“Sweetie Belle, why are we in the kitchen?” asked Muguet. She was slightly out of breath from having chased Sweetie Belle most of the way through the castle down to the food preparation area. This was not the small servant kitchen, but rather the much larger kitchen used to prepare large quantities of food meant for banquets or for large meals. It was a truly cavernous facility, filled mostly with equipment that looked as though it had been highly modern about a half-century earlier and had not been used in at least three decades. Much of it was dusty and neatly stacked, having been put into storage long ago. Only a small area was active, as well as a pantry.

“I’m looking for something,” muttered Sweetie Belle, looking through the extremely well-stocked pantry. Most of the food was unlabeled, and the small amount that was had its labels written in a language that Sweetie Belle was not able to read apart from a few words like “sel” or “alun”.

“If you’re hungry, I can prepare something…”

“I’m not hungry,” lied Sweetie Belle. She was, of course, but she was not looking for something to eat. “Muguet,” she said. “Is there any place in this house that has a history of it? Like a library, or an archive?”

“In the pantry? No, definitely not.”

“Not in the pantry! I mean somewhere. Anywhere!”

“There is one in the old-section, but it would not be much use to you. The books have long since rotted away. Besides, they are in the aristocratic dialect, and I doubt most of them concern such mundane things.”

“It’s not mundane. I need to know.”

“Well…I am aware of some of the legends surrounding this place.”

“Legends?” Sweetie Belle pulled her head out of a large sack of rather lumpy looking potatoes. “What do you mean ‘legends’?”

“I can’t say exactly,” admitted Muguet, “because my own family did not teach them to me. They never spoke to me, except to yell or call me bad things.”

“Well, what do you know?”

“I know that this place is considered cursed. It’s…” She paused, thinking. “Somewhat like how white ponies are cursed, but stronger. I think the two may be related.”

“Because the De’Lis are white unicorns?”

“A little…but not exactly. Supposedly, they have employed exclusively white ponies as staff for centuries. I think it has more to do that. Nobility is expected to be odd and eccentric, like how they marry siblings. Ponies do not care about that. But a white staff? It frightens them badly.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“I’m not finished. The De’Lis have not always been as kind and as wonderful as our current Lady. Many have been cruel, and many strange. The rumors may be overblown, but there are accusations of Satin worship.”

“Again, not helping.” Sweetie Belle went back to digging through the potatoes. “Satin is a myth made up to pass the blame when ponies do bad things. Like how I used to blame Rarity for eating all the cake when I was a filly.”

“You’re not religious, are you?”

“Gods are just ponies with immense power. Literally, I’ve met several.”

“Then you are lucky. But my point is that this place is secretive, and isolated. There are many less believable stories than a Satin-worshipping cult. Some of them are true.”

“Like what?”

“Like how there are no funerals.”

Sweetie Belle paused again. “What do you mean ‘no funerals’?”

“Exactly what I said. I have had to live in a cemetery. There are four in this region. No De’Lis is buried there, and there is no cemetery or crypt on the property here. Nor has any funeral for a servant been recorded. It is as though they just…ceased to exist.”

Sweetie Belle shivered. She may not have believed in obsolete mythology, but she did not know what to make of what Muguet had just described. “And you still work here?”

“That story is not terribly threatening,” said Muguet, shrugging. “In fact, I believe it is simply because most servants depart for other properties in the Canterlot region. What? Do you think because I worship Celestia and fear Satin that I think some manner of ghost caused them all to vanish?”

“No,” sighed Sweetie Belle, feeling foolish for have thought exactly that. She was now searching a deep condiment shelf. “But it is weird.”

“What is it that you’re looking for, anyway?” asked Muguet.

“I’m not sure.” That was, actually, true. Something bad had happened here at some point and somepony knew what was going on. After hearing the phonograph and the sounds that had been hidden on it, Sweetie Belle remembered what Feathery Snipper had warned her, that she should not eat anything that Muguet gave her. At first, she had dismissed it as Snipper being strange or vindictive, but now she was not so sure.

“Wait,” she said, pushing back a large can of pepper to find something that did not match the rest of the condiments. Sweetie Belle reached in with her magic and withdrew a large brown bottle with a yellowed label. The text, though faded, was written in standard Equestrian. “Flocoumafen,” read Sweetie Belle, slowly. She looked up at Muguet. “What the hay is that?”

“Is that what it is called?” she said, taking the bottle. “A strange name. But I’ve been putting it in all the food.”

“You what?” Sweetie Belle looked down at the bottle. It definitely did not look like food, or even a spice of any kind. It looked like a dusty bottle of laboratory-grade chemical. That, and Sweetie Belle did not recognize the name at all.

“I put it in the food,” said Muguet. “All of the food.”

“Why?”

“Because it is Lady De’Lis’s orders. Or at least, that is what Feathery told me. She said that I was to put a small amount in everything we cook, that it was oil of lemongrass and that it was one of the Lady’s favorite flavors.”

“Does this say ‘lemongrass’?” asked Sweetie Belle, holding up the bottle.

“I cannot say,” said Muguet, looking down at it.

“Because you can’t read standard Equestrian…”

“No. Because I can’t read at all. Blancos are not allowed to attend school, or to own books.”

“So you didn’t even know what it was…” Sweetie Belle opened the container and very carefully smelled it. There was no scent, but Sweetie Belle immediately began to feel ill and felt the inside of her nose begin to smell like metal. “It’s not lemon,” she said, passing it to Muguet.

Muguet took a sniff. “No. It isn’t.” She turned the bottle up. “Perhaps a taste?”

“No!” cried Sweetie Belle, taking the bottle away before she could take a sip. “I don’t know what this is, but…”

An idea suddenly occurred to her. She set the bottle back on the shelf and looked around. On the wall was a rack of butcher paper, and she pulled down a piece. Near the door to the pantry was a clipboard hung on the wall. She approached it, noticing that the writing- -most likely the inventory- -was written in the same hoofwriting and with the same foreign lettering that covered the board in Feathery Snipper’s makeshift museum. It seemed that Feathery was in charge of keeping the inventory, and that she was quite possibly the only servant capable of reading and writing.

Ignoring the clipboard, Sweetie Belle pulled out the pencil from the back and began to scribble a note on the scrap of brown paper.

“What are you doing?” asked Muguet.

“I’m writing a letter,” replied Sweetie Belle. “I have a friend in Ponyville. He’s good with this sort of thing. He’ll be able to look up what that flocis- -f luca- -whatever that stuff is really fast.”

“Perhaps,” said Muguet, sounding unconvinced, “but the mail ponies only come out this far once a month, and it takes at least two weeks to cross the Atflanktic Ocean.”

“Not for me. Watch this.” Sweetie Belle set the now fully written note on the floor and charged her horn. She stared intently at the note and concentrated, charging the spell. She then engaged it suddenly, and the piece of paper lifted gently off the ground before igniting in a blast of magic that was so bright that Muguet covered her eyes.

“You burned it!” she cried.

“No. I sent it. He should be burping it out any minute. Then it’s just a matter of waiting until he gets time to look it up in the library.”

“How long will that take?”

“I’m not sure. Hopefully not long. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I have a bad feeling. Like something really, really bad is going to happen.”

“Bad? Like what?”

Sweetie Belle shook her head. “I don’t know.”

The prototype wedding dress was coming along nicely, and yet Rarity did not feel remotely good about it. In fact, she had barely been able to work on it since what had happened to Silver Sight. He had not come back for several hours, and when he finally had, he spoke to her little and mostly focused on his work. Rarity tried to apologize, and he accepted it graciously with standard, generic statements that lacked the sincerity that he had used before. All the good will that he had possessed toward her before was gone, and Rarity was not sure if that state was permanent.

When the day finally did end, Rarity immediately poured herself several glasses of pony wine. She drank them faster than she should have, and was barely able to taste them even though they were of far higher quality than anything she could get in Ponyville. In that process, she also buried herself in a large plate of pastries that Silver had brought up before retiring to bed. They were thick, juicy, and delicious, although she did notice a strange metallic taste in her mouth by the seventeenth one.

Filled with wine and sweets, Rarity felt somewhat better. Not physically- -she felt terrible- -but because she was able to forget the embarrassment and shame of having injured and nearly maimed a servant just because she had overreacted to what were essentially compliments.

This was the state Rarity found herself in when she finally exited the workshop that had been assigned to her. She looked around, swaying on her hooves and giving a loud hiccup. The castle around her was dark again, which meant it must be night. The gas lights had been left on for her, but they had been set to their lowest safe setting. This made the corridors of the castle seem unusually dark, even though Rarity could technically still see.

“Oh,” said Rarity. “I…missed dinner.” She scolded herself for leaving Fleur to eat alone, and then wobbled down the hallway. She, like most ponies of Ponyville, had a high tolerance for drinks of various types, especially cider. As a unicorn, though, Rarity’s body was far more ladylike in its sensitivity. In other words, she was no Rainbow Dash.

Rarity’s luck did not improve, though. After only a few minutes , the lights suddenly faded from dim to pale blue, and then went out entirely, leaving Rarity in the dark.

In accordance with the surprise of this unexpected occurrence, Rarity swore with great vigor, speaking several choice phrases that would have made even Applejack blush. She then almost immediately slipped and fell to the floor.

“How in the name of all that is tulle am I supposed to SEE?!” cried Rarity.

Then she remembered that she was a unicorn, and, feeling like a fool, engaged a simple light spell. Her horn ignited, and then brightened, filling the hallway with a bright blue glow.

When she finally managed to stand, Rarity brushed herself off and looked around. Without the lights on, it was harder to see landmarks. The castle around her suddenly seemed so much larger. As amazing as it was, Rarity was beginning to see the downsides of living in a place like this. It still seemed so strange to her that Fleur, a socialite and tenant of a small but especially fabulous Canterlot flat, would want to live in this cavernous and isolated place.

As she started walking, Rarity suddenly winced. “Ow…what did I…” She trailed off as she looked down at her side. The places where she had landed were now filled with hideous, expanding bruises.

“Noooo!” she cried softly, trying to rub them away. “My coat color is RUINED! I- -I can’t be bruised! Not like this!” She looked down at the floor. “I didn’t think I fell that hard…but…BRUISES!” She burst into tears. “Now I’m old AND ugly! Fleur will never let me go to the wedding now! Unless…unless I used a lot of powder.” Her mind was now racing. “Or…sleeves! I can put sleaves on it and- -” She suddenly stopped, and put her hoof against her head. As bad as the bruises looked now, by the time the wedding happened they would surely be long gone. She was still angry that her perfect white color had been ruined, but she knew that there was no danger of it affecting her future when the time came to be fabulous.

Knowing this, she continued down the hall, trying not to think about the bruises or to fall over again. Doing both was surprisingly difficult, and it was becoming more difficult with every step. Rarity realized that she must have drank far too much pony wine, as she was beginning to feel deeply ill. The world around her seemed to be graying, and her stomach felt as though she were about to spill her oats. Perhaps more annoying though was the metallic taste and smell that filled her mouth and nose.

She paused for a moment, trying to fight back her nausea. When she did, something down one of the long hallways suddenly moved. It did not pass quickly, but Rarity looked up to see a white pony stepping through one of the corridor intersections and passing down another long hall.

Initially, Rarity felt extremely shocked to see somepony else walking around this late at night. After the visceral reaction of being startled, though, she started walking toward where she had seen the other pony.

“Silver?” she called, “Silver, is that you?”

There was no response, and Rarity rounded the corner just barely in time to see the flank of the pony rounding the next corner. This particular hallway was quite long, and Rarity did not realize how he could have gotten to the other side so quickly without breaking into an all-out gallop. The floor was tile, though. She would have heard that.

Still, she continued to follow. She had seen his tail, and recognized the length. Only, she had not remembered Silver Sight’s tail looking so white, or his body being so tall and grotesquely thin. Something about that made Rarity unduly nervous, even though she dismissed it as an optical illusion created by the focal point of light that she was projecting from her forehead.

“Silver?” she called again. “Or Fleur? Is that you?”

There was still no response, and Rarity began to feel annoyed. Of course, she understood if Silver wanted to ignore her. She had beaten him. Still, she sped up, trying to catch him. She was full of wine, and she wanted to apologize. There would probably be crying involved, but she was sure that they would be friends again after they were done. She might even be able to get a date, even if the idea of a night out with a butler was completely scandalous.

At every turn, though, she never managed to catch up to her quarry. Every time, he would always appear just out of reach, but still visible. She would catch a glimpse of a tail, or a strangely high flank, or even a momentary reflection of gray light from a pair of eyes. After a few minutes of pursuit, Rarity suddenly found herself exiting the castle by a side door and entering the dark garden outside.

“Oh,” she said, looking around, surprised. “How did…how did I get here?”

The situation was not entirely unpleasant. The outdoors was certainly chilly, and Rarity wished that she had brought a scarf with her, but it was not strictly cold. In fact, the cool, fresh air made her feel a little better, and she felt her nausea fading to a far more tolerable level.

It was also quite beautiful. Despite the distance from Canterlot, Luna’s moon was still high in the sky, and without the any city lights whatsoever the sky itself seemed profoundly bright with stars and constellations. The effect was stunning, but it also made Rarity feel alone. Staring at the beautiful sky was inspiring, but also such a very lonely proposition without somepony to share it with.

Looking up, Rarity suddenly winced as a sharp pain shot through her head. The nausea she had felt before immediately returned in full force, and for just a moment she had though that she heard a voice. It said something, but it was not in a language that she could understand, nor any language that she had heard in her life.

“I deserve this,” she sighed. “It’s what I get for wasting so much good wine.” She sighed, and after the pain in her head dulled, she stated walking into the garden. She needed more time outdoors to clear her head. If she went to bed in this state, she would no doubt never be able to perform her duties properly the next day.

This was a mistake. The garden that was so beautiful in the day was far more sinister at night. The gnarled, dark trees seemed to press in from all sides, and the only sound was that of their leaves being slowly turned by the breeze. Within minutes, Rarity was completely lost.

This concerned her, but she did not exactly panic. Even in the dark, it was still apparent that she was in a garden. This was not some dark forest with strange creatures roaming about; it was a manicured example of traditional horticulture, a thing of beauty and culture that represented a pony’s control over nature. Still, the trees did look so strange in the dark, and Rarity could not help but have the feeling that she was being watched.

Then, as she followed the pavestone path, a shadow suddenly passed over the ground. Rarity cried out, and looked up behind her. There was nothing but the moon and stars, and the high trees that seemed to be attempting to block it out. She tried to stare into the trees, but saw nothing. Whatever had cast the shadow- -it if had been anything at all- -had been perfectly silent.

Rarity sped up as she walked away, all the while trying to dismiss what she had seen. It could have been a bird, or a branch, or possibly just an anomaly in her spell that made it LOOK like something had passed between her and the moon. As much as she tried to rationalize, though, the feeling of being watched was now undeniably stronger. There was something out there, in the garden, watching.

It took everything Rarity had not to break out into a full gallop. She knew that if she did, she would not be able to stop until she either passed out or expelled her entire pastry dinner from her stomach. Neither of those were things she wanted to do, so she tried to control herself. All the while, every sound of leaves or branches moving sounded like something jumping through the canopy of the ancient trees or lurking in the ferns and flowers beneath them. It was almost unbearable.

Then, suddenly, Rarity came to a clearing. The trees and shrubs stopped, and, of all things, Rarity found herself standing at the edge of a rocky cliff overlooking a large and decorative pond. Beside her was a small stream that came from somewhere on her left, apparently built into the woods to provide a version of a woodland creek and to generate the small waterfall that was now pleasantly cascading over the moss-covered cliff into the water below.

Even as nervous and paranoid as Rarity was, she had to take pause to admire the pond. She was less than ten feet above it, but that vantage gave her a chance to see that it was quite astounding. This was not a small, stagnant, unkempt affair. It was wide, deep, and surrounded by a number of exotic but hardy reeds and flowers. Rarity actually recognized it; one of the pictures of Fleur’s mother had shown her posing partially submerged in a reed-filled section near the northern edge. Rarity had thought it strange at the time, but with the level of artistry that had gone into creating this water feature, she understood why Couleur De’Lis had wanted to pose in it.

Although Rarity would not have personally posed IN the pond, she was beginning to wonder if she could get Fleur to work it into the wedding plans so that she could incorporate some of the thematic elements of the aquatic plants into her design. If not, she would certainly be able to use them in her next fashion line. She only wished that she had remembered to bring her notepad to do some sketches.

Rarity was so engrossed in this fit of creativity that she very nearly missed the fact that she was not alone. She jumped suddenly when she looked across the water and saw another pony staring back at her. There, on the far bank, was a completely white unicorn. He was tall and thin, as Fleur was, except whereas Fleur was beautiful he seemed sickly and strange. Rarity gasped, confused, not knowing who he was or why his strange gray eyes never seemed to blink. That was when she felt the hooves pushing on her back.

There was not time for her to compensate for the sudden force, and with a cry she tumbled forward, slipping off the wet surface of the cliff and dropping into the water below. She struck it with a splash and was immediately submerged. This in itself was starling, but a far deeper fear suddenly filled her as the cold of the water struck her. Rarity’s chest tightened, and she took a sudden deep breath, inhaling a breath of water in the process.

She rose to the surface coughing and spitting, but quickly found herself falling back under. Something was wrong. She was not a good swimmer, but she knew how to if the situation called for it. For some reason, though, her legs felt like the strength had gone out of them. The water was just so cold, and every second it was touching her it was agonizing. She could not breathe, and began to flail in panic- -at first. It only took seconds for her legs to grow too weak to do even that.

There was no way out of the water. She had fallen in close to the cliff, where the water was deep but where there was no bank to climb out on. In her current state, there was no hope of getting to the far edge. Her splashing was getting weaker as she grew more numb, and she was starting to slip beneath the surface. She was still coughing from the water she had inhaled, and even that was all she could manage from. Making a cry for help was impossible.

Then she slipped under. Rarity finally managed to let out a cry, but it was too late. All she succeeded in doing was letting the last bit of air out of her lungs and losing whatever buoyancy she had left. The world began to fade, and the view of the moon through the surface of the water began to darken as Rarity began to drown.

Before she passed out entirely, though, Rarity heard a distant splash, distorted by her depth. There was a pause that seemed like it lasted years, and she felt a hoof around her. Then she felt herself rising.

She was brought up to the surface, and she coughed weakly. There was still water in her lungs, and she was too tired to expel it all. She looked around, and she saw that she was being held by Silver Sight.

“Rarity? Rarity?!” he cried.

Rarity could only respond by looking at him, and he seemed terrified. He began to paddle toward the shore, but doing so quickly became almost impossible for him. Despite being larger and more athletic than Rarity, he was still succumbing to the same cold-water shock that she had.

“Don’t give up on me,” he said, forcing himself forward as best as he could. “Please! Not like this!”

Rarity tried to respond, but she only felt herself growing more and more tired. The water no longer felt cold. If anything, it felt comfortable. She did not know why Silver was pulling her along; she just wanted to drift, even if that meant sinking to the bottom. As she contemplated this and began to fall asleep, she felt herself drifting out of Silver’s weakening grasp. He increased his grip, but all that meant was that Rarity was now pulling him under along with her.

Then the world around her erupted with blue light. Rarity suddenly felt herself and Silver rising through the now roiling water. At first she thought that Silver was pulling her, but then she felt the water pass across her body as she was lifted into the air completely. Confused, she looked down at the now gray and quickly fading world to find the source of the light. There, on the bank of the pond, she saw Fleur, her long horn alight with blue fire as she levitated the pair free of the water.

Despite the effort of lifting two ponies simultaneously, Fleur maintained her normal poise as she slowly drew Rarity and Silver Sight to the shore before lowering them down softly. Silver immediately shot up and grabbed Rarity, turning her over.

“Rarity!” he cried. “Cough! COUGH!”

Rarity was now nearly unconscious, and all she could manage was the slightest and daintiest of coughs. This seemed to trigger a torrent of much louder, violent coughs that were not even remotely ladylike as she expelled the water in her lungs. This was profoundly painful, and it seemed to take hours before she was able to breath properly and found herself shivering and wet on the bank.

“You’re alive! You’re alive!” cried Silver. “Thank the Yellow Goddess!” He hugged her, and Rarity felt that he was shivering just as hard as she was.

Fleur stepped toward them, clearly tired from the magical exertion she had just performed, but still with a look of grave concern on her face. Feathery Snipper, looking oddly alert for a pony awake so late at night, followed her closely.

“Rarity? Silver Sight?” she said. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” lied Silver. “But Miss Rarity took on a lot of water. She’s dangerously cold. I need to get her inside, to a fire.”

“Right,” said Fleur. She turned to Snipper. “Go prepare a fire in the ground floor tea room, and fetch some blankets.”

“Yes, My Lady.”

“I will help carry her,” said Fleur.

“No need,” said Silver, standing up and throwing Rarity across his back. “You’ve already saved her life, and mine. I was already in your eternal debt, but now I am even more so. Please allow me to do this.”

Fleur just nodded, but still stayed close to him as Rarity was brought back toward the castle. Rarity was still cold, mildly drunk, and in a lot of pain. She was shivering desperately and wet, but having a warm stallion beneath her made her feel at least marginally warmer, and she found herself wrapping her forelegs weakly around Silver’s neck.

As they approached the castle, she began shaking not just from cold but from relief and the realization that she had almost met her end in one of the most undignified and pointless ways possible. As this thought occurred to her, she looked up to the looming gray stone towers of the old section of the castle- -and for just a moment, she thought she saw a pair of gray eyes watching her from one of the high windows. r�_>[}i