Muguet was extremely diligent. She did not deviate from Fleur’s orders, and she stayed with Sweetie Belle for most of the rest of the day. Sweetie Belle herself did not mind. Muguet and her did not have terribly much in common, but they got along reasonably well. That, and having somepony who actually understood the layout of Fleur’s castles and the customs of the wealthy really helped a lot of the time. Sweetie Belle found herself feeling a little more secure when somepony was with her. At the moment, she was not sure if she wanted to be alone.

Still, things were starting to bother her. Certain elements of the situation were not adding up, and although everything still seemed superficially fine- -at least during the day- -Sweetie Belle had a nagging suspicion that something was quite wrong.

This thought weighed heavy on her mind as she sat in her room, watching Muguet walk around and occasionally dust something.

“I can’t have been hallucinating,” muttered Sweetie Belle to herself.

“Hallucinating?” Muguet turned around, looking somewhat intrigued. “Which one of us is hallucinating?”

“I was, I think. Maybe.” Sweetie Belle groaned. “The thing I’m sick with. Is hallucination part of that?”

“I don’t think so,” said Muguet. “At least, I’ve never heard of it happening. But I’ve only been here for less than a year. I don’t think Silver would know either. We just know that it makes us sick.”

“Do you think Snipper would know?”

Muguet considered for a moment. “She has been here a long, long time,” she said. “So, she might. But do you want to ask her?”

“No.”

“I thought as much.” She paused. “I don’t want to either.” She leaned in close to Sweetie Belle. “I don’t like her very much,” she whispered.

“Yeah. I picked up on that.”

Muguet grinned. “This is so new to me! I’ve never had a friend before. Somepony to talk to. I mean, I can say some things to Silver, but not everything, of course. He actually bears great affection for Feathery Snipper. I don’t know why.”

“You’ve really never had friends?”

“I’m cursed, remember? The wrong color. So no. Not until now.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help.”

“So,” said Muguet, folding her legs beneath her as she sat down on the wooden floor. “While we’re talking like this…can you tell me about your home? In this…what was it called?”

“Ponyville.”

“Such a strange name.”

“I guess.” Sweetie Belle paused. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but Muguet was staring up at her wide-eyed. “Well…it’s a village. Maybe a hamlet.”

“A hamlet! I’ve never seen a real hamlet before!”

“It’s not that much different from the villages here. Except…neater. And everypony is happy, at least most of the time. But I guess it’s a little more…modern?”

“Modern?”

“We have a spa, a market area, bakery, library…oh, wait, no. No library. It blew up.”

“Blew up? How?” Muguet gasped. “Was it a gas leak? Because that’s something we need to be VERY careful about here. These walls have so many gas pipes in them…”

“No,” said Sweetie Belle. “It’s…complicated. But it’s okay. We have a castle now. That’s where Twilight lives.”

“Princess Twilight Sparkle!” gasped Muguet, as though she had been waiting for that part. She then looked somewhat confused. “Although…I would have thought that one of our dear immortal goddesses would live in…a city? Not a hamlet.”

“It’s new. There’s an adjustment phase.”

“Ah,” said Muguet. “And the Princess, is she as beautiful as they say?”

“She’s very…purple.”

“Purple!” sighed Muguet. “If only I had been born purple! I would probably be attending banquets with the Baroness as an equal…or as equal as a peasant can hope to be compared to hereditary purity, of course.” She paused. “Actually, come to think of it, I have heard that the Princess had a pureblood brother.”

“You mean Shining Armor?” Sweetie Belle was not sure what Muguet meant by “pureblood”, and she was actually still having a hard time grasping how a white unicorn was almost godlike to her people but any other white pony was considered an abomination. “Well…yes. He…exists.”

“Is he as handsome as ponies say?” said Muguet, standing up almost frighteningly fast.

“No. Not at all. I’ve seen him. Sure, he looks fine from a distance. But he has a weird shaped face. And his voice…” Sweetie Belle shivered.

“I would hardly care about his voice. It’s not the voice I would be interested in.”

“Ah. The horn, then?”

Muguet suddenly blushed profoundly. “I was going to say personality and kindness,” she squeaked. She then immediately tried to change the subject. “What about you, Sweetie Belle?”

“Mines still nubby because I’m still really young,” said Sweetie Belle defensively. “Rarity says it will grow out…eventually…”

“No. I mean, what are you interested in?”

“Me?” Sweetie Belle thought a moment. “Well, music, for one. And cutie marks. And I do like experimental theater sometimes.”

“No! I mean…well…fillies or colts?”

Now it was Sweetie Belle’s turn to blush. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I mean what do you think of them? You are a white unicorn! Surely you must have all of your hamlet’s colts at your beck and call!”

“I’m twelve!”

“I see,” said Muguet, smiling mischievously. “So your horn isn’t the ONLY thing about you that is nubby.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!” cried Sweetie Belle, causing Muguet to giggle.

The conversation was making Sweetie Belle just as uncomfortable as when Applebloom would occasionally bring that particular subject up, and she tried to change the subject. She reached out with her horn and picked up the record next to the phonograph. “Hey, do you like music.”

Muguet inhaled sharply and stared wide eyed at the disk. “I don’t know!” she said.

“You don’t know? Well, let’s find out.” Sweetie Belle quickly unwrapped the disk and set it down on the turntable, expertly setting up the assembly and gently setting the needle onto the record. It began to play, and Muguet gasped and jumped back as if she was not really sure how music worked.

It only took her a moment to realize that she liked it, though. “It’s so pretty!” she said, her body swaying back and forth. “Doesn’t it make you want to dance?”

“This isn’t a waltz,” said Sweetie Belle. “It’s a classical composition.” Yet, somehow, Muguet was still managing to sway in time with the music.

“Come dance with me!” Muguet laughed as she pranced gracefully around the room, her wings fluttering as she did. Sweetie Belle hardly noticed, though. Instead, she had directed her full attention to the player.

The last time she had played this record, she had been ill and tired. She had not really gotten a chance to listen to it clearly. Then, it had sounded like an ordinary song played on a damaged disk. Now that she was awake, alert, and healthy, though, Sweetie Belle was able to notice that the distortion was far more complicated than simply a bad press or a scratch.

Almost immediately, she stopped the turntable and removed the disk.

“Hey!” said Muguet. “I was enjoying that.”

“Something’s not right,” said Sweetie Belle. She turned the disk over and inspected it. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what? I heard the music. It was so pretty.”

“Hmm.” Sweetie Belle looked up at Muguet. “It’s probably because I have a music-based special talent. See?” She pointed to her flank, and the tri-color mark with an eighth note in the center. “I can hear things you can’t.”

She lifted the disk, and then closed her eyes, concentrating. The light from her horn darkened, and became more solid as it drifted over the disk, filling the sound grooves and the scratches alike.

“What are you doing?” asked Muguet.

“It’s a spell,” said Sweetie Belle, still concentrating with everything she had. “And…there!” The disk dropped into her hooves, although it was still glowing with the residue of her greenish-white magic. “It’s an audio enhancement spell. Here. Let’s listen to it now.”

Sweetie Belle set the disk back on the turntable, being careful not to damage the spell but also attempting to move quickly so that she would be able to listen to the record before the spell ran out of power and it went back to being an ordinary music disk.

She set the needle onto the disk and allowed it to play. The spell had not been absolutely perfect, and there was still a slight sound of the music, represented in a low and distorted way that made it seem distant and bizarre, as though it was being played in a far-off room using instruments that were not yet known to pony kind.

At first, there was nothing else. The distant, strange music simply played, and Sweetie Belle and Muguet both leaned in close to the phonograph. Then Sweetie Belle heard it, and Muguet seemed to as well. When the audio distortion that they had heard before began, it sounded just like hoofsteps crossing the wooden floor.

The hoofsteps were almost silent, but then they stopped and were gone for several bars. Then, all of a sudden, they were replaced by a different and far louder sound that caused Sweetie Belle and Muguet to both jump back in surprise.

It was the sound of a voice. A groggy, panicked voice that seemed to suddenly shout something indecipherable, followed by a rapid string of words in a language that Sweetie Belle could not understand. This suddenly devolved into screaming, and the sounds of a struggle. There were sounds of stomping hoofsteps, and of cries of terror and agonizing pain, as well as things being thrown or moved. Then there was more screaming, this time in words that Sweetie Belle did not need to understand. She could hear the panic in the voice, and she knew that its owner was pleading.

“Turn it off,” said Muguet. “Sweetie Belle, turn it off!”

Sweetie Belle reached for the revolution speed control, but not before there was one final, horrible scream, rendered almost like a whisper on the phonograph. This was followed by a sudden thump, and a sound even more horrible than the scream that had preceded it. It was a wet gurgling. Like wheezing or choking through a great deal of water, and several futile coughs before the needle suddenly jumped, following the long scratch down the side of the record and causing the phonograph to suddenly go silent.

Even without producing sound, the record continued to revolve for several seconds. Sweetie Belle and Muguet just stared at it, watching it spin in utter silence. Then they slowly turned to each other.

“It…it must not have been set properly,” said Sweetie Belle. “Instead of playing at low volume, it was partially stuck recording. The sounds in the room got overlaid into the music…” She stopped the record and looked at its surface. “And the scratch…whoever was making those sounds must have knocked down the phonograph.”

“This- -this isn’t something we should have heard,” said Muguet.

Sweetie Belle thought that was a strange response. “The words, though. I didn’t understand what they meant.”

“You’re better off….better off not knowing,” choked Muguet.

“So you could understand them?”

Muguet nodded solemnly. “I…did.”

“What did they say?”

Muguet looked at Sweetie Belle, but then just shook her head. “Sweetie Belle- -”

“I have to know!” cried Sweetie Belle, jumping off her chair with enough force to frighten Muguet. She was not sure where this sudden burst of passion had come from, but it now seemed maddeningly important “Please!”

Muguet’s eyes flitted about the room, but she finally closed them and sighed. “‘What are you doing’, followed by something else, then ‘no, please. Please, no, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean’. Then more pleading. Then…just screaming. No words.”

The two just stared at each other for what felt like a minute. Then they looked back at the disk. The magic had faded, and it was just a normal disk now with a pretty classical song. A song that masked what Sweetie Belle and Muguet now both understood to be the accidentally recorded sound of a pony being murdered.

Rarity, meanwhile, was hard at work. Dressmaking was one of the only things left in the world that she truly enjoyed, and there was nothing in Equestria similar to the way her mind raced and how creativity seemed to flow out of her as she built new and beautiful clothing. In those moments, she was no longer an aging soon-to-be has been. She was just as potent and powerful as she had been when she had first picked up a needle and thread so many years ago.

“Miss Rarity,” said Silver, approaching her from the side. “I have the linings prepared for the second version bridesmaid dresses.”

“Excellent,” said Rarity. She pointed toward a desk on the far side of the room. “Put them over there. I’ll start on the skirts next. Hmm…” She paused for a moment, considering how long exactly the skirts needed to be. She certainly did not want to make what the fashion community derogatively referred to as “butt-funnels”, but if she kept Fleur’s train short and modern she would need to size them appropriately, either with a contrast or with a proportional match. Then, of course, there was the possibility of creating a more old-fashioned design for Fleur, something that would definitely change the way the bridesmaid skirts needed to be in terms of both length and in shape.

As Rarity was thinking about this, she found herself watching Silver cross the room to the desk that she had pointed to. There was window directly over it- -a large, old fashioned one with a graceful arcing top- -and in the light, he almost seemed to glisten. Staring at a large, strong butler- -a butler who was reasonably competent at sewing- -made Rarity’s face suddenly feel warm.

“There we go,” he said, turning around and ruining Rarity’s view. “Now, did you want me to prep the lace lengths, or you going to wait until we can order the alternate pattern? I don’t know if- -” He paused, looking down at Rarity. He momentarily looked concerned. “Miss Rarity,” he said. “You look so red.”

“I- -I- -no I don’t!” said Rarity.

“No, you do.” He crossed the room gracefully and put one of his hooves against her head, being careful to be respectful and not touch her horn without permission. “I think you have a fever! I hope you’re not coming down with what your sister has!” He stepped back. “You need a rest.”

“I don’t need to rest. There’s so much work to do- -”

“The wedding is not for several weeks.”

“But I have to make so many dresses, not just the main one. The bridesmaids, the servant uniforms, the matching pieces for the groom’s side- -”

“And is rushing going to make them better?”

“Well…no…”

“Here,” he said, holding out his hoof. He had unusually long fetlocks- -at least unusual for Canterlot culture- -but they were well brushed, and Rarity had always had a slight predilection for hairier stallions. The only thing that would have made it better was if Silver had possessed a moustache.

Rarity took his hoof, and he led her to a couch in the rear of the room. He helped her up onto it. “I brought up some chilled green tea in case this happened. Just hold on for a moment.”

“Darling, you certainly are an attentive butler.”

Silver laughed softly. “I’m not actually a butler. At least not a classically trained one, although the Lady seems to think that I have some natural talent. I’m not so sure.”

“No so sure? Darling, I know several families in Canterlot who would pay their horns to have a butler like you!”

“Really?” he said, delivering the tea to Rarity in simple but elegant crystal glass. He had even taken the time to garnish it.

“Oh my,” she said, taking a sip. “Thank you.” She noticed that there was only one glass. “You aren’t having any?”

“I don’t think it would be appropriate.”

“Darling, on this, I simply MUST insist. Please. You’ve been working just as hard as I have been, if not harder. I know how difficult this can be for Earth ponies. Here.” She reached out with her magic to where Silver had stored the tea, and poured him a glass, even going so far as to garnish it. She then levitated it to him. “There. Now we’re even, aren’t we?”

He looked down at the glass, but then took it with a wide and gracious smile. “Thank you, Miss.”

“Tut tut, I simply couldn’t go on enjoying myself why you’re just sitting there thirsty and sweating…with it slowly dripping down…and…”

“Oh my,” said Silver. “I didn’t realize! Oh, I’m so sorry, you must think I’m disgusting!”

“No, no,” said Rarity. “No. Not at all. It’s disgusting when a MARE sweats. And you most certainly are not a mare.”

“Oh.” Silver looked at his rump. “Did I cut my tail too short again?”

“Not at all. In fact, I’ve never seen a stallion with such a long tail and mane. It’s very Old-World.”

“I don’t really know what that means,” laughed Silver. “But thank you anyway.”

“It must be very hard for you here,” said Rarity.

“If you mean because I work hard, yes. I am an earth-pony, and it is our way. That, and the Baroness deserves my very best. In any capacity she desires.”

“Any?”

“Yes. Cooking, cleaning, handywork. Even buttling. Unless that’s not a word.”

“It isn’t,” giggled Rarity. “But I knew what you meant.”

“I enjoy this life, though. It is quiet, and peaceful. And I have good friends here.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” said Rarity. “You are the only stallion here. That was the difficult part I was referring to.” She paused. “Especially with that younger one. Muguet, the maid?” She swirled her tea. “I would certainly understand if you had an interest in her.”

“Muguet?” Silver seemed confused and mildly disgusted by the thought. “Oh, no. Muguet is…fragile. Many stallions have treated her very, very poorly in her life. I love her, but only in that we are of very few who understand each other. I bear no attraction to her.” He smiled. “Actually, I tend to prefer…older mares.”

“Older?” Rarity’s eyes suddenly narrowed, and she felt her jaw clench. “What, exactly, do you mean by that?”

“Well,” he said, his eyes becoming somewhat wistful. “I mean a more that’s more worldly. More experienced with things. Who’s seen stuff I haven’t, or won’t.” He looked up at Rarity. “And as crude as it may be, I do appreciate the appearance of older mares. I actually think you are quite beautiful, Miss Rar- -EEK!” He cried out as his glass suddenly shattered in a surge of blue light.

Rarity stood up suddenly, barely able to control her seething anger. “Did you just call me old?”

“In- -in a relative sense!” said Silver. “I mean, you’re in your thirties, that’s not old but it’s older than me. And a lot older than Muguet- -”

“I’M NOT OLD!” shrieked Rarity. She drew up her glass in her magic and slammed it against Silver’s face. The force was so great that he was knocked sideways, and the glass was shattered. “I’M YOUNG and BEAUTIFUL! DON’T YOU DARE CALL ME OLD!”

Silver looked up at her, apparently terrified. To her horror, Rarity realized that a significant portion of the glass had been imbedded in his face. He was bleeding quite profusely. The blow had also listened his eyepatch, and Rarity could now see the pale sightless eye beneath.

“Oh my Celestia!” she cried, her anger immediately cooling. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean- -we need to get something to stop the bleeding- -”

“No, no,” said Silver, stepping back. He did not sound in pain, but he sounded terribly hurt. “I’m fine. It’s just a flesh wound. You missed my eye. By an inch or so.”

“I didn’t mean- -”

“I can see you have some issues to work out, and I was insensitive. I provoked you to anger.” He headed quickly toward the door. “I will go find Feathery, and give you a chance to cool down, if you don’t mind. Again, I’m sorry, Miss. None of this is your fault.”

With that, he quickly left the room, and Rarity was left alone. He hung her head and found herself staring at the droplets of bright red blood that now ran across the wooden floor. He had been trying to be nice, and she had nearly blinded him, and possibly permanently scarred his face as well. She had no idea what had come over her, and she felt tears welling in her eyes, both because she had ruined what could have been a very nice moment and because she was afraid of whatever it was that had made her act so uncouth.

She stood like this for several minutes, watching the blood, before she finally sighed and decided to get something to wipe it up before it left stains.

ght. I woke_>�i|i