Alone in his room, there was nothing left to add for Dim. Yet, this was not perfection. This place had become a prison of sorts, a terrible thing to be said about one’s own home, but being terrible didn’t make it any less true. At some point, he had reached a near-perfect state of boredom, ennui, as it was called. He had reached a point where he could no longer be made to care about anything.

It seemed a contradiction, of sorts.

Dim Dark had been born into the House of Dark, one of Equestria’s oldest noble houses. He was wealthy, privileged, home-schooled, he had grown up in the perfect, if somewhat insular world of the Dark Spire, his family home. It was an old place, a thin obelisk of a tower whose insides appeared larger than the city of Canterlot itself, or so it was said. Those who disagreed would find themselves shut out, or perhaps thrown into the labyrinth that was said to be deep within the bowels of the tower. Either way, those with differing opinions were not welcome.

Eccentric, and perhaps just a little bit insane, the House of Dark had a bit of reputation, one that they cultivated like a beloved rose garden. More ‘bad’ wizards had come from the House of Dark than any other Canterlot family—or so said the slanderous tongues of jealous families made up of impure imbeciles, the degenerate, disgusting primitives. The Darks had reached perfection and they had the purest bloodlines of any family in all of Equestria.

Perhaps, because they only intermingled with one another.

This was Dim’s world. He had grown up in what his family called ‘The Ideal Dark.’ They had their own rules, their own way of life, a way of life preserved from Ye Olden Days. Yet, despite all of his family’s nurturing, (which some might call indoctrination) despite having his every whim satisfied, his every need attended to, Dim felt no joy, no fulfillment about anything.

In every way, Dim was the ideal family member, he was everything that the House of Dark prized, everything that was sought after, everything that was hoped for. He had all of the traits of being a perfect specimen of his own family’s breeding program. He had powerful magic, exceptional by any standard of measurement. There was his heterochromia, a trait that had saved him from being shipped off to the orphanarium to be raised by small-minded, disgusting primitives.

His hemophilia was seen as a crowning achievement—it protected him from physical drudgery, manual labour, anything that might damage his perfect, flawless skin. With hemophilia, there was little else they could do but rule, and so rule they did. The Darks used their hemophilia like a shield, it kept them from having to give away precious sons and daughters to the guard, or the militia, or any outside agency that might require bloodshed. Indeed, the Crown left them alone and asked for nothing from them, leaving them to live as they pleased in their own little world.

And what a dark little world it was…

Filled with annoyance, Dim looked over at his mother, Dark Desire, who stood near the gleaming silver candelabra. The flickering flames reflected in her mismatched eyes, eyes that mirrored his own, and her thin, delicate body twitched and spasmed. His mother seemed upset, put out, and no doubt, he would hear about it.

He wished that she would go away. This was a large space. There was no need for them to ever meet one another ever again. They could live out their lives in separate spaces and Dim would be fine with that. A part of him hated his mother, though he could not say why. He just found her repulsive and something about her filled him with revulsion.

Sometimes, just looking at her made him feel queasy.

“They’ve arrested your uncle,” Desire said in a nasal, wheezing whine. “I cannot believe they did it, he’s done nothing wrong. All he did was provide a service as a wizard for hire.” With a turn of her head, she looked at her son through heavy, half-closed eyelids. “Dimmy, why must they persecute us for our perfection?”

Filled with disgust and tasting sour bile, Dim humoured his mother. What else could he do? “What happened?”

“It has to do with that dreadful Mister Mariner business… all Dire did was provide a few magical services to that clever entrepreneur. You know, just a typical business transaction. The Crown is charging Dire with treason for just being a pony of business. It’s not right, Dimmy, it’s not right. Why, it is positively dreadful. A wizard has a right to make a living.”

In silence, Dim found that he could not disagree with his mother.

“They don’t charge prostitutes with high crimes and misdemeanours for the diseases they inflict on their clientele,” his mother blurted out, and then she let out an obscene titter that was like claws being dragged down a chalkboard. “Disgusting primitives. A pony should be free to offer up services to those who will pay with coin, free of consequences. Nothing good ever comes from the Crown interfering with business transactions.”

“No.” Dim’s reedy, somewhat wavering voice made his mother’s pointed ears stand erect.

“Darling will be distraught about her daddy. Do offer her some comfort, will you?”

Dim said nothing.

“You’re of that age, Dimmy,” Desire said to her son, and her eyes did not blink in time with one another, a condition she shared with her son. "You and Darling grew up together. You are ideal for one another. Perfect. When will you marry? With all of the unfair and unwarranted arrests we’ve suffered as of late, our numbers dwindle. I worry, Dimmy. These disgusting primitives have it out for us.”

His stomach roiling, Dim thought of Darling Dark, his cousin, his mother’s brother’s daughter. Dire Dark’s beloved little sweetheart. Just thinking of her filled him with conflicting feelings of lust, revulsion, and arousal. He loved her, but he also hated her. She was everything that was wrong with this place.

The scent of mare musk filled the room and Dim’s disgust intensified while he focused on his mother, who did nothing to hide her own arousal. His room filled with a dank, musky aroma, an unwanted perfume that crawled up his nostrils, slithered down his throat, and left a foul taste on the back of his tongue.

“Why, just thinking of you nailing her tight, taut, perky little backside so I can have some grandfoals to adore just leaves me moist.” Desire drew in a shuddering, heaving breath and her tail swished around her hind legs. “Dimmy, Mommy needs some alone time. You’ll have to excuse me while I go and… take care of myself.” Fanning herself with her hoof, Desire vanished in a flash of dark blue glittery magic that caused several candles on the candelabra to blow out.

The bile rising in Dim’s throat burned his sinuses.

Dim entertained the most terrible of all ideas. Perhaps it was time to leave this place. He was not content to stay here, to carve out his own dimensional bubble like most of his family members had done. The Dark Spire was old and the Dark family had been stretching out the inside of this place for centuries. It was a place of secrets, of dark spaces, some of which were dangerous. Dark family members vanished all the time when exploring the tower. Sometimes, they returned years later, or even decades later, and they had such stories to tell.

Such terrible stories.

Staring into his fine, silver mirror, he studied himself, distracted, his thoughts all over the place. The pony looking back at him was Dark perfection. One eye was pale pink, the other a muted tone of amber. His mane was black, so black that it almost appeared to have blue highlights. As for his pelt, he was a smoky grullo, just like his uncle, a colour that couldn’t decide if it was grey, brown, or a faded black. His muzzle was fine, thin, well-chiseled, and almost feminine. Like his mother, he had distinctive pointy ears. He was absolutely stunning perfection.

Filled with self-loathing, he hated his own reflection.

Distracted, his mind meandered and he found himself thinking of Darling. She was little more than a distraction now, and whatever spark there had been was fast fading. Two years younger than he, they had grown up together, they had shared the same nursery, played with the same toys, had the same tutors, almost every waking hour of their foalhood had been spent together.

They had adventures together, tea parties, and they both delighted in tormenting their lesser cousins, those who had not been gifted with excessive magic, but instead only had paltry, almost common levels of magic. She had made this place bearable, this dreadful, dreary place. They had grown up together, as nursery mates, as playmates, as best friends…

And then the day had come when, while playing, Dim had mounted her. He had a vivid recollection of his own curious excitement, that glorious feeling he had experienced. It was a perfect moment, and every moment that followed was spent chasing after that heady rush, trying to recreate that perfect, wonderful moment.

The mounting had produced strange new feelings in Dim. Parts of him had awoken. He became protective, possessive, his mind had blazed with strange new ideals, that Darling was his lady fair, his maiden, his damsel, and beyond that moment, all of their games seemed to center on him being a prince, for he was a prince, and he had to rescue his princess from whatever danger de jour had appeared that day.

Once rescued, he would mount his princess, and together, on wobbly legs, they would confess their undying love to one another. An act done with such innocence held so much meaning that now, in hindsight, left Dim feeling disgusted. Of course, this innocence did not last. While on Darling’s back, while biting on her neck to make her submit while he tickled her ribs, he had slipped out of his sheath one day. He had grown hard, very much so, and he had panicked about his condition.

Of course, he had ran off to his mother.

Not long after that, his nanny began masturbating him before bed, granting him release so that he might sleep an innocent, innocuous sleep and not be high strung. As he would find out later, it was an old practice, an ancient practice to wear little colts out so they would go to bed. It had also caused him quite an awakening, and while his nanny rubbed his shaft with a well oiled, mediciny smelling fetlock, he would think of Darling without knowing or understanding why.

Perhaps the second most important day in his foalhood was when he discovered that Darling had a delightful, warm wet hole in her backside. Being the curious little colt that he was, he had poked at it while mounted on his princess, and that had been the day that instinct had reared its ugly head.

It had been a wonderful, horrible day.

With a single violent thrust, his own hips having betrayed him, he had found himself inside of her and he had torn her open. She screamed bloody murder, she howled, and she bawled for him to stop. Still mounted, still inside of her, he had done everything he could to comfort her, to quiet her, making all manner of tender promises about tea parties and doing all of the things she liked to do.

While she sobbed, his hips bucked back and forth, he slipped in and out of her, mimicking the sensations and motions of his nanny servicing him before bed. Huffing sweet promises into her ear, Dim had exploded with shivers while thrust deep inside of her. Afterwards, he held her while she sniffled, and once she had recovered a bit, once the bleeding finally ended after so much worry and angst, he kept his promises to her. All of them.

Of course, his mother had found out, and so had Dire. The entire family soon knew, which led to much happiness, revelling, and rejoicing. Both he and Darling had been lavished with presents, showered with gifts, and encouraged to keep doing what they had done. So much change took place from one simple act, with Darling being the most changed of all.

She adored the attention, the affection, and the rewards. Once she had recovered from the initial encounter and had a bit of a pep talk with the mares of the family, she became an eager, amusing source of fun for Dim. Now, rescuing the princess became an exercise, an act of conquest. Once saved from the dragon, or the ogre, or whatever it was—some days it didn’t matter and the menace was never named—the princess was mounted, then given a good and proper fucking, as his aunt Dark Chocolate was fond of saying. Word had it Dark Chocolate liked slumming about in Canterlot, now that she was barren.

It was his favourite scandal and it offered no end of amusement, or it had, before his funk had set in.

His reflection seemed disgusted by what it saw. Perhaps it saw a disgusting primitive. It seemed possible. Dim’s mood and attitude had certainly fallen to new lows and he no longer took any joy in living. Food no longer satisfied, neither did sex, or the study of magic, nothing seemed to offer solace. Even shocking or upsetting his mother did nothing for him.

Dim’s mirror gazing was interrupted by his door opening, and without even turning to see who it was, he knew it was Darling. The scent of her musk intermingled with that of his mother’s, which still lurked in his room, leaving him with a nauseous feeling. She made no sound as she approached, her hooves were silent and she moved with a perfect, fluid grace. She appeared in the mirror beside his own reflection.

“They say that Daddy is never coming back,” she whined as she drew nearer. The filly let out a huff and when she blinked, she too, had mismatched timing, one eye blinked and then the other. The corners of her mouth were white, crusted over with laced salts, and her pupils couldn’t decide which size they wanted to be. “I had to take a powder after the news and I’m feeling much better.”

By the smell of things, she most certainly was.

Lowering her head, she began to nose around his stomach, then rubbed her cheek against the inside of his thigh. Her ear grazed his flesh, near his cutie mark, a candle with a black flame. In the mirror, she looked like a curious foal that was hopeful to suckle, and Dim could feel her hot, heaving breath against his sheath.

Once, she had stabbed him in the stomach with her horn, and that had almost killed him.

Perhaps it would have been better had he died, had he bled out. He came close that day, his own ejaculation had almost been the end of him. When he blew his load, it startled her something awful, almost choking her, and she had gored him with her horn. For a time, it had been something they had laughed about, but now, now there was no laughter. There hadn’t been for a long time.

“You’re so moody, Dim.”

The words tickled his thin, delicate flesh and he squirmed. Much to his own revulsion, his hips trembled with need, betraying him, and he felt the first awakenings as the beast in the cave began to stir. The pony in the mirror scowled at him, his thin, almost paper-thin lips peeled back in a snarl more common to disgusting, degenerate primitives.

There was something about Darling that was alluring, something dangerous, and Dim, well versed in all manner of alchemy and magic, he began to suspect that something was up with the filly. Perhaps her alchemical laced salts did more than just calm her down, leaving her pliant, making her dull-witted and stupid.

“I’m ready, Dim,” Darling said, almost mumbling and her words were slurred. “My womb awaits your seed.” The filly began to giggle and her tail flagged high. “I’m ready to do my part, Dim. I’m ready!” More reckless laughter spilled from her open mouth and her hot breath caused Dim to slide out of his sheath.

“I wonder how many foals I might have before the cauterisation to make the bleeding stop leaves me barren.” If Darling was worried about this, she didn’t sound like it. Given how high she was, it was unlikely she was concerned about much of anything. “Come out and play, Little Dim!”

Had his mother slipped something in Darling’s salts? Dim contemplated this as an unreasonable desire began to overtake him. Something about her scent, her musk, the cloying fragrance lingered in his nostrils, overriding his inhibitions, not that he had much of those in the first place.

The smell did something to his mind, and Dim suspected that magic was at work. Vivid memories overtook his mind, it was almost as though he was hallucinating. He was two again, he was the little Emperor once more, and presents were being offered to him. So many gifts. But one gift had been special, one gift had pleased him more than any other.

Darling. She had a ribbon of royal purple around her neck that had been tied into a magnificent, elaborate bow. She had been given to him, offered to him, the ultimate toy to keep him company, to keep him occupied. Wrapped in such a pretty ribbon, she was his plaything. His two-year-old self adored her. He had been a good colt and he was kind to his toys, all of them.

Until the day he had torn her open and made her bleed.

He’d been rough with his toy ever since. If he kept this up, this rough play, she might be broken completely, perhaps dying while foaling, like her mother. Birth was a dangerous, desperate act for the Dark family, and many did not survive it. There was so much pressure to continue the family name, to keep the blood flowing in perpetuity.

It had all been planned from the start, all of this, and he had been manipulated every step of the way.

The sensation of Darling’s tongue lapping at his wide, flared tip caused all of his memories to collapse in a confusing jumble. With his boredom, his ennui, he had experienced a bit of difficulty in getting hard as of late, and right now was no exception. Oh, he was hard enough to do the deed, but it would take a while, it would be a slow, sluggish act where he would have to fantasise about all manner of things before he blew his load.

As a dull, throbbing ache settled into his balls, he wondered, had his mother slipped Darling some love potion in her salts?

The dirty little minx was now probing the opening on his flared head with the pointy tip of her tongue. She was a good toy, even now, after the new had worn off. After he had torn her ribbon asunder. This little fourteen-year-old filly was his future, she was the Dark in which he would plunge himself, bury himself, the means by which this whole depraved farce would continue.

Snarling, he was on her in seconds, a practiced move, and while he clamped his perfect, flat teeth on the nape of her neck, he speared her backside with a single violent thrust that left him balls deep in one go. He could feel her go tight around him, the contracting, constricting muscles trying to push him back out. So, pull out he did, leaving only the tip inside.

Darling’s muscles tightened, clenching, she tensed up and let out a serpentine hiss of pain. Dim knew how this game was played, and during her strongest spasm, when she was clenched up the tightest, he pressed his forelegs against her sides, secured his grip, bit down even harder on her neck, which caused her to squeal through her own clenched teeth. Then, he sank himself in balls-deep once more with a single, savage thrust. Biting, chewing on her neck, he pulled back on her tender skin, stopping short of drawing blood, and this made her nethers squeeze him so hard that it made him ache.

He was going to be bruised, once this was over, but so would she.

Liquid dripped down to the floor, some of it spilling from Darling’s cheeks and some of it from between her legs. The inside of her thin, graceful thighs was soaked from her desire. Since he knew that they were going to be here for a while, Dim swept her front legs out from beneath her, drove her front half down, and pressed her face onto the floor. Now, ass end up, he had a better angle for even deeper penetration.

“No,” Darling whined, “not like this… be loving… like when we were younger! Stop! You’re stretching me and it hurts! I’m still little!”

For whatever reason, the words infuriated him. Something about the smell left him feeling savage, violent, and unreasonable. Her whines and whimpers were satisfying—it felt like a part of him was waking up that had been slumbering for a while—and he saw no reason to give her what she wanted. No doubt, she was complicit in whatever conspiracy his mother was planning.

His thrusts now had a rhythmic regularity to them and he was in it for the long haul. This might take a while, and he intended to make each minute as torturous for her as it was pleasurable. Darling was already panting, her tongue lay upon the stone floor, and with each time his remedial ring slid over her exposed, winking clitoris, she let out a fillyish squeak.

After going through the motions for a while, he didn’t feel as though he was getting anywhere. He felt drugged, as though he had drank too much wine, and the sounds of angry, hostile copulation echoed in his ears. His cock burned with a strange fire, a compulsion, and then, somehow, he knew. Darling’s wet, grippy snatch was filled with some manner of poison. Dim could feel the magic on the edge of his senses.

His balls had a painful, terrible ache, a need to be emptied, but his own apathy was making it difficult, if not impossible to finish the deed. His brain suggested that Darling was fertile, that with each thrust, he was coating his cock in even more delirium-inducing poison. She was a trap, he had stuck his dick in a trap designed to drain him of his seed. If he blew his load, he might be trapped in this place forever, one more Dark in a whole long line of Darks. Fatherhood might engage him, draw him out of his funk, give him purpose, and maybe even end his ennui.

Fatherhood or rage.

Rage and rebellion bubbled from within, and with it came hatred. Darling’s mewling moans infuriated him and he felt a keen, intense dislike for her even as the compulsion to keep fucking her stupid grew stronger. Smacking against her, bruising her plush, adorable little mound no doubt, his balls now had their own heartbeat.

Dim experienced his first raging hate-boner, and it left him diamond hard.

His ennui washed away in a flood of sexual angst, contempt, and loathing. He pulled out of Darling’s tight, winking snatch with a wet slurp, re-angled his hips, pressed his wide, flared tip against her clenching, heaving asshole, and rammed himself in ring deep without so much as a warning.

Darling’s sudden scream was music to his ears and it somehow made his dick even harder. This hole was tighter, a bit drier, but no less wonderful. He was still slick with her juices, her poisoned, aphrodisiac infused juices, and he reveled in the sensation of his first time probing. Bucking his hips, he pulled out a bit, then rammed himself right back in, causing Darling to screech again.

A phlegmy utterance bubbled out from between her lips while she sobbed and Dim kept going, going deeper with each thrust, determined to go balls deep. After a particularly violent thrust, his balls slapped up against her scalding hot snatch, and he felt a gush of liquid come geysering out of her winking, clenching folds, soaking his scrotum in the sticky, clingy evidence of her pleasure.

He resented her for cumming, for getting something out of this. Even now, she continued to orgasm, and could feel it as he slid in and out of her stretched, inflamed asshole. She was sobbing, shivering, moaning, all while still making pleading, begging whimpers, the unmistakable sound that she wanted more.

This burning hatred pushed him over the edge, and after sinking himself entirely into her tight little ass, he blew what might have been the single largest load in his entire life. His hind legs cramped from the effort, making it difficult to stand, and it felt as though he was bucked right in the balls when the worst of the convulsions hit him. Never in his life had he experienced, no, endured a more explosive orgasm.

There was one final squirt from Darling against his balls, which ruined the moment. Incensed, he didn’t want her enjoying this, he did not want this to be a gratifying, satisfying experience for her. With a jerk of his hips, he pulled out of her and she screeched when his ring passed through her abused, battered anus.

Growling, he kicked her out from beneath him, then, using his magic, he shoved her to the door, her backside spilling cum across the floor while she was being pushed away. His dick still burned with strange poison, it stung in the worst way one could imagine, it was unpleasant and the pain kept him hard.

“Get out!” he bellowed as he threw her out his door, which he then slammed shut behind her. Now exposed to air, it felt as though his cock was about to suffer a spontaneous combustion. Gritting his teeth, he hurried away to his own private laboratory, hoping he could find an antidote to this dreadful poison.

Dim’s senses remained tampered with and he was almost certain that he was hallucinating to some degree. His skin was fevered, both hot and clammy, and he had a partial erection that wouldn’t go away. The altered state might have been enjoyable, had he not been so agitated. This was a bad trip, and something about it gave him the fear.

At the moment, he was sweating and stressing about his location, his chambers. All of it was dimensional space, pocket planes, and Dim had the disturbing notion that his rooms had not changed size at all, but that he had grown smaller to offer the illusion of larger space. The whole of the Dark Spire was in on the conspiracy too, and in reality, it really was just a tall, skinny obelisk, and the ponies on the inside, they were just very, very tiny.

All around him, he heard the sounds of dripping water, but could not find the source.

How long could stone be shaped, stretched, pulled like taffy to accommodate new interiour space? Size, like truth, was relative. Was he little more than a raindrop? A grain of sugar? Might he be nothing more than a speck of salt? By shrinking down enough, one could gain the grandiose delusion of immense size. What if he was just a teeny, tiny pony living in a disturbing, depraved dollhouse?

Dim wasn’t ready to face these truths and he had himself a bad case of the fear.

Days? Hours? Some measurement of time later, his mother appeared in his room, and he had trouble discerning if she was real. He had gone into his bathroom to check the shower for dripping water yet again, and when he had come out, there she was, standing there, looking bored, and waiting for him.

“You poisoned me.” These words were not a question, but a statement.

“Oh, stop being so dramatic, Dimmy.” His mother laughed, that obscene, screechy, shrill laugh. One eye blinked, and then, a moment later, so did the other. “Darling told me about your troubles. About how you had some difficulty getting hard and staying that way. It happens from time to time. I slipped her a little something that I knew would help you.”

Then, with another mismatched blink of her eyes, she advanced on Dim, moving with slow, seductive steps. “Dimmy, I’m very disappointed with you. You were rough with her, Dimmy, and while I don’t mind that so much, there is the matter that you spilled your seed into the wrong receptacle. You left her a bit torn up, Dimmy. Tsk, tsk, tsk!”

“Is she okay?” Dim found himself worried about Darling, perhaps even against his will. Whatever his mother had slipped him through Darling was messing with his mind.

“Dimmy, she was fertile… the potion worked… how could you savage her perfect little pink asshole like that?” Desire’s lips pursed into a protruding pout and she gazed at her son with one raised eyebrow. “You made her suffer a very confusing orgasm and who knows what you’ve done to her sexuality. Why, the damage might be permanent!”

His mother’s obscene cackling filled his ears and left him feeling infuriated. The emptiness inside, his ennui, it was receding, giving way to other things, like hatred. This mare and her grotesque, horrid laugh? Dim hated them both. Even worse, he too had suffered a confusing orgasm, was still aroused, and in the back of his mind, he had the most dreadful idea.

It was the worst of ideas, and if he acted upon the whims of his half-hard cock, he would forever be branded a motherfucker. You could fuck all kinds of things and nopony would ever bat an eye—nopony ever called you a dollfucker, for example—but you fucked just one mother… and ponies had profanity specific to this act. The idea that lingered in the back of his mind would not go away. Would that grating, obscene titter of hers be heard when he went balls deep in her asshole, just like he had done to Darling?

“Dimmy, sweetie, you look strange. Are you feeling faint?” Desire gave her son a curious look, and perhaps already knowing what was wrong with him, never once did her mismatched eyes travel downward.

The truth would be both terrifying and revealing.

Diamond hard once more, Dim, in his current addled state of mind, made a decision. “I’m leaving this place. I have had enough. Of everything. I hate everything about this place.”

This made his mother laugh even harder, and he hated her for it. His hatred now intermingled with his arousal, leaving him with an aching erection. Both of his fine, pointed ears twitched when he thought of one way he might silence his mother, but if he did that, he risked getting impaled on her horn, as had happened with Darling.

“Laugh all you want, but I’m done with this place.”

Even more screechy laughter followed, and then Desire’s laughter came to an abrupt, scary halt. Her eyes were red, bloodshot, filled with tiny crimson spiderwebs. “You demented, deluded fool. You don’t even realise who or what you are. You are a Dark! Do you think the world would accept you? Do you even know what would happen if you stepped outside?”

Curiousity was a dangerous, damnable thing. “Why wouldn’t they accept me?”

“Dimmy, my beloved, dim-witted son, Dire, my brother, he’s your father!”

The words struck him like a slap, they stung, but he wasn’t too surprised by this revelation. He stared at his mother, wondering if this was the worst she could do to shock him, and if it was, he wasn’t impressed. His mother was fighting back another laugh, he could see it welling up inside of her and threatening escape.

“And Darling… little Darling Dark, she’s your half-sister. That’s right, you just tore your sister’s asshole open. You’ve been fucking her for years now. That’s your ticket to stay in this place, this asylum!” Desire began to giggle, she couldn’t help it, and her lips quivered with perverse merriment.

“The outsiders, those filthy, moronic, disgusting primitives, they frown on sister fucking. There are laws, Dimmy. Even worse, you’ve been fucking her for alicorns know how long now, stretching out her sweet little snatch until it was an ideal fit for your perfect, unblemished cock. Do you know what they’ll do to you, Dimmy?”

Gritting his teeth together, Dim could sense the truth in his mother’s words.

“This is your prison, Dimmy. Get used to it. Make peace with it. Get with the program, Dim. Go and apologise to your sister and take advantage of that potion while it lasts. Go and fuck her, gently this time, and make whatever bullshit promises you need to to calm her down enough so she’s fit to fuck. Don’t make me resort to other… methods. My patience is wearing real fucking thin, beautiful son of mine.”

“Other methods?” Dim felt his mouth go dry.

“Oh, sweet baby Dimmy,” his mother said in a screechy, haughty voice. “Haven’t you been paying attention? We Darks go wandering off all the time in this alicorn-forsaken tower. Some of us never return… and those that do… they come back as very different ponies. Why do you suppose that is, you asshole wrecking little imbecile?” Desire’s mouth fell open and she brayed with laughter, a raucous cackle that sounded like the perfect example for insanity.

He was trapped. There was no two ways about it. His mother’s words, while full of madness, had a ring of truth to them. There was nowhere to go, no means of escape, there was only his choice of prisons, it seemed. Unable to bear even a second more of his mother’s sanity draining cackle, Dim chose Tartarus as his prison.

Using his talent, his own unique, special spell, he made all of the candles in the room radiate darkness. Desire let out a shriek of alarm and then a blood curdling yell. Dim, submerged in total darkness, felt a pang of happiness. The darkness was comforting for him, he was a part of it, his magic connected him to it in ways he did not understand, and now, when dealing with his mother, the velvet blackness gave him strength to keep going.

Reaching out with his telekinesis, he touched his mother, and she let out another blood curdling scream. Flexing his will, he got a good grip on her, a cruel, unrelenting hold with his telekinesis, and he could feel bones popping as he pressed in. How she screamed, how she yelled, and her cries of pain caused his throbbing erection to slap against his belly.

With as much force as he could muster, he flung her against the wall, and his ears heard a wet splat. Now, his heart pounded in his ears, and he could hear nothing else but the steady beat, the sound of the drums of war. It was like hearing kettledrums being pounded in the dark. It was a frantic sound and it prompted him to go, to run, for his hooves to pound the floor in time to the striking drumbeats.

At least she had stopped laughing.

The kettledrums grew even louder, signaling the need to escape. The sound reverberated through his skull, hammering his brain, and rattled his spine. Had he just committed matricide? Perhaps. He found that he didn’t want an answer to that question. In a frantic, manic panic, he began ransacking his own room in the dark, feeling his way about, knowing that he had no choices left.

It was time to go.

Author's Notes:

Well, what happens next is up to you, Beloved Reader.

This prologue could be a stand alone chapter and the story could be finished. Or, we could keep going, but I am hesitant to do so. Some of my experiments have been poorly received in the past, and rightfully so, some of them were awful. I honestly don't know how this will be received. Dim is not a likeable character. This is not a pleasant origin story.

Feedback is appreciated, as are reasons to keep going. This is the sort of opener that will attract a lot of sniping, and I am fully aware of that, so I am skittish coming out of the gate.

So, where do we go from here, Beloved Reader?