You blink.

The crystal castle within Ponyville is a new form of dazzling radiance that you're simply not accustomed to. The bright shining lights. The reverberating voices of ponies that trot to and fro. Almost all of Ponyville seems to be in attendance of this event.

You sit at a table, sipping a cup of coffee, silent. You wave at the occasional familar face but you simply -don't- want to be here. It's too loud. Your mind is too quiet. The world feels as if it moves around you as you remain wholly still, the power of this world's weak gravity pulling you down, down. Down to a place that you can curl and exist, away from this enforced public gathering.

You drink deeply. That's not coffee. It's warm Eggnog. Not even the good kind with Brandy. You rise to your feet and see some of the mares around you have glasses of wine. At least there's -some- 'holiday cheer' in this room. Now to find it.

You walk towards the refreshment table, lined with various pony treats in small bite-sized samplers. Of course, on the end of the table you find several opened and unopened green bottles filled with a dark fluid.

Crossing the room is a challenge. You feel more of a nuisence then a guest, pushing through ponies who are giggling, smiling, exchanging gifts. Why are you even here? You don't like these ponies. That's why you live on the other end of town.

There aren't any ponies in Ponyville that understand you anymor---

The only pony in town that understood you is-------

The only pony you'd want to be with on this night-----------

You shake your head, pushing strange, fragmented thoughts out of your head. You reach the bottles and place your hands on the table as if to brace yourself. The room feels as if it spins around you. You blink hard, and you manage to grab your bearings. Droplets of water line the table. You reach for your forehead and find the water coming from your eyes.

Why are you crying, Anon? Aren't you happy? Isn't this what you wanted?

You fill a glass with wine and down it immediately, not caring for something as unimportant as the taste of the fluid. Anything to push away the shadows that lie just out of reach of your body. The world feels frigid. It doesn't feel like Hearth's Warming.

Three gentle hoof taps grab your attention, as if you were a form of trained pavlovian dog. There, standing beside you, is Fluttershy.

"Happy Hearth's Warming, Anon."

"Just go away, Fluttershy. I'm not in the mood," you growl.

"I will, but first I want to give you your Hearth's Warming Present," she says happily. "I'm sure it'll be nice."

Your ears somewhat perk. A present? From Fluttershy? What. Hidden cameras so she can fuck herself watching you eat breakfast cereal? A scrapbook of the various things in your home she came on.

The puts on the ground beside you, a suitcase.

Why do you recognize this suitcase?

"The only thing you have to do is give me a little present too," Fluttershy says happily.

Her wing unfolds, and places abover her head a sprig of green leaves with white berries. Mares around the two of you clap their hooves together and giggle.

"It's mistletoe!" Rainbow Dash calls out.

"Oh it's so adorable!" Rarity exclaims.

"Just kiss already!!!" Pinkie Pie yells.

Fluttershy smiles at you deviously. You feel a sickness rise in your stomach. Something about that suitcase feels important. Maybe it will explain all the things that you've formed questions to, with answers only providing yet more questions, as a hydra would sproud heads.

The mare's voices grow into a chant. "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

You step away, the discomfort of the situation overwhelming you. Three mares push you back to Fluttershy, peer pressuring your choice away. You have -no- choice. The two of you are meant together. Don't you see?

The water droplets fall to the floor.

You take a deep breath and kneel down to be on eye level with Fluttershy. You shake your head. You feel as if you're performing sort of sacrelige. Giving into the devil's whim. Casting yourself into perdition.

You place your lips on hers. For only a split second. Dry. Sterile. Emotionless.

You grab the suitcase and walk away while the ponies cheer around you. The doors throw open. The snow falls. Your feet leave long, determined tracks in the snow. Your door opens. Closes. Locks.

Anger wells within you. Sadness pours from you. You feel fragile. Forced into an act that you did not want.

But you earned a Christmas present, Anon. Won't you open it?

You place the suitcase on your table and open it wide. It's filled with your own clothes. Exact copies of the clothes in your dresser right now. Something shines brightly, deep beneath the clothing. You reach inside to clasp it.

A quiet hum of machines and beeps fill the small hospital room you sit in. Your hands clapsed around a white hoof. A soft sobbing echoes off the walls of the room.

You look up, and you find Nurse Redheart, lying in bed, looking away from you. Purposely. As if the sight of you were simply too much to bear. Your hand, a silver ring on your finger, clasps her silver band above her identification braclet, branding her with a barcode.

A machine shoots another injection of fluids through the IV in her arm. Her body is gaunt. A frail shadow of any lasting memory.

She must be no more than 27 pounds.

"Couldn't you have kept all this from happening?" she mutters, spite in her voice.

Droplets fall to the floor. Clear from you. Red from her.

You slam the suitcase shut. You run upstairs. Open the storage room. Throw the case inside and close it. Scream.

Author's Notes:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HQ1G4VPEL5k