"Here?" Armistice asked as they came to a stop before the tallest high rise in Manehattan's skyline. Grecio nodded.

"Yes. My Lady Noir's penthouse is the top floor."

Armistice titled her head back to stare up the side of the smooth glass structure. It shimmered in the city lights, the reflective surface throwing thousands of twinkling stars back at the onlooker.

"I am honored that your city's patron wishes a private audience with me," she smiled. "My performance must have really impressed her." The diamond dog stepped forward and pressed a paw flat against a smooth black panel on the door. Armistice noted the strange scar on the inside of his forearm - deep, gnarled, like a burn, as though someone had taken a molten hot object and drawn the sign for infinity into his fur and flesh. He caught her staring. The young pianist flushed.

"This way," he said simply as the doors silently opened.

Armistice followed him in. The lobby was ornately decorated with exotic plants and an elegant water fountain. The soft lighting and trickling of the fountain gave it a peaceful atmosphere.  Her hooves made clicking sounds on the obsidian floor tiles. Armistice felt somewhat humbled. There was money living here.

"She lives at the top?" the unicorn asked with wonder. Grecio smiled toothily, something Armistice did not find threatening, surprisingly. For all his gruff appearance and the reputation of his kind, the diamond dog had been nothing but the perfect gentleman. Still, this had not stopped her from surreptitiously casting Harm None when he appeared in the green room after her performance. Her mother had not raised a fool.

"Noir de Plume's official title is Manehattan's Poet Laureate," he explained, motioning for her to enter the elevator. She obliged, delighting in the plush carpeting. "More a figurehead than a true leadership position," he continued, depressing the button for the top floor.

"I've never heard of such a thing," Armistice replied, flicking an ear as she adjusted her brunette tail - long and straight, but the ends were wild and untamed.

"Nor will you," Grecio said, paws folded behind his back. "Hers is a unique situation."

They rode the rest of the way in silence, the car coming to a smooth stop.

"We are here," he announced as the doors opened.

Armistice's jaw dropped.

The space was vast, far larger than it had any mathematical right to be. The ceiling vaulted up, and up, and up, vanishing into a spiraling darkness that she swore she could see stars in. To her left was a wall made entirely of glass, and Manehattan's cityscape lay shimmering before her - so small from so high up. The moon stared impassively down at them through a clear sky. To the right was a massive fireplace, the blaze contained within so hot the heat licked at Armistice's face from across the large room. The decor - silver, red, white, and black - was sparse, large cushions organized meticulously across from each other that appeared to be made from the softest crushed velvet. The floor was the same ornate obsidian tile as the lobby, with fine silver filagree woven between the natural cracks in the stone.

"Welcome," a voice said warmly, tinged with amusement. Armistice snapped her head up, alert, and blinked. Once, twice.

Noir was... tall. Taller than she, but not quite a mare - her development seemed to be somewhere between fully mature alicorn and filly. Her mane was blonde, kept short and close along her neck, with a ruffled, wild crop that sat about her ears and horn. The same color graced the tuft at the end of her strange, lion-like tail. The white of her coat was not that of a snowfall, or fresh milk, but of bleached bone, and her horn and hooves shimmered with an opalescent hue. Her wings were folded at her sides, and Armistice could not help but wonder why the left was kept tightly bandaged. It seemed smaller than the right, and there was the faintest tinge of blood soaking through the cloth. The alicorn kept her fetlocks unshorn in the manner of stallion. As she entered the main room and walked past Armistice to take a seat on one of the cushions, the young unicorn saw the marks on her flanks. Sunken in, like a brand, they were almost like the scar on Grecio's arm. They may once have held color; black, writhing vines in the shape of an ornate compass bespoke of her talent, though Armistice could not determine what it might be.

What happened to you? she wondered.

"Please," Noir continued, gesturing with her horn to the other cushion, "sit." When she smiled Armistice swore she saw a hint of fangs. Hesitantly, she crossed the floor to take a cushion facing the alicorn. "May I get you anything?"

"Ah, I'm-"

"Water? Wine? Cider? You must be parched after such a wonderful display of talent," the alicorn interrupted as though Armistice had not spoken. "I choose wine, myself. A vice most ponies do not indulge. You look as you might enjoy something.... sweeter." Noir's horn glowed.

At the alicorn's side, on a table, a quill hovered to life, an aura of shimmering black controlling the feather, dipping it into a nearby inkwell, and moving it soundlessly across a sheet of paper.  Armistice made a surprised sound as a glass of cider popped into existence before her muzzle. She caught it just in time with her magic, a light blue aura that threw a soft glow on her creamy face.

"That..."

"Is my talent," Noir finished, curling her tail about her body. "Whatever I write, comes to be." With a hidden expression, she watched the unicorn in silence for several moments. "You are powerful."

Armistice looked at her over the rim of her glass, mid-sip.

"To master such an instrument without the use of magic... and to notice me noticing you..." the alicorn purred. "Who are you, little one?"

Armistice did not feel so at ease anymore.

"You shouldn't have interrupted me while I was playing," she answered after a while, gently setting the glass down. Noir tilted her head, looking amused.

"No?" The alicorn rose suddenly. Armistice tensed, but Noir stepped towards the glass wall, using her magic to bring a glass of wine to her lips.

"No," the pianist said, frowning, still tense. "It was distracting."

"Was it..." Noir's words trailed off as she stared out over the cityscape. Armistice frowned again.

"Why am I here?" she asked. "Your dog said you wanted to talk to me, but all we've done so far is play social back and forth."

"His name is Grecio," Noir said tersely, lashing her tail. "And you would do well to speak his name with respect." A heavy silence fell over the room. "He has served me for over four hundred years."

"And bound to her until she leaves this world," the diamond dog said solemnly, appearing at her side, resting a paw on her bandaged wing. Noir dipped her head to rest her cheek against his.

"How...?" Armistice asked. "You're an alicorn, he can't possibly-"

"I'm five hundred years old," Noir cut her off, still resting her face against Grecio's. She closed her eyes, as though suddenly weary. "And I was not always an alicorn." Next Chapter: Grecio - Masks Estimated time remaining: 25 Minutes