lay face-down in the bed wetting the thin blankets with the moisture forming in her eyes against the pain from the rigid, screaming knot. It consumed so much of her energy that for several hours the filly did little more than fade in and out of consciousness.

The painful prodding of hooves on her soft, little body finally brought her from the blackness to the waking world. Her head no longer ached so severely but that was merely at the edge of her perception as her eyes beheld a stallion, black eyes peering lustily down at her, a faint line of glistening drool wetting his lips. At that age, Sweetie knew nothing naturally of relationships more than marefriends and coltfriends, a thing often teased about in her class at school and sex was a subject only breached by her sister in terms of being mindful of strangers because they may want to do “things” to young fillies. Somehow, with only this limited knowledge, Sweetie understood that the stallion roughly pressing her soft tummy was seeking the cryptically spoke of “things” and she let loose a squeal and kicked his probing forelegs away with her hindlegs.

“No! Rarity! Help! Somepony help me!” the filly cried, pushing with her hindlegs at the tan stallion with slick, greased-back mane struggling to control her. She wiggled and writhed, turning about as the larger male fought her to her back.

“Hold still, you little brat! This honor is mine and I mean to have my enjoyment before you are spoiled by others!” His voice was empowered with lust but held a tinge of arrogance, the foppish accent of hegemony. He was weak for a stallion, a sign that he rarely did physical labor, but far stronger than a little filly. Sweetie was turned to face him and held in place, pinned by his thin legs, her own splayed apart and revealing, embarrassingly, her private parts to him. Her eyes renewed a stream of tears and Sweetie could only move her shoulders feebly under this stallion’s weight. She stared up at him frightfully, not knowing what he meant to do with her and in a state of complete discomfiture. She only then recalled the voice behind her in the forest and assumed she had found its source.

“Please, don’t hurt me. I … I just want to go home,” the filly explained fretfully.

The tan stallion was wearing a red tie, something Sweetie had rarely seen and flicked her eyes confusingly to, a large symbol of currency had been embroidered in gold at the widest part of the accessory and Sweetie thought she recognized it momentarily but her gaze was brought back to the steel eyes of the stallion as he spoke. “Stop fighting me or I will clop you unconscious. Give me what I want and … ,” a wry smile splayed across his face and a look that Sweetie did not recognize filled his eyes: deceit. “ I’ll let you go home.”

The filly cried softly, staring up with big frightened eyes and gingerly nodded. “Just let me go home. Let me go see my sister. I won’t … I won’t tell.” She meant it, she just wanted to escape, to find her way home again and whatever she needed to do to facilitate her release seemed a bargain. The filly knew nothing of lust, desire, or sex at that moment and worried for her life not knowing that the stallion had no designs to cease her small heart’s rapid beating.

“You have to call me Daddy. If you call me Daddy, I’ll let you go after I’m finished. You can go and see your sister, Rarity. Won’t that be nice?” The stallion dribbled onto the filly’s stomach as he spoke but seemed not to notice, completely enthralled by the situation. Sweetie noted that this male knew her sister which meant he knew her as well. She tried to remember him, his appearance teasing her memory.

“Yes.” The filly’s heart felt as if it were about to burst in her chest and she couldn’t help but cry harder, her voice narrowly choking out her words. “Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay … Daddy.”

Sweetie screamed as the stallion took what he wanted from her. It had been the ultimate shock and she thought he was murdering her more than once during the intercourse. All the while he spoke to her and demanded that she answer him in the predetermined term. It wasn’t until his orgasms did he anoint her with a name, one that gave up his identity, and that name was Diamond Tiara. All at once Sweetie recalled the image of her bully standing with her father at school for career-day; a tall business-pony known for shady deals, underhooved practices, and morally bankrupt enough to sell anything. She knew this stallion was Diamond’s dad, Filthy Rich.

Author's Notes:

It's been a while and this is the first shorter fiction to be broken up with chapters instead of being posted all at once. I think these shorter chunks will aid in reading and make it easier to pause and digest. This is also a little different as it deals with something that is conceivably realistic not seen since Our Love, Eternal. Hope you enjoy.

Part Two

Filthy Rich had not released her when he had dismounted her, exhausted and barely glimpsing the world, claiming it would be “bad business” before leaving her to aching abdomen and private parts. The blood had terrified her and she sobbed into sleep thinking she would never again awaken.

Unfortunately, she had.

Sweetie Belle remembered that first moment of her new life and chewed the lining of her mouth angrily, the iron flavor of blood filled her mouth before the pain caught her attention. She had long ago learned to ignore pain. She spat and watched as the water encarnadined and swirled into the drain by her hooves. Dully, the unicorn began to shiver and she gazed down to the tiling in the wall below the shower knobs, the darkness of the spaces between camouflaged by the thick, black scum dwelling in the grouting of the shower. He hadn’t suspected, had been in this very position while changing out soaps for his precious product, a thing, an object he sold to add to his scandalous wealth. He hadn’t found the tunnel.

“I will make him pay”, she thought as she brushed gently against the tiles and felt the warm, stale air squeezing between the gaps from the hole on the other side. Her last, best hope for freedom. “Soon … I will make him pay.”

Sweetie felt the tremors of withdrawal trembling through her core and down each leg as she came back into the main room of her prison. Laying at the base of the door below the long but short panel for depositing items in her room sat a food tray similar to the ones she used to get at school for lunch. It was rectangular and composed of a light plastic faded from a bright blue to the blanched color of bitter clouds with square and rectangular indentations for holding what her captor called food; gruel staunch with almost colorless lumps, stale bread, and two paper cups. One cup held some yellowish juice and the other a low quality, spiteful liquor. Only two, she usually had another cup of liquor. Her shaking would return later in the day if she did not have more but maybe her clients had complained of her lackluster performances and this would force her to writhe around them even if she didn’t want to.

The gruel was as tepid and bland as it was gray and watery. Sweetie rarely tasted anything with flavor, presents from customers who, perhaps, took some modicum of pity on her or guilt for the actions they enacted upon her, tiny gifts for her lips to suck on in appreciation for the sucking those lips had done moments before. Something to take the rancid bleach taste from her mouth. Still, she shoveled the clumps into her mouth and swallowed, taking in what nourishment this food by-product would offer her somewhat emaciated body and followed it with the cup of spirits.

Quaffing the cup in mere moments, the light shivering of her body ceased and she blew out the fire that ignited in her throat and stomach. It had only been one cup, her captor must want her comprehensive and aware today. Still, the room began to lope to the side of her vision and she lay back on the bed, letting the tray clamber to the floor with a wet thwack. The juice spilled but she didn’t care and doubted any of the stallions would give much of a fuck about their slut’s lack of table manners or cleanliness. Maybe one of them would let her drink from their bottle, provided any brought one, and let her return to the blackness while they fulfilled themselves with her lifeless body. She doubted it; they tended to like her awake, even if she appeared barely so. They liked staring into her and seeing the intelligence behind her eyes, that they were doing this to another living pony. She was a doll of pleasure, but one that could feel and think.

Suddenly, she rolled upright and fetched a small binder from the drawer of the nightstand by the bed. It was cheap and bare, stains adorning the thin cardboard. She had a few minutes, maybe. Her heart was sinking, resigning herself to the abuses of a parade of stallions that would begin soon; they would take her body, but she would steel herself against their soul-killing tirade with the only thought that still brought comfort: her sister, Rarity.

The folder opened with a slightly crinkling noise and several articles from the local newspaper peered up at the undead eyes of the faded unicorn. Gently, she took them out one at a time. Many were yellowed and stiff with age although some were the neutral of newsprint paper and still fluttered against the unicorn’s breath. Her vision twisted from the burning alcohol she had consumed but, eagerly, she continued to peruse. Some were large, some small and consisting of only a couple hundred words. Some were about business in Ponyville, great dances in Canterlot, Cloudsdale, and other major cities, and several pertained to Sweetie herself. Most importantly, they all had to deal with Rarity.

Sweetie didn’t know why she would sometimes find a newspaper laying next to her food tray but she was happy for it. It was her only lifeline to the outside, to her past even though it was only a one way street. She discovered, however, that the papers always had the common feature of Rarity in them. That would explain why they were so rare but why would Filthy Rich feed her this information? She noted the newspaper was always “The Ponyville Enquirer”, the newspaper Filthy Rich owned. Sweetie had pondered the question of why for years and narrowed it down to four possibilities.

1. It was purely an accident, although the constant references to Rarity seemed to nullify this theory.

2. Filthy wanted to crush her spirits, to show her that the world outside of these walls would never find her and might as well be a dream.

3. Filthy was mocking her.

4. Having a daughter, himself, Filthy may be showing some tiny amount of compassion by showing her images of the family she would never again be allowed to see.

Sweetie rifled through the papers, laying them out on the cheap blankets and studying them chronologically.

By Cron Kite

Ponyville 9th of Harvest-- The town of Ponyville, typically a quiet township on the outskirts of Canterlot, has caused quite a disruption in the local news as Sweetie Belle, 9, has recently gone missing. Family members and friends have been questioned about her last known whereabouts but little information has been collected beyond the location and approximation of time. According to officials, Sweetie Belle, a unicorn of white coat and cotton candy mane without a cutie mark, went missing on the 6th of Harvest while playing with her friends in the nearby Everfree Forest.

Since then, an official investigation has been issued and many community members have volunteered, coming the forest and town in search for the stray filly. Police Chief Gray Gravel is leading the search and explained his methods. “Right now, we are operating on the assumption that Sweetie is merely lost and following protocol as such. We hope to find the girl soon and restore her to her friends and family.” When questioned about the infamous 72 hour mark where the chances of finding a missing pony diminish drastically Gravel refused to comment.

Everfree is a 278 square mile forest that bridges many outlying towns of Equestria together through an interlacing series of trails although use of such trails are deemed dangerous because of the untamed nature of the forest itself. While many areas localized around towns are fairly safe, it is not uncommon for wild beasts to venture for food or cause personal property damage to farms that typically surround villages. In the past decades there have been several cases of missing persons, typically found victim of the denizens of the forest. Volunteers are taking precautions while searching the rim of the forest for the missing filly.

Sweetie Belle’s sister, Rarity, was interviewed but quickly broke into tears and sobs and needed to be sedated and escorted home to rest.

Scootaloo, Sweetie’s friend and playmate when she disappeared, had this to say, “We just want to find her. She’s been my best friend for a long time and I’m sad because she’s lost. I don’t know how she may have ended up getting lost because we played there all the time. I just hope she comes home safely.”

Sweetie Belle is the sister to local fashionista Rarity and stands approximately …

The first article ended there artificially because of a slip while Sweetie tore the page crookedly, leaving a jagged edge aged golden and stiff like the teeth of a saw or gaping maw of a beast.

She sifted gently through the pile referencing the search and the subsequent lack of physical evidence until she came to one with a picture of her sister, her face haggard and deteriorated with lines of streaked mascara looking painfully into the camera.

By N. Justice
Ponyville, 27th Bloom-- The search for missing filly Sweetie Belle has finally been called off after several grueling months of exploring the Everfree Forest. During this time, police, crime dogs, local civilians, and even interested citizens from many other towns and cities have swept much of the outlying region of the forest. This marks the end of the civil action and begins the next phase of protocol involving missing minors. Police are now focusing on foalnapping instead of a lost child.

Police Chief Gray Gravels commented, “We don’t have any leads at the moment but many residents are being questioned for strangers they may have witnessed near the town in the past few months. There’s always the chance that Sweetie Belle simply ran away but, if that were the case, we would have heard something by now as this case has generated widespread notoriety. We ask each and every pony to keep their eyes open for Sweetie and report any suspicious behavior.” Chief Gravel was reluctant to respond to questions about the likelihood that, if discovered, Sweetie will be found dead and simply stated, “We remain optimistic but we have to think realistically as well.”

Rarity, fashionista and Sweetie Belle’s sister, came to us with a message for our readers, “Please remain vigilant and report anything out of the ordinary. Sweetie is a blessing from Celestia to me and I beg each and every one of you to aid her in her time of need. Her family misses her and pleads for her safe return.” Rarity, 32, is hesitant to believe Sweetie Belle could have been foalnapped, but asks for cooperation from local communities to remain vigilant for her sister.

The unicorn continued to flip through scraps. Several newer and mentioned Rarity’s garments at events such as the Grand Galloping Gala, the Hoofington Honor Ball, and the Manehattan Menagerie. She smiled slightly, her cheeks hurting each time as the expression was now foreign to the young adult mare. She looked through several other articles about Rarity’s business until one particular clip caught her eyes and caused her pathetic smile to falter back to its woeful countenance.

By J. Grim
Ponyville, 14th First Fall-- Five years ago Ponyville citizen, Sweetie Belle, 9, went missing. A never-before-seen search was organized and citizens from across Equestria set into the Everfree Forest and their local towns for the missing filly. Unfortunately, she was not found and the search took on a new direction: foalnapping. Once more, many ponies continued to search and remain vigilant. Many leads were followed by authorities but, again, ended in failure.

Now, most conclude that the filly was attacked by something from the Everfree Forest as she wandered within the woods. Little evidence exists to suggest anything else but a few stalwartly believe the young filly was taken by an unknown entity. Among those is Rarity, sister to the missing girl, who has routinely been featured in this, and several other, newspapers asking for continued support in the search for foalnapper. In what can only be described as a somber and heartfelt moment, Rarity has once again prepared a statement to Equestria, and more importantly, to her sister’s foalnapper.

“I ask today that the pony who has taken Sweetie Belle to please contact me or the police department of Ponyville with information on the whereabouts of my sister’s remains. As hopeful as I have been for the past five years, I fear Sweetie no longer lives and wish only to bring her home for a proper burial and to be laid to rest where her family can visit. Whoever you are, you are a monster. To harm a young child like this is disgusting and you are truly damned. If a shred of kindness exists within your withered heart, please. Please let my sister rest in peace and dignity. I beg you. Please. Please let me know where to find her. Let me bring her home.”

Sweetie’s dismal eyes dripped slowly. Her fate had been sealed long ago and she no longer wept for herself but seeing her sister’s torment still caused her heart to ache. Sweetie wiped her eyes with her foreleg and looked at the picture accompanying the article.

It showed Rarity in the monotones of black and white, aged beyond her years and showing signs of defeat. Her mane lacked the usual well-kept appearance and sported several gray strands that even the meretricious cameras of the Ponyville Enquirer could pick up. Much of her beauty had withered and her eyes were a mirror of Sweetie’s own; cold and dead.

Sweetie gently brought the picture to her lips and kissed it. “I’m sorry, Rarity. I miss you.”

The door swung open and Sweetie quickly pushed the scraps of paper back into the folder.

“What are you doing, Sweets? Checking off the days before I visited you again?” The voice was a pony who came to her often and she slid the folder into the drawer of the nightstand and rolled to face him.

“Yeah. That’s it. What do you want today?” Sweetie’s voice was emotionless and cold, a blade caught in her throat.

“Good. Well, let’s see how much I can get with my time,” the stallion seeped, dripping with lust and sick delight as he brought his hooves to fondle the young unicorn. “Turn over and let me see your ass. I think that could be a wonderful place to start.”

Sweetie Belle obediently rolled onto her stomach and brought her hooves beneath her, pushing her rump into full view of the stallion. She despised when the stallions wanted her behind, though, she hated anything any of them wanted anyway so it wasn’t much worse. She didn’t even know his name but she would remember his face. She would remember his face forever for the day she escaped and brought retribution onto those who used her.

The first pains radiated her rectum and she felt her body giving way to his desires. The alcohol stirred her vision somewhat but did little to deaden the ache he gave her. Slowly, she let herself drift away into memories, separating her from this small room where she was raped, fucked by ponies with bilious perversions. Her eyes glazed, shimmering with dejection, and her mind crept gradually away from her body to thoughts of her past, thoughts of the good times she could barely recall before Filthy Rich. Thoughts of her beloved sister.

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Sweetie’s tiny, childish eyes grinned up to her older sister hard at work on her dresses, cutting, sewing, and holding one pattern up against another while she scrutinized over compatibilities. The youth was hiding behind a large stack of fabric, the many colors and materials in multitudes higher than the filly could count. She giggled to herself as Rarity’s sewing machine stirred and thrummed with the steady whirring of its mechanisms. She watched in awe as her beautiful sister ran a bright blue satin through the rapidly diving needle and marveled at the technique and lack of accidents. To the tiny unicorn the sewing machine was almost a monster.

She played behind her fortress of dress material and imagined Rarity was deftly stuffing cloth into the snapping maw of a creature.

Rarity suddenly wore shimmering armor comprised of silver sequins, tastefully arranged around her most vital areas for protection against rough beasts of the wild, the horrors that invaded homes for young foals, like her. Her sister’s mane was tied back in beautiful braids and tied tightly beneath a silver tiara with a glimmering sapphire resting in a twinkling frame in the middle of her forehead. Her weapon was the Sash of Glamour, a magical garment capable of assuming any hue and as strong as the strongest metals. Sweetie watched as Rarity swirled the Sash of Glamour in corkscrew patterns, whipping it against a leaping, biting monstrosity.

The sewing machine had become elongated, the sleek design now dotted with spines that dripped a black poison in preparation for the attack that would paralyze the pony flapping in front of it. It’s head was obtuse and protruded strangely forward without lips or cheeks but sprouting a pair of furless bunny ears above red, wild eyes. It lunged, getting a mouthful of nothing, a loud clacking sounded as it’s fangs snapped together several times during the lunge. Sweetie’s eyes peeked just above the cloth, now stone fortress, and watched.

Rarity brought the sash in an arc and snapped it across the creature’s face, darting back as it countered with a swipe from a single razor-clawed arm. Rarity pressed on again and the sash spun in the air weightlessly before reaching out like a whip and cracking loudly, forcing the creature back a step.

The monster snarled, its growls strangely mechanical and whirring, and its teeth narrowly missed the ducking pony. It seemed to grow more agitated and it fervently gnashed the needle-like teeth and jerked back just in time to save itself another painful lash from the sash.

Rarity grinned, “Have you had enough foul demon?” Her sash whipped back and forth between them, making its next attack hard to predict while also obscuring and distracting the monster. Her shining sequins reflected a thousand tiny dots of light that danced across the monster’s hide and occasionally flashed in its beady eyes as a further distraction and agitant.

The creature, in response, roared its strange whirring, clacking noise and rolled forward, forming a sort of wheel and tearing chunks of grass and dirt from the earth, black poison immediately reducing the vibrant green blades of grass into wilted brown husks.

Spinning her sash like a matador and rolling away, Rarity barely stepped from before the beast’s assault and brought the flailing fabric to snap against the rolling form. She laughed and stood defiant against the creature as it pulled up short and glowered angrily at the pony.

The creature jabbed with its twisted claw and Rarity’s sash wrapped firmly around it, yanking the beast from its feet to crash against the ground. Rarity smirked and stepped onto the creature’s chest with her forelegs and struck a wonderfully brave, and fabulous, pose. “I, Rarity, champion of charm, the aesthetic adventurer have conquered thee! Give up now or face the cruel sting of the Sash of Glamour!”

The beast snickered but seemed to repose, the diamond blue of Rarity’s iron gaze freezing the monster and subduing its menacing glare.

Sweetie watched and smiled happily, proud of her conquering sister. She wished she could be that brave and daring, that beautiful, one day. She idolized the finesse and grace that Rarity had displayed as Rarity stepped from the creature, banishing it to the deep of the forest when, suddenly, the beast’s teeth flared and struck angrily in a cheap, dirty attack that Rarity was not prepared for.

“NOOOO!!!!!” The youth burst from behind her cover and charged the table where Rarity worked diligently, turning her head in sudden shock at the shout from the unexpected filly rushing her. Rarity squealed and tried to move out of the way but was too late.

Sweetie Belle crashed against the desk, leaping on top of Rarity and sending a bottle of black dye into the air, toppling, spilling onto everything. The dress was ruined, spotted and streaked, as was Sweetie, Rarity, the desk, and carpet.

Rarity was furious. For a moment, her acute rage could not be expressed in words and silence hung in the air until Sweetie exclaimed, “Uh ok … “, but the filly happened a look upon Rarity’s face that seethed with anger and boiled, encarnadined with intensity and malice.

Rarity’s silence broke with hostility as a Screech tore from her throat hard enough to hurt. “SWEETIE! WHAT DID YOU DO?” She pushed the youth from her, having tumbled to the floor from the assault, and took in the scene. Hours of sewing, planning, sketching, and cutting had gone to waste as she watched thick, oily dye dribble down the dress and into the tablecloth of her sewing room.

Sweetie’s expression was one of discomfiture and fright. She backed away a few steps and sank onto her rump, head drooping and awaiting the scolding. “I’m sorry, Rarity. I was just pretending that …”

“Pretending what? To ruin my work? Even worse! Look what you did to me!” She seemed to notice her own state just then and billowed another shriek, her flowing, velvety mane clung together in black strands and her light gray coat was splotched and stained in wild streaks and unnamed shapes, aberrations marring her beautiful body. “How could you be so reckless? So brazenly bereft of common sense or etiquette?” She snapped her flaring eyes to the younger pony, intent on verbally mauling the filly but ceased her tirade. The sale substance covered much of Sweetie’s body and mane, making her look nearly all black, white, and spotted like a cow.

Rarity couldn’t help but chuckle. Sweetie didn’t know the dire situation they were in. She didn’t know that so much of Rarity’s business depended on this next batch of dresses. She was brash, reckless, and uncouth but she was also a child, a time she would need to remember, Rarity knew, when life would later turn on her. As Rarity knew it would. Life turned on everyone; friends became enemies and those you trusted would hurt you for their own benefit. Rarity’s business was failing and she didn’t know how to feed them both. Yes, she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that life would turn on Sweetie very soon.

Rarity laughed and pulled her young sister to her, causing Sweetie to flinch and then look up with perplexed eyes. “It’s okay, Sweetie. It’s just stuff. It’s only a little mess. Let’s go take a bath before this stuff sets in too much.”

“Okay,” Sweetie squeaked, happy she was not being scolded but still upset at her actions. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. Anyway, even if we scrub our coats off, we will probably still be spotted for a week.” She smiled to the younger unicorn as they entered the bathroom and turned on the hot water.

Sweetie giggled and watched the tub filling up, watching Rarity pour some bubble bath into the churning water where the spout poured and bubbles began to rise up on the surface of the water. She looked at her loving sister and hugged her suddenly. “I love you, Rarity.”

Rarity’s eye twitched gently and she hugged the girl. “You look just like a little cow.” This brought a new round of giggles from Sweetie Belle and Rarity joined in the mirth. “You are such a pretty filly, Sweetie. Before long you are going to be the prettiest filly in all of Ponyville. What will I do with you then? You’ll have to fight colts off with a stick.”

Sweetie slid into the tub with Rarity and sank into the steaming water. “I’ll never be as pretty as you.”

Rarity smirked slightly and looked her little sister over. “I don’t know about that, Sweetie. Ponies will come from far away to see you. I’m certain of it.”

******************************************************************************

Sweetie had often thought about how correct a statement Rarity had spoken. She didn’t know where the stallions who used her came from and she didn’t recognize any of their faces. The exception was Filthy Rich. The thought snapped her from her reverie just as warm stallion milk splashed her thin tummy and a heavy pressure upon her lifted.

“About fucking time you acted alive. Next time you just lay here like this, not making a sound, not looking at me, I’ll slap you around.” The stallion was a large yellow fellow with mean eyes and thick body. He had, apparently, not enjoyed her to the full price he had paid.

Sweetie only nodded softly and rolled away from him, the disgusting liquid squishing between her belly and the bed; more stains. Stains on her innocence, life, and spirit. She didn’t cry, hadn’t cried for herself in a long time and just mewled softly as the tumultuous racking of her body’s abuse caught up with her. She had been used by several different stallions, several times each during her time in memory.

None had harmed her more than usual or her dream would have disappeared all at once. She only faintly recognized how and where she ached, her entire abdomen and hips seethed together in unison. She was sure she had been used completely below the waist and her throat felt as if steel wool had been used to clear it but she didn’t remember too much, having completely checked out for hours. She dreamed of the day she could do that at will instead of only now and then. It would help so much to shut down when she wanted and wake up after everything was over.

The stallion huffed and buzzed to be let out of the room. With a squelch of metal he was gone and Sweetie tried to piece together an idea of how many more she would serve before resting again. She didn’t think it would be many, probably only one or two more.

The door screamed and she sighed sadly, lying still and hoping whoever it was would remain silent and just take what they wanted.

“You’ve been bad, Sweetie Belle.” The voice was familiar, non-distorted, and definitely belonging to the one she despised. Her stomach twisted and she tasted something bleachy and sickening that pumped from her stomach. She swallowed it back down and gritted her teeth together.

Filthy Rich stepped closer and swatted her rump with something heavy and blunt. “That’s why I’m here. You are bad to make me come get you, aren’t you? To teach you a lesson?” His voice was a pimple about to pop, tightening and becoming more stressful from the tension of the impending release. “Why are you such a bad slut, huh?”

Sweetie’s eyes watered with anger as the instrument slapped across her hindquarters again, more roughly than before and filling her with dread. Was he going to hurt her? Had many complained about her? Or was he simply tormenting her, preparing to use her? It was impossible to tell. He came to her infrequently but she imagined him watching from outside, keeping his precious little product in one piece.

“I want an answer, girl.” He swatted her harder with whatever he carried, hard enough to make her yip as her stinging rump reddened.

She was resolved not to look at him, afraid she would enjoy it too much. She would hide her face, hide her intent, hide her hate. “Yes. I … want you. I … miss … you.” The words stuck in her throat.

“I thought as much. You are such a bad, bad pony.” His tone was vile, repulsive, and unmistakably horny.The instrument exploded loudly against her backside and she winced. “You know what you have to do to make up for it, don’t you?”

Sweetie Belle wondered why Filthy always wanted her to call him daddy. She wondered if he had lusty intentions on his own daughter that he held in check with using her. It wouldn’t surprise her. “Yes, Daddy.” The words felt thick and coated in tar as she spoke them emotionlessly.

“Good girl. Now turn around. Daddy has something nice for you to put in your mouth.”

Sweetie grimaced and remained facing the pillow, not wanting to look into his face. She couldn’t bear seeing his smug, tyrannical grin. She wanted to hurt him, kill him, but she was also frightened of what he may do to her if she failed.

He was almost pleased when she didn’t conform to his wishes and he brought the painful item down against her rump several times in rapid succession, causing her to writhe and wail before he ceased. “Turn and face me, Sweetie.”

She fought back what little pride she had and twisted around, putting her rump under her to sit and face her tormentor. The flesh of her backside broiled at the contact of the nasty sheets and she stared directly into Filthy’s eyes. A lump filled her throat and she glared at him with malignant rage barely bitten back.

He loved it and took her head in his hooves. “Be a good girl for Daddy,” he said, pressing her towards his waist and shivering as she accepted him.

She wanted to bite, wanted to rend and tear. She wanted to hurt him as he had used her but she didn’t. She accepted what she had to do and thought of her tunnel as she did what he wanted.

Her only hope for escape. She was deep into the wall and had found dirt. She didn’t know how much longer it would take before she would be free but she hoped it would be soon. She had family who were still looking for her. She wasn’t completely alone as long as Rarity still searched. Someday, she would feel the warm embrace of another and not cringe.

Sweetie did what Filthy wanted, fulfilling him in all the ways he wanted until he stood, satiated, and moved to leave.

“You’re such a good whore, Sweetie. Oh, I brought you something.” He tossed something to her but didn’t wait to see her reaction, the door closing behind him when she turned to look.

Laying before her on the bed was a rolled up newspaper. It was what he had been spanking her with and she wretched at his sick fantasy. Slowly, she unrolled it and looked at the headline.

By D. Form
Ponyville, 24th Season’s End-- The case of Sweetie Belle has finally come to a close. The missing filly was pronounced dead, as accustomed by law, after seven years of searching. She is survived by sister, Rarity, and several close friends who diligently searched for her. This, hopefully, will mark the beginning of the healing cycle for Ponyville as they grieve the empty grave of one of their cherished young ponies.

The family wishes to thank all those who aided them and asks that any contributions made to Sweetie Belle’s memorial be donated to Carousel Boutique, 338 Canter Lane, Ponyville, Equestria. The family hopes to put this tragedy behind them although they will never forget.

Sweetie Belle went missing one day while playing with friends near Everfree Forest and it is presumed she was attacked by an animal and …

Sweetie couldn’t control her tears as they poured down her cheeks. Even Rarity had forgotten her now. Somewhere they were about to bury an empty box, cover it in dirt, forget it. Sweetie’s body shook violently and she wished for a strong liquor to take her away from this place, just for a while. She sobbed and doubled over, stomach churning and aching as it began to cramp.

Sweetie looked once more at the newspaper and saw, in red ink, at the bottom of the page, written in scrawled letters across the entire bottom of the page.

You are mine. Forever.

Part Three: Finale

Months passed and Sweetie clenched her eyes each day and accepted whatever happened during her working hours. Her body was nearly numb, the ache in her chest dulling the jabbing pains others inflicted on her.

She felt lost, the search was over and Rarity had given up on her. Her only source of hope had been violently extinguished by the headline of her local newspaper. Her only comfort was the liquor she was sometimes given privilege to; of that,she eagerly drank and allowed it’s heat to swell within her body, rocking her like the embrace of her sorely missed family. She had nearly forgotten the tunnel that she had laboriously dug over the past few years. What did escape matter? Rarity didn’t care anymore. To her, Sweetie was a murder victim, a ghost from long ago from which she only wanted freedom.

Unfortunately, her lack of enthusiasm had been noted by many of her customers and the continued corpse-like lack of resistance was causing a stir. Her alcohol stopped coming again with her daily meals and the broken mare began to shiver, shudder, and shake from the withdrawal. Even this, however, did not endorse Sweetie’s desired levels of activity. Her captor was forced to step in.

Sweetie lay on her bed, both stained with the brown streaks of released fluids of her lovers. She had stopped bathing regularly was like a bruise from the accumulated putrescence of several days visits coloring her a sickening yellowed amber. Her stomach tightened suddenly and she loosed what little food she had consumed earlier in the day upon the pillow where her head rested miserably. She only wished the detoxification process would kill her.

“Get up you miserable little shit,” the distorted voice of her captor barked through the speaker at the iron door of her cell.

Sweetie lay still and smelled the sick soaking into her pillow as if she had not heard. After a moment, a growl came through the speaker, “You will get up and you will fuck the way you are supposed to fuck or I’m going to have to open your skull with a hammer!”

A sudden fire shot through Sweetie and she bolted up. “Do it! Come in here and kill me! You coward! Do me the only favor and kindness you can and just kill me!” Her whole body trembled with desire. She didn’t care anymore. All she wanted was freedom and death was the only freedom she would ever acquire. Tears rolled down her eyes in defeat as she realized that she had been completely broken. All this time she had held onto a faint hope and now it was dead. For the first time, she truly did not want to live any longer and the threats of violence no longer frightened her; in fact, they were her new hope. She imagined a goon or even Filthy himself repeatedly bringing a hammer down against her head. She could almost hear the splintering bones, the wet packing sound of meat, and the sickening pop as her skull finally gave. It seemed beautiful.

There was silence after her espousement. Her words were dingy and tinged with a matter of factness that could not be falsified. The silence went on for several moments and Sweetie waited for the sound of the door opening, her breath trapped in her breast. Suddenly the voice creaked through the speaker once more, “I see. Perhaps you really don’t care about yourself any longer. You will need some other form of inspiration.” The voice seemed to drip with pleasure, a certain amount of glee engorging each word. “If you won’t cooperate, I’ll be forced to bring a new plaything under my control. I’ve often been asked to bring some older blood into the operation.” The voice stopped in order to gauge the response from the young mare.

Sweetie’s invigoration froze solid as the implications began to set in upon her. He didn’t mean …

“You know, your sister Rarity is still quite beautiful and I don’t think anyone would think her disappearance that shocking. They would assume she moved away in an effort to recuperate from the loss of her sister.” The voice was nearly laughing at this point, “And she’d be down here getting raped the whole time. What’s more entertaining, is it would be your fault, Sweetie Belle. Perhaps she could share the room with you and you could watch her hope drain away while each new stallion broke her little by little. Is that what you want?”

The whitish unicorn’s head sank and she couldn’t help but cry. He had her. She knew it. The only thing that would keep her performing he had used against her. She couldn’t even allow herself to think of condemning her beloved Rarity to this life. She thrust her hooves into the mattress and bit her tongue in defeat.

“Very well. You should expect a reunion very soon, darling,” the voice teased.

Sweetie bolted to her hooves, “NO! Please! I’ll … I’ll do it. Please don’t hurt her. Don’t do this to her.” She had traversed the small room and was pleading at the speaker, her hooves raking the wall around it in desperation. Her small voice broke and crackled in sorrow.

The speaker laughed and it sounded like insects caught in a tin can. “Good girl. Clean yourself up. Get ready for your next customer. The next time you cost me money, your sister will make up the difference.”

Sweetie turned on the shower dejectedly and let the warm water roll down her head and neck. She lathered herself with soap mechanically and reflected upon her misery. She was trapped.

Her green eyes were dim and lifeless as they rolled over the tiles she had painstakingly loosened over years. The tunnel by which she had meant to escape lay hidden behind those tiles. It had all been for nothing. She didn’t know how much more dirt lay between herself and freedom. She could dig forever and never reach the surface. She had given up on escape.

The water turned cold and the mare let its gelid shower glide down her too-lean back, rolling in thin lines between her exposed ribs. Her dim eyes focused on those loose, grimy tiles when a thought shot through her mind. What if her captor didn’t keep his word? Filthy was always looking for a profit. He could very easily capture Rarity and bring her here without Sweetie’s knowledge. If he had thought of it, he may pursue the business endeavor even with Sweetie’s acceptance of terms.

Sweetie’s body chilled but not from the cold water coursing her emaciated body, it was horror that sent shivers through the mare. Focusing on the tiles once more, Sweetie gently kneeled and pulled them free to reveal the narrow space she had been excavating for so long. Knowing that Filthy was untrustworthy, Sweetie slipped inside the crevice and almost slithered into the earthen hole.

On all sides, Sweetie was pinched; the hole was barely big enough to accommodate even her lithe frame and a sense of claustrophobia threatened to smother the unicorn youth. Leaving the electric light spilling from the shower hole behind, Sweetie inched her way through the blackness with the bows of her forelegs, the scent of earth filling her olfactories. She wasn’t sure how much time she had and knew she would have to wash away the mud that was already greasing her wet coat. She just wanted to scrape a few hooves of dirt away. Although she knew not how far she would need to dig, she knew it was her only chance at saving Rarity. She had to try, trusting Filthy was a mistake.

Sweetie soon bumped her muzzle against a wall of dirt in the bleak darkness and began scraping with her hooves, hearing the rich earth crumbling before her. It was a slow process but she maintained her scraping for a few minutes and began edging upward slightly. She was pushing her time and she knew it. There was always a lull in her visitors for sleep but that time hadn’t come. She would come back then and dig more. Blindly, the unicorn youth backed through the narrow tunnel sweeping much of the newly dug dirt with her.

Sweetie barely had time to stuff the dirt into the drain of the shower and get clean before she heard the heavy metal door open and slam shut. A customer called for her and she rapidly replaced the tiles just as he peered into the shower. She smiled sweetly to this stallion and played her part beautifully. She made sure none of her clients left unsatisfied and after a while returned to her tunnel to dig.

******************************************************************************

Sweetie had hardly slept in a week. Her renewed vigor to warn Rarity propelled the youth’s extra activities. During her working hours, she was as wild and nasty as her customers wanted. She was a perfect little nymphomaniac, unable to get enough and literally milking their cries of ecstasy with perfect passion, but, when she was given rest, she returned to her digging and made unbelievable progress. Twice she had stopped the shower’s drain to the point of near-flooding but was able to use her experienced lips to suck the blockage free. She was being reckless, but time was against her and she knew it.

In her tunnel once more, the unicorn tore at the elevated path she had rent from the earth. Her body was coated in mud and sweat and yet her hooves scratched onward, the dirt crumbling under the hard fiber. She coughed at the tightness of the air around her, barely able to move under the rolling debris and crushing space of the tunnel. Ploughing forward, the earth seemed to suddenly become soft, tearing free in great clumps that pelted the youth as they fell and rolled passed her. Sweetie’s hooves ripped away at the pappy turf until her whitish coat suddenly glowed as a tiny aperture appeared before her.

It was if her heart exploded. Her whole body felt tingly with excitement at the faint glimmering beam of moonlight that gleamed down onto the unicorn. Soft, wet noises escaped Sweetie and words could not express the emotions pouring through her body as she pierced her hoof through the hole and dragged her body out onto the soft grass of the meadow. Having seen nothing but electric light for years, the moon’s silvery light bathed her in a warmth unknown. The open space and flowing air rolled across her body and she shivered out of joy. The sounds of crickets in the summer night was a symphony of the most exquisite music she had ever heard. Reveling in her freedom, Sweetie cried in mirth. After so long, she had freed herself. She giggled gently as she wept and pulled grass and dandelions to her her muzzle to smell. Everything suddenly seemed brighter and though she was sure she would never be able to forget her imprisonment, she had this moment. This one minute of purity and tranquility.

Momentarily distracted, Sweetie hopped to her hooves and turned to survey her surroundings. Thankfully, she could make out buildings a short distance away and as she galloped closer, her memory told her it was Ponyville. She had been so close to home the entirety of her imprisonment and that knowledge stung her.

As she came under the shadows of the first house, she realized that she needed to be careful. She didn’t know who worked for Filthy Rich. She needed to get to Carousel Boutique before any authorities could be notified. She was too concerned for the safety of her beloved sister to go anywhere else.

Crouching in the shadows, the youth darted from home to home. She could see that the night was young and she could hear voices now and again from the street. She ducked behind trash containers and shrunk into corners as shadows passed her. Her heart pounded violently in her chest as she waited for ponies to pass. Slowly, she made her way towards Carousel Boutique.

She came from behind, sticking to the shadows as she crossed the street to the doors of her sister’s business and residence. Just as she reached the stairs, the door swung open and a nervous looking Rarity stepped out and shut the door behind her, not seeing Sweetie at first.

Sweetie looked upon her lovely sister, she looked somewhat harrowed against the memory Sweetie held. She supposed it was only natural as she had aged. Her light gray coat seemed silvery from worry and the cosmetics she wore couldn’t quite hide the thin lines that had grown on her face.

Rarity turned and their eyes met. Sweetie weakly smiled and suddenly began sobbing, running up to Rarity and hugging her tightly. Rarity was shocked and looked down, the troubled look vanishing from her features as she wrapped her hooves around her younger sister. “There you are, Sweetie … where have you been?” She looked around quickly, surveying the area for others and held Sweetie tightly to her. “It doesn’t matter. Come inside,” her voice trembled slightly.

“No!” Sweetie interrupted, “We have to go. He’ll come for you. He’ll get us both! We have to run away tonight. We have to tell somebody!”

Rarity opened the door and tried to soothe the younger unicorn, tugging her inside. “It’s okay, darling. Who will come get us? We’ll go, but you have to tell me what happened first. Come inside, Sweetie.”

Sweetie sat uncomfortably and told her story to Rarity, eyes flickering to the windows and the door fretfully as she explained what had happened. Rarity nodded gently, she had regained her nervous appearance and gently stroked Sweetie as she listened.

“Goodness,” Rarity spoke, “how did you ever escape?”

“I dug a hole. It took years, but I had to warn you. I couldn’t let him do that to you.” Sweetie embraced Rarity and nuzzled into her, years of torture momentarily melting under the softness of Rarity’s touch. Sweetie had grown in her internment and was almost exactly the same size as her beloved sister. Sweetie reflected on this momentarily and mourned her lost childhood.

“Take me to the hole, Sweetie. I … I want to see it.” Rarity’s horn began to ignite and she looked angrily to her sister. “I will make them pay, Sweetie. I promise.”

Sweetie shivered and shook her head. “No, please. He’ll get us both. Please, let’s go get a guard and let them handle it.”

Rarity grimaced and growled. “Nobody does this to you, Sweetie, and gets away with it. Take me to it. With all the paperwork involved, by the time we get a guard, they’ll have figured out what happened and cover the hole. They’ll never be able to find where you were kept.”

Sweetie’s eyes shimmered with tears and she shook her head. “Please. Let’s just run away then. I just want to be with you. Don’t make me go back there.”

Rarity scowled and she stomped her hooves, her horn flaring viciously. “Nothing can stop what I’m going to do, Sweetie. If it is Filthy Rich, I’ll make him pay, I promise. now take me to the hole.”

Sweetie shivered but nodded gently and pulled from Rarity’s embrace. She had never seen this side of her sister before. There was something frightening about it. Her voice tone was eerie and yet somehow familiar. “Ok.”

The pair slid through the streets of Ponyville stealthily. Each one afraid someone would recognize Sweetie Belle. They came to the meadow and Sweetie pointed out the hole with one hoof. “There it is. Please, let’s just go. Don’t go down there.”

“Are you sure it was Filthy Rich? How do you know it was him?” Rarity still looked mad but also somewhat quisitive.

“He was the first one to .. to do me. He said it was good business.” Sweetie looked to the ground and shrunk visibly.

“I’ll tear his stallionhood off for this. Let’s go Sweetie.” Rarity motioned to the hole. “I’ll be right with you. It’s time we got some revenge.”

Sweetie did not want to return into that hole or to the room deep underground. She worried for not only her own safety but that of her sister’s. She could see how angry Rarity was and trusted the power of her magic, and as much as she’d like to know that Filthy Rich was punished, this was not what she had expected when she had burst onto the surface a short while ago. “what about the door, Rarity? It’s really strong.”

Rarity’s horn flared again and a bright streak flew across the field to a tree at the edge of the forest; in a flash of light, it was gone, a few smoldering limbs was all that remained. “Nothing will stop me, Sweetie. Nothing.”

Slowly, Sweetie crawled into the hole, Rarity’s magical glow giving off light as she followed close behind. The fit was tight but the pair crawled through the tunnel and into the shower. Rarity looked around and seemed to grow more upset as she regarded the excavated tiles. “This is how you did it?”

“Yeah…” Sweetie’s voice was weak and she was terribly uncomfortable to be back in her cell.

“Ingenius. No wonder it took you so long to escape.” Rarity’s voice was emotionless and cold. She stepped from the shower and out of the bathroom to the small room with the disgusting bed and the metal door.

Sweetie followed slowly and stood embarrassed at the site of her imprisonment. “Can’t we just leave, Rarity? Please.”

“No.”

Rarity turned on Sweetie, her horn blazing violently as her magic grasped the youth and lifted her from the floor.

“What are you …” Sweetie wasn’t able to finish her sentence as she was slammed against the wall hard. She let out a wail and crashed to the floor beside the bed.

“I have to hand it to you, little sister. Nobody has ever escaped before. You’ve really shown initiative and ingenuity.” Rarity smirked, her lips curved into a vile grin. Her eyes showed respect but also intense rage.

Sweetie could tell her shoulder had broken and she barely lifted herself from the floor, eyes pouring tears. “What … what do you mean?”

“You foolish little slut. You thought Filthy Rich had imprisoned you here? That idiot couldn’t furnish such an endeavor as this. He might know something about business, but he lacks the balls to actually build a harem.” Rarity chuckled to herself and gazed evilly at the injured Sweetie Belle. “Although he was more than happy to visit. He paid a lot of bits to have you first. He always pays top rates for the young ones.”

Sweetie realized what was going on and her soul seemed to shatter. Tears fell from her eyes uncontrollably and her throat nearly closed as she sobbed. ‘You … you did this to me, Rarity?”

Rarity grinned and stood over her young sister. “Oh, you figured it out. Good girl.” Magic whirled and whacked Sweetie across the face, turning her head viciously and spinning her to the floor.

The injured mare twisted to look up at the only thing that had helped her, that had given her hope and wailed with betrayal. “I … I loved you! Why?”

“Did you really think that stupid boutique was how I made money? I thought you would have guessed. I’m sorry, Sweetie, but it’s just business. I have several other mares down here but none are as young and pretty as you. I needed something new and you were the sweetest of possibilities. I knew your sexy little body would be an investment like no other.” Rarity stated all of this matter-of-factly and emotionlessly.

Sweetie’s heart broke and she could feel her mind slipping away. It had been too much. Her entire reason for living was gone, her sanity would soon follow.

“Now, what to do about this. You will be completely useless if I don’t do something quickly and I don’t plan on losing you yet. You have a lot of working years left before I have to “dispose” of you.” Rarity loved it, she was feeling aroused with power and her grin was sickening. “Ah, I know. Just hold still, Sweetie.”

Magic began to swirl again and Sweetie clenched her eyes against the pain of what was to come.

******************************************************************************

Sweetie Belle awoke in her miserable little room. She sighed and rolled over on her bed, jerking suddenly as pain shot through her shoulder and foreleg. She had forgotten about having a broken shoulder. She couldn’t quite remember how it happened but assumed that was because of the liquor. So much of her life was spent slipping in and out of consciousness that she wasn’t sure what was real and what was a dream anymore.

“Here’s your food. No liquor today. Deal with it.” The voice of her captor spoke through the speaker and Sweetie cringed. It was going to be a bad day without the alcohol. She would be sick while she served her customers. She closed her eyes and focused her hate for Filthy Rich, the stallion who had imprisoned her here. Slowly, she rose and went to the gray mush that was her daily meal. As she swallowed the disgusting slop, she thought of Rarity.

Rarity. her beloved sister.

Someday she would get out. She would be reunited with Rarity again. That thought was the only thing that gave her hope in her miserable little life.

Author's Notes:

Probably the darkest story I have written. Sorry it took so long to finish.