The sun floated on the horizon, like a ball on water. Cascades of glittering orange and shining red mixed with the dying rays of yellow. The shadows grew longer and longer as the twilight embraced the land. Soon, the dark, endless night would engulf the earth, and Dusk would have no light except from the bonfire behind her.

The sun had stayed stagnant in the sky for countless millennia. Dusk was sure of it. Every day she woke to the bonfire's angry crackle, and when she was tired the soothing melody lulled her to sleep. Yet, every day, the filly awoke to find the sun exactly where it was yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that... It was like it couldn't decide between day and dark, heat and cold, life and death.

There was a faint memory in Dusk's ancient mind. A memory of endless fields of wheat, of thatched rooftops and marble castles, where the sun shone for twelve hours each day, then rested at bedtime. She remembered another orb in the sky, but she couldn't remember its name. All she remembered was that it was round, silver and grey, and illuminated the darkness like a lamp. Home was where the sky moved, where time passed, where the dead stayed dead, but Dusk didn't even understand what home was anymore. The little filly hadn't properly returned home for several million years.

She had a vague idea of what it was like then. The night was cold, and dark, but it was better than the sweltering daytime. At least, Dusk's antiquated dress seemed to agree. Sweat drenched the embroidered silk, and no matter how many times Dusk washed it in Darkroot's massive lake, the dark patches would not come off. It was like the bloodstains: no matter how much Harmony she offered to the bonfire, it would only make her smooth and soft again, not clean her clothes.

Fortunately for Dusk, the soapstone that the strange knight had given to her still worked, if only just barely. It was white enough that the powder it left behind was adequate to cover up the bloodstains and the sweat reservoirs. The tears could be fixed with a little repair powder, freshly ground from a magic grindstone that a strange skeleton blacksmith had given her. Her dress always felt a little itchy when she put it on, but Dusk didn't mind. After all, it was better than stripping the armor off the hollow soldiers.

There were always a few soldiers wandering the Parish. Dusk remembered that at least some used to be her best buddies. She'd forgotten the last time she'd spoken to them. All they wanted to do now was stick their rusted rapiers into her chest cavity. Dusk never really trusted the Knights from Balder. They were always too silent... and cautious. They always gobbled down her food before she could eat it. At least there was that strong, muscular Berenike Knight who used to give her fresh bacon from his stash, and that strange knight in bronze armor who'd let her play with his wickedly curved swords. She'd seen him once or twice on the second floor of the Parish's church, past the six-eyed trident-wielding freak who slung Soul Arrows just like her. Dusk had already lost eighteen hundred souls and several Harmonies to the enigmatic Channeler. Any more and she would've gone full hollow, like the soldiers.

Two of the hollow soldiers spotted the little filly, and began shambling towards her. Turning her head, her dark blue eyes landed upon their mangled and desecrated forms. She picked up her lightning-enchanted spear off the ground with her magic, and readied her catalyst as well. A blue glow formed around the wooden staff, acting as a focus for a powerful Great Heavy Soul Arrow.

She raised the catalyst in the air, and a blast of blue flew out, striking the first zombie to the ground. The second one pointed his sword at her, and charged. The blade pierced through her, the filly having little time to react, but just as quickly Dusk impaled the zombie on her spear. Sparks of electricity flew around the body as it slumped to the ground, a mass exodus of souls leaving the dead body. Dusk held out her blood-stained hoof, and sighed in relief as the souls flooded into her, releasing a cooling aura over her body.

She put a hoof against her wound, marvelling at the thick, viscous black blood. Reaching into the folds of her dress, she pulled out a small green flask, levitating it in front of her with magic. She took a sip from the flask, trying to hold in the bitter, burning taste of ashes and flame. She never liked Estus much. Putting the flask away, the filly picked up her weapons again, the wound on her chest completely gone.

She never saw the Berenike Knight stomp up behind her, only heard its mace as it smashed her in to a million tiny soul fragments.

Instantly, the nearby bonfire grew larger, fed by the dying Harmony of the dead filly. Then, it glowed bright green, and spat Dusk onto the hard stone floor, weapons and all. What was smooth skin was now a notched, hard, and leathery carapace, and her slender facial features were replaced with an ugly, scarred, and toothless countenance unfitting for a lady.

She let loose a hoarse battle cry, and charged the armored knight, spear and catalyst reflecting in the setting sun.

Their weapons clanged on one another, letting loose huge waves of sparks as blade met metal, and magic met armor. Soul arrow after soul arrow, jab after slice, the hollowed Dusk sliced into her former companion, pushing the fat metal stallion over the edge of the Parish and into the valley below. She heard the Hellkite's hungry roar as it dove for its meal.

Dusk dropped her weapons and stared as her former friend tumbled down towards the gaping jaws of the drake.

A primal scream, louder than the New Londo ghosts, shook the Parish as a once-sane Undead began to turn fully hollow.

Thus was the price to pay to carry the accursed Darksign.