Rarity stepped back, and could no longer contain her entertainment. She squealed with delight, stamping her hooves on the carpeted floor below.

“Oh Fleur!” she said. “You look so beautiful!”

Fleur looked down at herself, and at the now complete dress she was wearing. It fit her torso tightly, with a combination of a corset-like top made primarily in shades of gold with black highlights that stood in contrast to the long white skirt that had been built in a modernized tribute to the one that her mother had worn so many years prior. The effect was as seductive as it was fetching, a mixture of contrasts and shapes that Rarity had initially worried might be too bold- -and on any other pony, they surely would have been. No pony other than Fleur would be capable of wearing this dress.

“Rarity,” said Fleur, looking at herself in a mirror as she began to shed tears of joy. “It…it is so beautiful!”

“It is,” admitted Rarity. “But it would not be without you in it. I think only you could pull it off.”

“No,” said Fleur, smiling mischievously. “Only Fancy Pants will be able to pull it off!”

They both laughed, and Fleur stepped down from the platform on which she was standing and hugged Rarity. She smelled like new fabric, and her body felt like the silk and lace that was covered in. “Although I’ll make sure he is gentle. I intend to keep this dress as long as I live. Perhaps I can have Feathery build me a display?”

Fleur seemed to think about it for a moment. Rarity was incredibly relieved. In part, she had worried that the dress diverged too much from tradition, mainly in that it did not include as much white as she expected Fleur would need. Too much white on a white pony was excessive, though, which made making the dress far more difficult than Rarity imagined. She made a note of that for if her own wedding ever came, and for Sweetie Belle’s far in the future.

“Let us celebrate?” said Fleur, lifting a bottle of very fine pony wine from a cabinet.

“Oh, there’s no need! I’m only doing my job.”

“Nonsense! This dress is a masterpiece!” She opened the bottle a great distance away from herself- -both to protect the dress and her white body- -and poured them both glasses, giving one to Rarity. Rarity took hers and swirled it, and then clinked it against Fleur’s. They both drank.

The wine was indeed fine, perhaps the finest Rarity had ever tasted, but there was a strange undernote in its flavor. Something almost chemical.

“Fleur,” said Rarity, looking at the glass. “I think this wine has a fault.”

“Indeed it does, Rarity.”

The world around Rarity suddenly seemed to blur, and she had no idea why her knees had suddenly gone so wobbly. She felt sleepy, and then felt nothing. The world went gray, and then black, and she suddenly fell.

“Ow,” she said, opening her eyes and blinking several times. She did not understand what had just happened. She seemed to have fainted for a moment, which in her mind was probably from the excitement of completing a perfect wedding dress and from the overexertion of the past few days.

Slowly, she lifted herself off the cold tile floor. She blinked, wondering why everything seemed so blurry. Then, as her eyes came into focus and she saw the room around her, she let out an ear-piercing scream. It only lasted a moment, though, before it faded, stifled by the horror at what she beheld.

The room was unfamiliar, with a floor of hard white marble and rows of similarly colored columns on either side that led to a ceiling with high arches- -and every inch of it seemed to be decorated with bones. They were not scattered about, or piled in any way, but rather wrought with exacting precision into the scenery as a kind of macabre motif. White skulls stared back from the base and tops of the columns, or sat on the extended mantle around the end of the room, sometimes holding candles. Garlands of skulls and various pony bones were strung across the ceiling, all symmetrical and perfectly maintained and all surrounding the most equisite chandelier that Rarity had ever seen, which was itself made from thousands upon thousands of bones. The light came from bluish-white candles in that chandelier, or from four poles that were arranged at the corner of the room, each held by an articulated and posed pony skeleton, two of which had their wings stretched toward the sky, supported by wire and bolts.

Those surroundings were what had made Rarity scream. What had made her stop, though, were the two objects hanging on the other side of the room. There, in the light, Rarity saw two white ponies that had been hung from the ceiling by hooks through their ankles. Both of their throats had been slit. Silver had long since bled dry, and his blank face was stained red from the wound in his neck. Muguet was still dripping slowly, though, and her blood was falling into a metal pail that had been placed below her. Rarity could see her face, and how even though her dead eyes were no longer staring at anything at all her face was still contorted with one last expression of pure and absolute betrayal.

“S…Silver,” said Rarity, “Muguet?” She had only whispered, though. There was no chance of them ever responding again. Both had been dead for some time.

It was then that Rarity’s eyes fell onto what sat between her and the corpses of the servants. It was a pool, much like the one that she had taken several baths in since she had arrived. This one was much smaller, though, and most terribly, it had not been filled with water. Instead, the fluid inside it was deep red.

“B…blood,” said Rarity, standing up and backing away. She could not take her eyes off the placid, still surface. There were no distortions, and no ripples. Muguet and Silver sight’s blood sat there in that pool, perfectly smooth, like perfect red mirror.

Then, suddenly, the surface was no longer still. Rarity watched, frozen in fear, as a single ripple formed in the center, followed by something thin and narrow emerging from the pool of blood. It continued to move forward consistently, and as it did, Rarity saw a horn rise from the water, followed by a head, and the pony attatched to it.

Rarity tried to scream, but could not produce more than a choked squeak. A pony emerged before her from the blood, covered completely from head to hoof in red. The only part of this pony that was visible were the eyes, both of which sat above a wide and toothy grin and both of which were staring directly and unblinkingly at Rarity.

The tip of the pony’s horn ignited with blue light that quickly begame tinged with deep red, and a spell formed over her body. The blood seemed to retreat as the spell moved over her, and seemed to dive back into the pool below, leaving her body white, crisp, and young.

With one final step, Fleur exited the blood, now perfectly clean and more beautiful than Rarity had ever seen her before. Her formerly toothy smile had now been reduced to a much more socially acceptable smile, and Fleur flipped back her long, perfect pink mane.

“Hello Rarity,” she said.

“Fleur….Fleur, they’re dead!”

“Yes, they are,” said Fleur, looking over her shoulder. “They are quite dead indeed. I should know. I killed them. And bled them. It was not hard. Both of them trusted me oh so much. Neither resisted. It was quick for Silver, although poor Muguet choked for some time I’m afraid.” She shrugged. “I cannot be completely perfect, I suppose.”

“But- -but Fleur! Why, Fleur, why?!”

“Why?” Fleur suddenly moved much closer, putting her face directly near Rarity’s. Her horrible grin returned, but only for a moment. “Why do you think, Rarity? Because I needed their blood, of course!”

“Bl…blood,” Rarity was now crying, but she could not run. She did not know what was going on. She had never seen a dead pony before. This did not happen in Ponyville, or in Canterlot. Ponies never died, or at least were never killed like this. The idea of a pony killing another pony was inconceivable to her, and she could feel her mind beginning to collapse under the strain of being forced to witness not just two ponies she had known- -and one who she had been attracted to- -dead, but the implication of the skulls and bones that lined this room. Many- -oh so many- -had died in this room.

“Yes, blood.” Fleur began to walk around Rarity in a circle. “Rarity. My friend. My dear, dear friend. I think you can understand.”

“I don’t. I don’t!”

“Tell me,” said Fleur, stopping beside Rarity. “How old am I?”

Rarity opened her mouth to answer, but found that she could not. It was not because her mind had frozen- -although it had. She realized that she had never known.

“Twenty,” she said.

Fleur laughed. It was a horrible sound. Not the laugh itself, but the fact that laughter could exist in a place like this, with Muguet and Silver staring blankly at the pair of them as they dangled and slowly turned and as Muguet dripped. “Such flattery! But, no. I am seventy one years old.”

Rarity looked at Fleur, and then started shaking her head.

“No?” said Fleur. “I would think I should know my own age.” She put a hoof around Rarity, who was now shivering and audibly sobbing. “I assure you. I am. I am old enough to remember when the bombs fell here in the last Great War.”

“But- -but you can’t be!” choked out Rarity. “You’re so young!”

The grin crossed Fleur’s face again. “I know!” she rasped, as though she was on the verge of laughter again. She stood up and gestured to her perfect body. Rarity suddenly felt a strong desire to embrace her. It sounded absurd, but the extreme stress of the situation was amplifying her attraction toward Fleur greatly. “This is the nature of nobility,” said Fleur, striking a seductive pose. “Of all of us. For every house, for thousands of years. This is our secret, and our gift. That by bathing in the blood of lesser beings, we are able to maintain our youth indefinitely.” She looked at Silver and Muguet and sighed. “Of course, not just any pony will do. Only the blood of a pure white pony is adequate. And white ponies are oh so rare…” She turned to Rarity and giggled. “As I’m sure you’ve realized?”

“You’re- -you’re going to bleed me too!” cried Rarity. This realization was enough for her to finally break out of her stupor. She stood up and ran toward the door, only to slip suddenly on the tile. She cried out again as she fell to the floor, but she never struck it. Instead, Fleur had moved to her side with almost impossible speed.

Rarity felt herself fall into a pair of strong forelegs, and she was suddenly being pulled close to Fleur, cradled and held firmly. She should have resisted- -she wanted to resist- -but she did not. She allowed Fleur to pull her close in an embrace.

“Oh Rarity,” said Fleur, stroking Rarity’s mane and staring into her eyes. “Please, please don’t fear me. I know this must seem strange, but I also know you can understand me, and why I have to do this. You know what it feels like.”

“Fleur, you’re scaring me.”

“You’re starting. Right now, you sit upon the edge. Your youth has almost run out. You feel it, no?” She lifted several of Rarity’s gray hairs with her magic. “Every day, a new gray hair. Every day, a new wrinkle, a new pain, a little bit more pudge and a little bit less chance of catching the eye of a stallion.”

Rarity still wanted to leave, but now she felt transfixed, because she did understand. It was how she had felt for so long, and it had been her greatest fear. Fleur seemed to realize that Rarity had become a captive audience, and she smiled gently and moved one of her hooves down Rarity’s spine, causing her to shiver.

“You are so beautiful,” moaned Fleur. “So pure, and so talented. To see you fade to old age…it would make me weep.” She paused, and then sighed. “But I need to be honest with you. I did not invite you here to make my dress. You were correct. I did intend to bleed you.”

“But why?”

“Why?” Fleur lifted Rarity’s right hoof in her own, turning it over and stroking it gently. “Because it is our one sacred rule. The blood of lesser beings sustains us, but never has one of us taken the blood of an equal. The blood of a white unicorn. We do not feed on our own, and it has been so long since one of us has been born to commoners.”

“But you had servants,” said Rarity. “Why- -why do you need my blood?”

Fleur smiled. “Because of something I found. A secret that belongs only to House De’Lis. Call it my own research. I once consumed the blood of a Pegasus born to a noble mother, and my youth was extended by nearly ten years. But it still wasn’t enough. His blood was still RED.”

Her horn suddenly ignited, and Rarity cried out as she felt something cold on her wrist. A thin gash suddenly opened up, and Rarity watched as the silver fluid within slowly spilled out, running down her foreleg like thin mercury.

Fleur suddenly shook and moaned. She held Rarity’s wrist close and put her muzzle close to it, taking a deep breath and shaking with pleasure at the smell. Then she leaned in, extending a shaking tongue toward the wound, but just before she reached it she forced herself to pull away.

“So beautiful, isn’t it? Our blood. The blood of unicorns. So much more beautiful than theirs.” She slowly pushed Rarity’s hoof. “Here,” she said. “Taste it. Please.”

Rarity hesitated for a moment, but she looked into Fleur’s deep yellow eyes and felt so at peace. She was not in the embrace of a pony that wanted to hurt her, but a pony who cared for her and understood her. Rarity trusted Fleur, and she obeyed.

Like most ponies, of course, Rarity had tasted her own blood before. Not intentionally, but on occasion: when she would sometimes suck on a wound received from a sewing needle or scissors, or the one time she had inadvertently swallowed a pin, or from a punch she had received on the night of the Pony Prom that had knocked out three of her rear molars. Now, as she put her mouth against the wound and felt the warm fluid flow into her mouth, she realized that it tasted so much better than she had imagined. It tasted metallic, but it had undertones of something far greater. It was sweet and aromatic and bold, better than any pony wine in all of Equestria. The blood kept flowing, and Rarity kept sucking and licking at the wound, feeling the flow if it down her throat.

“It tastes…it tastes so good,” she said.

“I had hoped it would,” said Fleur. She leaned forward and kissed Rarity. Rarity allowed it to happen, and allowed herself to be lowered onto her back. In fact, she wanted it. She realized that she had always wanted it, and she embraced Fleur in return and allowed their lounges to meet.

Fleur then tilted her head, and the horns of the two unicorns touched. Rarity’s back arched in sudden pleasure as Fleur slowly rubbed their horns together. This of course was something unicorns could do, but Rarity had never performed it in real life before, and she had no idea that it would be so pleasurable- -or that the first time she shared this intimate activity with a pony she would be sharing it with a mare.

It felt so good, though, and so right. Rarity felt her legs instinctively spread, and Fleur occupied the space, holding their bodies close. This went on for several minutes before Fleur pulled away, much to Rarity’s disappointment.

Fleur was panting, but still managed to speak. “The vital blood of a white unicorn,” she said. “If it is consumed, I will not just gain an extension of youth. I will become youthful forever. I had wanted you to make me beautiful for eternity, but now I do not have to.”

“Why?” asked Rarity, now in awe of Fleur.

“Because of something I did not anticipate. I received not one, but TWO white unicorns.”

Rarity gasped, and the spell between her and Fleur broke, but only for a moment. Instead of getting up and trying to flee, though, she found herself willing to listen. “My…my sister. You mean Sweetie Belle?”

Fleur nodded. “Yes. Rarity, I desire you. No. You are so like me, I think I have fallen in love. Please. Share Sweetie Belle with me. If we consume her blood, we will both stay young together forever.”

“But- -but Fleur- -”

“Don’t worry,” said Fleur, stroking Rarity’s hair and just barely rubbing the tip of her hoof against Rarity’s horn, causing Rarity to go into yet another spasm of welcome pleasure. “I will still marry Fancy Pants, and you will still be my head bridesmare. But there is nothing to say that I cannot have a mistress, is there? It is the way here in Prance. Fancy Pants will not mind.” She smiled. “And once you join our order? You will be able to select from so many pure noble stallions, whether for pleasure or to bear as many foals as you desire. To raise them alongside mine, if you like. I may even allow you to borrow Fancy Pants for that purpose, if he is willing.”

“But Fleur, she’s my sister. I can’t do that to her…”

Fleur put her lips against Rarity’s neck, and Rarity’s argument immediately dissolved into moans, if only for a moment. “Fleur, please. Please don’t. She’s Sweetie Belle, I can’t…”

“Her youth will fade on its own, as yours has. As mine would had I not been forced to kill hundreds upon hundreds of ponies, just as my mother did for two centuries before me. Would you rather I keep killing, as I have? Or would you rather we share one? Wouldn’t you want Sweetie Belle to be generous, like you have so many times?”

“Fleur…”

Fleur stood up, and then helped Rarity to her feet. “Come with me,” she said. “Come with me, and live forever.”

She led Rarity toward the door. Rarity paused for only a moment, and then found herself following. tab-count:1'\>��af