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1. Winter Song

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Vinyl knew something was wrong the moment she stepped through the front door.

“Tavi?”

The empty hallway threw her voice back at her.

“Tavi, are you home?”

She should have been back from practise hours ago. The clock on the wall read just after eleven. Vinyl would have winced, had the fur on her neck not been raised. The air felt wrong. It was too quiet. All the lights were off. Octavia hated the dark. Whenever she was home, lights lit rooms she wasn’t even in. Vinyl wasn’t sure why she hated the dark so much but she had never questioned an excuse to snuggle tighter under the covers at night.

Vinyl eased the door shut behind her. Every instinct told her to be on guard. She was usually good at ignoring raw instinct but right now her guts were clenched so tight she could barely breathe. Both instinct and intellect told her something was very, very wrong here.

She was nearly at the kitchen when she smelled it. There was no mistaking that coppery tang in the air.

Blood.

Her mind felt for the spell out of habit. The limiters were still in place, just like always. The loop was still intact. Even after all this time, buried under so many layers, she worried about doing something that could give her away. Right now, however, too much of her was panicking to even think about how she looked.

Blood in her house? In her home? How? Why?

Whose?

Tavi …

Alarm sluiced through her. She kicked the kitchen door open with such force that the handle lodged in the wall. Blood-scent hit her with the same level of force, lodging in her nose and throat like barbs. Her nostrils flared. Her eyes widened. Her mouth became a shrinking zero of surprise and horror.

Damn it, she should be moving! Why was she just staring like a deer on a train track as the Canterlot Express barrelled towards it?

The pony on his hind legs looked over his shoulder and smiled. It was, in all fairness, a nice smile in a nice face; a backdrop of white fur and eyes that crinkled at their corners. This face, those wrinkles seemed to say, smiles a lot.

It wasn’t until you got to the eyes that your opinion changed. Even then, some ponies might not realise. Ponies were not always perceptive when it came to spotting dangers amongst their own kind. They were a race focussed outward, looking for hazards from outside their perfect little society. It was probably some throwback to a bygone age when they lived in herds and had never conceived of things like cities, houses or mass murdering psychopaths. Ponies didn’t kill. Ponies didn’t hunt their own. Vinyl had always found it a useful characteristic, to various ends of her own. The stallion’s raw presence was intoxicating. He didn’t even need to say anything. He just had to be and ponies flocked to him. They never saw the pinpricks of cunning deep in those eyes. They didn’t recognise the calculation in his every nod and gesture. Mostly they never got past the smile. Not until it was too late.

Vinyl remembered that smile all too well.

“You’re home!” His voice was as handsome as the rest of him. A slight accent clung to his words, not enough to be noticeable but enough to make his speech patterns more formal and attractive to the ear. A true predator did not miss any trick. “We were beginning to think you were not coming, my dear. Were you waylaid at work?”

Vinyl tried hard to keep herself steady. “Put her down, Voron.”

“Well there’s a nice hello – and after I made such an effort to be civil, too.”

“Put her down now.”

He shifted his gaze. “Oh, but we were having such fun waiting for you to arrive. You always did have such good tastes, my dear. I see that hasn’t changed.” He grinned. “I might have had a little taste. You did keep us waiting an awfully long time.”

Octavia’s eyes were huge with panic. She stared at Vinyl and might have run to her, had he not pinned her against the wall beside the counter with all four hooves off the ground. There was blood on her shoulder. It didn’t show red, just darkened her grey fur into black tufts where Voron’s mouth had been. Several dark lines traced a path like filigree to her hooftip. She had bled enough to make spatters on the floor

“V-Vinyl,” she stuttered. “Run!”

“Vinyl?” His chuckle coated her name like an oil slick. “Seriously? All the names in the world you could have gone with and that was your choice?” He shook his head. “So did you name yourself after the record or the fabric? No, wait, I see you have been drawing on yourself. Musical notes? The record then. I am disappointed in you, Vanelda. I thought you had more imagination.”

Don’tfreakdon’tfreakdon’tfreakdon’tfreak-

Vinyl’s mind tripped over itself as she fought the simultaneous impulses to run, fight and just stand there gawping. That voice. That damned voice! She had spent too many sleepless hours trying to tear it out of her memory – and now here it was. Here he was.

Here.

In her kitchen

In her home.

He couldn’t be here.

She couldn’t let him be here.

Stupid stupid stupid! This is all my fault. I should have guessed. I should have known.

He was watching her.

Vinyl swallowed back her recriminations. “Put her down. You know you don’t want her.”

“Don’t I?” His tone remained playful. It was a thin veneer.

“No. You want me.”

Octavia looked between the two of them. She had no idea. She had no friggin’ clue. Oh, she had an inkling of how much danger she was in. Her bleeding shoulder and fear-stink told even Vinyl’s pitiful senses that much. Yet she didn’t know the rest. She didn’t know who Voron was – what Voron was - or why he was here, otherwise she wouldn’t be telling Vinyl to run.

Or maybe she would. This was Octavia after all.

The kitchen was a mess. She had fought him. Somehow that pleased Vinyl. No way would her girl go down without a fight. No friggin’ way.

Except this was Voron and that was a very, very stupid way to think. If he had allowed Octavia to fight back, it wasn’t because she posed an actual threat. Ninety-nine percent of everything he did was just for his own amusement or gain. The remaining one percent … Vinyl didn’t even want to think about that.

“Ohhhhhh.” The word became a purr in Voron’s throat. “Offering yourself up? Trying to exchange yourself? How noble.”

Octavia squeaked as he pulled her closer. Vinyl’s spine prickled with panic and anger. He nuzzled into Octavia’s throat, inhaling the terrified earth pony’s scent like a kitten finding a nice spot to nap.

“Leave her alone, Voron!” Vinyl gritted.

“I was wondering whether you’d set up house here with a pet. It was the most palatable option I could think of when I first tracked you down. Do you know what I saw when I first spotted you in this squalid little bit of suburban nightmare?” His lip curled, revealing a hint of curvature. Octavia trembled. “I saw you carrying groceries, of all things, through the front door. Brown paper bags! Utterly mundane. Utterly not you. But a pet would be acceptable. Tell me she’s a pet, Vanelda. Tell me you haven’t been as stupid as I suspect you have been.”

“Vinyl, what’s going on?” Octavia whispered.

Vinyl glared as if the strength of her eyes alone was enough to floor him. “Put. Her. Down.”

“Oh dear,” Voron sighed. “I had hoped you had not fallen into such triteness as to shack up with a mortal to act out the plot of some subpar romance novel. Please do not tell me you believe you love her, Vanelda. That would be too, too cliché, even for you.”

Vinyl didn’t answer. What was she supposed to say? Confirming or denying the truth would only end badly. The old urge to comply rose inside her. She shifted her gaze, avoiding meeting his eyes directly.

Keep it together! That isn’t you anymore. You don’t have to do as he says. You have your own mind and he can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. Keep! It! Together! Vinyl!

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.” Voron pulled away from Octavia, shaking his head. “Such a shame. And here was I, thinking we were going to be reunited amidst wonderous surprise that you are alive after all and declarations that you had finally seen the error of your ways and planned to come back to where you belong.” He smiled. There was less warmth in it than a blizzard. “I did, after all, think you were gone from this world. I mourned you, Vanelda. I am so …” He paused as if to relish the word. “Happy to find I was mistaken.”

Mourned her? Now that was funny.

“V-Vinyl?” Octavia’s cheeks were wet. She wasn’t gulping air the way she did when she was upset or got so angry she made herself cry with frustration. Terrified tears leaked silently from the corners of her eyes.

“This ‘Vinyl’ name. I do not like it. Stop calling her that.” Voron shook her for good measure. Octavia’s head joggled like a balloon on a stick. “Her name is Vanelda. Say it with me now, little pony. Van-el-da.”

“Voron, stop this!” Vinyl cursed the desperation that crept into her voice.

“Why do you not call me ‘Daddy’, Vanelda? Anyone would think you do not care for me at all.”

Vinyl couldn’t look away from Octavia. I’m sorry, she thought. I’m so, so sorry. I should have told you. I should have been more honest, but how could I? How could you have believed me?

And even if, by some miracle, Octavia had believed the wild and crazy story, what then? She would have left Vinyl – or if she hadn’t, she would never have had peace of mind again. The truth would have stolen something from both of them that they could never get back. The only debatable things were ‘what’ and ‘how much’.

Voron glanced sharply at Vinyl. The sudden movement dragged her attention away from Octavia. The whites of his eyes had darkened to pink. She recognised the sudden burst of anger thinning his pupils into slits. Her stomach lurched. She took an involuntary step forward, foreleg raised as if she wanted to pull him off his prey.

It was the worst thing she could have done.

“I thought so.” Voron’s mild tone did not match his expression at all. “You have fallen for this one. Oh, Vanelda. My poor, poor dear little Vanelda. Do you not know that this is pure foolishness? Lay with mortals, certainly, but never fool yourself into thinking you love them. And certainly do not leave your family for them.” Pink shadowed into to red as he turned his attention back to Octavia, hugging her tight against him like a lover. “Was that why you made believe you were dead? For this little scrap of flesh and bone and … feelings?” His lip curled. “Yes. Yes, I think so. The way you look at her and she looks at you. She has taken your heart.”

Octavia’s chin rested on his shoulder facing Vinyl. She opened her mouth to speak again. Faster than Vinyl could blink, Voron’s elbow jutted out and then forward. A wet crunch echoed off the kitchen walls.

“No!” The cry ripped from Vinyl as Octavia gasped and sagged.

“Whoops. I think I just broke hers.”

----

He came for her the night of the festival.

She was wearing the frock Mother said she had worn at her age. She hadn’t inherited Mother’s dark fur but the yellow fabric looked just as good against white. She laughed and pranced as Mother tried vainly to tie a ribbon in her tail.

“Winter Song!” Mother laughed. “Hold still or you shall look such a mess!”

“But the unicorns will be setting off the fireworks soon! Motherrrrrrr! Why must I wear a ribbon at all?”

“Because everypony looks their best for the festival and you look pretty in ribbons.”

“I look foolish!”

“Pretty,” Mother insisted, pulling her close with magic. It always went like that: magic was the only way she would keep still long enough to be decorated, no matter how pretty the dress nor silky the ribbon.

“Motherrrrr-”

The cottage door smashed open. Both of them gasped. Instinctively, she hid behind her mother’s skirts. They had each dressed up for the festival and the folds of fabric shielded her completely from whoever was trotting inside.

“What manner of ill-bred equine would-” Mother stopped abruptly. “You…” she said in quite a different tone.

“Good evening, Spring Blossom. My, my, you do look quite lovely tonight. Are you going somewhere?”

“No,” Mother breathed. “No, you can’t be here. This isn’t … how did you find me?”

“A fine greeting after I came all this way and paid you a compliment.”

“This is too soon! She’s only a filly!”

The stranger sighed. “Soon is relative. My arrival is not too early by my estimation, merely yours.”

“You promised you would not return until she came of age!”

“And you said you would raise her in luxury. This cottage seems somewhat less than the finery in which I first found you.” The stranger tutted. “You led me a dilly of a chase to find you. A new home, new name, you even bespelled yourself to look different. Did you truly think that you could hide her from me like this, Spring Blossom? For shame.”

“I … I … when … you told me … you said eighteen–”

“I have changed my mind.”

“You cannot!”

“I assure you again, my dear, that I most certainly can. You speak as if we are equals who sat down to parlay and discuss terms.” The stranger laughed. “Any terms of our ‘agreement’ were never yours to define. It suited me then for you to take care of the business of raising her while I tended other concerns away from this land. I thought she would have access to high society, would be accepted amongst courtiers and nobles if she grew up as one of them. Indeed, I also found it quite amusing that you thought you could blackmail me with my own identity when you discovered the truth of it. No doubt you thought relinquishing your family name and fortune would allow you to hide her from me, but you were wrong. I can always find those who have my blood in their veins. Now it suits me to retrieve what is mine and so I have come for her.”

“No! I will not let you! She is just a foal!”

“You will not let me?”

The stranger’s voice lilted pleasantly. It sounded nice. Even as he crossed the floorboards in a few quick strides and shoved his face into Mother’s, he sounded like he was complimenting the weather or asking politely for directions to the nearest ale house.

“You are right. She is a foal. She is my foal. Or did you forget that? Just look at her, Spring Blossom. Look at her and tell me she is not mine.”

“I … I …” Mother stuttered. “P-please. You have others … you said you had others … a-and she’s so young … please leave her with me a little longer –“

“So that you may spirit her away and try to hide her again? Or now that you know I can find her, you would try to turn her against her father as she grows? I think not.”

“At least let her have her foalhood first …”

“You speak as if I mean her ill. This was always the way things were going to be, Spring Blossom. You knew in your heart that I would come eventually. That I have elected to arrive eleven years before you expected me is neither here nor there. Or did you think that hiding yourself away in this little hovel and trading your fine clothes and jewels for a new identity would buy you more time? Did you intend to roll her in mud and wode when her eighteenth year came and tell me she was somepony else? Did you honestly think you could keep her from me by pretending you were a peasant? You? Nobility shines through even the worst grime, my dear. You are as lovely as the day I chose to woo you.”

“You chose to make me your brood mare!” Mother spat.

“And yet I see you did not cast her off a cliff. Others before you have done as much – or taken themselves off to die when they find themselves bearing my foals and the truth wriggles in their bellies. Some even died trying to rid themselves of their pregnancies, but you … I do not think that even crossed your thoughts. You were always so soft, Spring Blossom. In truth, I am surprised you gave up your wealth so easily to keep her from me. Or me from her. Clearly, you did not mind laying with me so very much if you were willing to raise my get and safeguard her like some precious thing even after you knew the truth of her heritage. What is her name?”

“Please,” Mother begged. “Leave us. Let her be normal.”

“What is normal, Spring Blossom? To be your ‘normal’ is to be weak. I will teach her to be strong. I will make her strong. Strength is her birthright.”

“It doesn’t have to be!” Mother shouted. “If you leave her here with me she could be a normal pony!”

The stranger clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I tire of this. Foal, what is your name?”

Suddenly Mother’s skirts were gone and she was exposed. She stared up at the stranger. The crash of a body against the wall made her tremble.

“Mother!”

The candle lay on its side on the floor, flame guttering. Mother had always told her never to let the flames touch the floorboards. She scrubbed those boards every week and was very proud of them. Now wax dripped onto the wood and the candle flame licked greedily at them.

“Here, little one,” murmured the stranger. “Look at me. Look into my eyes.”

“No, don’t! Winter Song, run!” Mother coughed as she stumbled to her hooves. Red stained her hairline. “Run far away and don’t look back!”

She couldn’t move. She was transfixed by the stranger’s peculiar eyes. They seemed almost luminous in the flickering candle-glow. The whites darkened to pink as he murmured pleasantly.

“There are we are. Good girl. You are a good girl, aren’t you? You’re my girl. My own sweet girl.”

Her mouth ran dry. She couldn’t even blink as she watched the pink darkened further, like somepony had held a glass of red paint in front of the candle –

The chair Mother had been sitting in slammed into the stranger. He hurtled sideways into the wall and slid down. Encased in sparkling blue magic, the chair rose again and smashed down on him, shattering all its legs.

“Run now!” Mother shrieked at her, horn aglow. “Run, Winter Song!”

And she ran. Blinded by tears, she ran out into the darkening evening. Her tiny hooves ate up ground as fast as they could. She was halfway down the hill before she realised that following the path might be a stupid idea and banked left, aiming for the forest treeline.

A scream, abruptly ended, made her stop.

It was the first of many mistakes she would make with him.

He landed in front of her as if from a great leap, eyes red from lid to lid save for an incandescent white ring around each slitted pupil. He looked like a demon straight out of Tartarus. She screamed and tried to run again. He had no horn or wings under his cloak. She could outrun him. If she could just get to the village maybe she could–

He overtook her madcap dash and plucked her up in his forehooves like she weighed nothing. She kicked and fought as he brought his face close to hers. Her struggles ceased when he bared his teeth. A pair of pointed fangs gleamed at her.

“Winter Song,” he said thoughtfully. “I do not like that name. It is a weak name for a weak pony who hides behind her mother like a coward. You shall have a new name to begin your new life.”

“Wh-what did you do to Mother?” Her voice came out a squeak.

“You will think no more about her,” he said dismissively, as if simply saying it was enough to make it so. “That life is over. Your real life begins now.”

“Real l-life?”

The stallion smiled. His white mane fanned around his face, making strange shadows dance across his fur. “Vanelda. Yes, I like that name. It means ‘strength’ where I come from. I am going to teach you how to be strong, Vanelda. It is unfortunate that your sister died so unexpectedly, but things are what they are, and because of her stupidity you will take her place at my side sooner and learn of your rightful place in this world.” He pulled her close.

“No!” She didn’t know what he was going to do but the whisper of his breath against her throat ignited fresh panic in her belly.

He held her out again and shook her. “Do not misbehave. I am your father. You will show me the respect I am due.”

She stared at him. Her father? Mother had told her Father died before she was born. It was why they lived in poverty. Father had not made a will and Mother had lost everything. That was why she spoke so much nicer than the ponies in the village but still worked for them, cleaning their homes.

That was the second mistake.

She should not have met his gaze. It snagged like a hook into her eyeballs. Something inside her pulled towards him, a writhing, twisting, ethereal snake slowly uncoiling in its burrow after a long sleep. He pulled her close again. This time she was pliant.

Her neck burned. It felt horrible, like the time she stayed out too long in summertime and had heat sickness. She gagged, especially when she heard swallowing close to her ear. Her vision was starting to grey out when he put her down. She couldn’t stand, but that didn’t seem to matter. Firm hooves turned her face upwards and pulled at her lower jaw. She coughed as coppery liquid slid down her throat.

“No.” The stallion’s voice seemed to come from far away but his hooves were a vice around her muzzle. “Swallow it all. No daughter of mine shall have half-strength because she botched her own awakening.”

She continued to cough and choke, eyes flying open. She couldn’t breathe. She could barely think. The snake inside her was made of fire and hot metal. It thrashed and sliced through her other organs. Her gorge rose. She tasted bile. Still he held her mouth shut. The backs of her eyes prickled as she stared up at him, pleading to let her spit out whatever vile thing was shredding her guts.

Gradually, the burning flowed outwards, spiralling down her legs and up into her head, lighting every nerve ending ablaze. She was made of fire and flesh and tears that ran and sizzled away in the flames of her own destruction. Her eyeballs were going to explode. His face and all the sky behind it tinted red.

“I have never had a unicorn daughter before,” he purred. “Let’s see if you’re any stronger than the others.”

And with her guts on fire and her mind in turmoil, she died for the first time.

….