Amid the blazing heat of a noontime sun that streaked sweat across the brows of some dozen mares striving to re-tile Ponyville’s long dried-up, and certainly not operable, central fountain, Cheese Sandwich suddenly slung a foreleg around Ditzy Doo's withers and pointed indistinctly toward the distant Everfree. She squeaked and tried to back away, but he pressed her tighter to his side.

"They're here again," he said, before descending into nervous chuckles. "The eyes, Ditzy! The eyes have it once again!"

Ditzy focused her more reliable eye past the swarthy workmares, and down the road leading to the town’s distant gates. But the other swiveled elsewhere, seemingly of its own accord, settling on—

You.

Yes, YOU.

"You're right," she breathed. "It's been so long... or has it? Like a moment to you and me, but to them..."

"They don't remember," he barked, drawing uneasy gazes from the workmares. "The sun that didn't rise... the cursed letter to the desperate prince... the blood and mayhem of recruiting and sending ponies down into the dark..."

Ditzy nodded, focusing her mind on the eye which had wandered far indeed. "The Amethyst who saw her own death. The Ametrine born of the essence of... evil. Or is it evil? Is she? Does blind Starlight know? She knows so many things..."

"Ahh, but knowing wouldn't change it," Cheese chided. "Just like knowing that four of Canterlot's elite warriors are busy meeting cruel deaths, right now, beneath the darkest of all dungeons, doesn’t save them either!"

"Ponest."

"Excuse me?"

Ditzy cleared her throat. "They're being butchered right now in the bowels of the 'Ponest’ of all dungeons, not the 'Darkest.' We don't have the budget for the rights for that."

Cheese tried to stare into her eyes, but doing so presented challenges of both a practical and metaphysical nature. So instead, he threw his head back and laughed. "But they remember now! The eyes. Can eyes remember? Cuz they do now! Hear ye, hear ye," he bellowed, staggering off past the murmuring workers as the sun inexplicably began to darken. "Blueblood's 'Canterlot Elite' are getting butchered like white meat, dark meat, and maybe red meat! The darkness rises! Ruin..." He stopped suddenly, running his hooves over himself, trying to find the bell that should've been hanging from his belt, except the belt wasn't there. Both it and his pants had apparently long deserted him. "Hear ye, hear ye! Ruin has come to my outfit!"

But Ditzy didn’t break her stare—didn’t even blink. “Go now," she whispers, defying both cosmic boundaries and literary tense. "The worst is still to come."

---

Week 20, Day 3, Noon — Just as Twinkleshine put her hoof into the indentation in the doorway to the Ponest Dungeon

Sunlight streamed through the hole in the tavern roof, illuminating the inside as it bustled with activity. Ponies bedecked in a dizzying array of armor, weapons, and coat colors, all vied for spots at the bar, or the attention of Berry’s overwhelmed waitstaff. It had been busy enough ever since the Prince had come to town, and Berry’s business had been taking advantage of the influx of prospective mercenary traffic. But the sudden arrival of two-dozen unscrupulous-looking ponies earlier in the day had packed the establishment to near-bursting.

Berry once again eyed the almost uniform garb of her newest guests. Their armor or robes were all emblazoned with some variation of a strange pattern which consisted of a broken crescent, pierced by five spikes. They were probably all in some kind of weird cult. Or dance troupe. She never could be sure with all the odd traffic Ponyville was seeing these days.

Not that she minded. Even the extra work and the incessant complaints from her waitstaff and working-colts didn’t outweigh her satisfaction over the increase in profits.

But Berry glanced over to one table in particular that made her feel uneasy. Far in the corner sat Starlight, Blueblood’s sightless seer, talking with another small group of newcomers; two mares, and two stallions. One mare, a lightly robed pink unicorn—Sugar Belle, If Berry had overheard right when she’d delivered the last round of drinks—had her eyes were wrapped up in the same manner as Starlight’s, though without the accompanying bloodstains. The other mare, Night Glider, was a dark blue pegasus with an odd mask that covered the bottom half of her face. Of the stallions, one was a heavily armored white earth pony named Double Diamond, while the other was a light blue unicorn named Party Favor, who wore a loose fitting cloak that hinted at strangely shaped armor underneath. The five ponies were all chatting and laughing as if they’d known each other a long time.

It took Berry a moment to reflect on what didn’t sit right with her about the group. She soon concluded that they all shared matching fake, creepy smiles. It was the same kind of smile Berry might find herself wearing right before using her shotgun to lethally discourage theft.

And so it came almost as a relief when those rictus grins vanished, and the four ponies accompanying Starlight stood and drew their weapons. But it took another moment for Berry to make the connection that Starlight had mouthed the words, “lights out.”

The sky turned dark, as though somepony had thrown a thick cloak over the sun.

The room dropped into near pitch blackness.

And all around Berry, the screaming began.

---

Week 20, Day 3, Afternoon

Blueblood galloped down the stairs, ignoring the alarmed shouts echoing down from the observatory. The writhing in his foreleg was worse than it had ever been, and he was forced to lean into the walls to prevent himself from keeling over like some drunkard. “C’mon body,” he mumbled as he lurched down the manor’s hallways. “Work with me here; we’re not drunk—” He pried open the basement door “—not yet, at any rate.”

An unexpected jolt of pain and intense bout of fresh squirming in Blueblood’s left foreleg caused him to stumble down the last few stairs to the wine cellar. Quickly regaining his balance, he shuffled his way towards one of the wooden crates he’d brought all the way from Canterlot. He lit his horn, pried the already-loosened top off the container, and stared at the contents.

“Empty?”

Blueblood blinked in bewilderment at the absence of wine bottles, chuckling for a few moments before his face tightened into a rictus of anger and frustration. He grabbed the crate ferociously with both forehooves, causing the wood to crack under the pressure. With a tremendous grunt of effort, he sent the crate hurtling into the cellar’s stone wall, where it shattered into splinters.

“The problem with relying on a crutch,” Tempest observed from somewhere behind him, “is that you cannot support yourself when it is taken away.”

Turning his head, Blueblood saw that Tempest was standing a few paces from the stairwell, with Ametrine close behind. He approached the mountainous mare and poked a forehoof at her chestplate. “I didn’t hire you for your psychological prowess,” he hissed.

Tempest—looking otherwise unfazed—scowled down at the offending hoof. “I know the loss of Canterlot’s elite quartet, including your childhood friend Moondancer, was tremendous for you, Prince. But the company needs you to lead them now, not to lose yourself to more of your usual debasement.”

“Au contraire,” Blueblood said manically, prodding the front of her armor again. “I have not even begun to debase myself!”

The motion was so fast that Blueblood wasn’t even sure what was happening until he felt the back of his head pressing against cold stone. He found himself forcibly reared-up, and saw that Tempest’s left foreleg was pressed across the front of his neck. With her pinning him to the wall, his hind legs dangled about a hooflength from the ground. Trying to speak only resulted in a strangled choke.

“Do not speak—” Tempest’s voice was iron “—listen. Worse leaders than you have made comebacks from worse setbacks than this. You will—” She stopped speaking as something slimy wrapped itself around her left foreleg.

Blueblood watched in horrid fascination as another damp tentacle started to coil itself around her limb. His eyes shot up as he saw others start to wrap themselves across her chest and around her other foreleg. Another wormed itself around her neck.

“Ametrine,” Tempest said in a deathly calm voice. “Unhoof me this instant or I will remove these appendages from your body.”

“Umm… I’m over here.”

With glacial slowness, Tempest turned her head to the left, allowing her to see where Ametrine was: three whole marelengths away from them, sitting at the base of the cellar stairs with both of her not-currently-tentacled forehooves held innocently in the air. There was nothing unnatural about her appearance, though she stared at Tempest and Blueblood with characteristically wide eyes.

Returning her gaze to Blueblood, Tempest then looked down at his left foreleg. She grit her teeth and inhaled sharply through her nose—

Then Blueblood saw it, too.

His foreleg had torn itself open in several places. From the rents in his skin issued glistening ropes of flesh, which traveled all the way up to where they now wrapped around Tempest. More continued to ooze forth as he watched in slack-jawed horror. The sounds they made were a series of hideous squelches, not dissimilar from those produced by a pony pulling their hooves out of thick mud.

He lifted his limb so he could better behold its gruesome details. The slick, pulsating, gore-drenched mess would’ve left him speechless even had his airway not already been cut off. His eyes traveled from the errant eruptions to where they traversed around Tempest. The terrifying tendrils continued to squirm and writhe, progressing further in their insidious journey to wrap the massive mare in a blanket threaded from bloody flesh.

“Ah,” Tempest said, narrowing her eyes.

---

Week 20, Day 3, Afternoon

Berry discharged her behind-the-bar blunderbuss.

The spray of lead ursa-shot tore into the chest of a mare who had tried to rush Berry with a knife. The mare’s charge faltered, and she crashed face-first into the bar, likely dead since she didn’t even grunt on impact.

Three blindingly-lit horns, from Starlight and her party, illuminated the main seating area. There were around two dozen cultists, all of whom had drawn weapons and seemed to be massacring anypony they could get their hooves on in the sudden darkness. Bloodied bodies of both Berry’s regular customers, as well as those of many itinerant mercenaries, lay strewn about the floor.

Bulk Biceps lifted two cultist stallions up by their manes and smashed their heads together with such skull-crushing force that an eyeball shot across the room. “YEEEAAAHHH!”

Berry heard Starlight shouting, and quickly realized she was giving directions to the four ponies she’d been sitting with, despite her total blindness. “Spin through to your left, Night Glider!” This prompted the poised pegasus to turn and do a tight barrel roll through the throng of combatants, her hooves striking out and delivering crippling blows. “Double Diamond, to your right!” The armored earth pony buried a teal-runed sword into a mare cultist’s ribs mere moments before she would have connected a blow against Sugar Belle. The cultist mare screamed as the sword’s surface frosted over, and rime spread outward from the wound at an alarming rate. Double struck the mare with a hind-knee, shattering over half of her body. The fallen part of the mare which had remained unfrozen didn’t live long.

“Party Favor, over there,” Starlight pointed. The blue unicorn pulled a chain from his cloak and garroted one of the troublemakers who was standing over the corpse of somepony they’d just gutted. “Look out, Sugar Belle!” The pink unicorn spun around and dodged a cultist’s knife.

Starlight then stomped a hind leg down. Her hoof struck a floorboard, causing it to lift the edge of a table. A cider mug on the table rolled off and then under one of the hooves of the knife-wielding stallion who’d swung at Sugar Belle. He slipped and fell backwards, smashing his head on another table, leaving a bloody smear from his cracked skull, and sending his weapon flying. The dagger spun through the air, to where it cut through a chandelier rope and embedded itself in the tavern wall. Another cultist mare was crushed when the massive wooden light fixture fell on her.

The resounding crash jarred Berry back into a semblance of situational awareness. She hastily reloaded her blunderbuss, only just finishing as Quibble Pants fell, screaming like a filly, from the tavern’s second floor. She watched him flip end over end and land spine-first on the edge of the bar, eliciting a loud crack as several vertebrae in his back and neck were pulverized. His pained, shocked eyes stared into hers. Swearing like a sailor, Berry aimed up and sent a cloud of pellets into the kidneys of a mare who was trying to stab Time Turner.

“Thank you madam,” Time Turner called as his assailant collapsed in a wailing, bloody heap.

“Shut your whore mouth!” Berry yelled at him. “And lock yourself and Spearhead in his room! I don’t need somepony cutting up your faces! I still expect you to turn a hundred bits per time after this!”

---

Week 20, Day 3, Afternoon

Exhaling sharply from her nostrils, in something resembling a sigh of exasperation, Tempest swiftly tensed her neck and wrenched her head backwards, snapping Blueblood’s taut tentacles like an overburdened rope exposed to far too much weight.

Blueblood shrieked out in agony as all of the remaining tendrils swiftly released from around Tempest. The still-intact meaty protrusions withdrew back into his shaking foreleg with all the alacrity of a whipped dog fleeing their master’s fury. The bloody openings in his leg stitched themselves closed with a sickening series of squelches.

“W--What…” he stuttered through the red-hot stabs of pain lancing through his leg. “What the Tartarus?!”

Tempest dropped Blueblood to the ground and backed away. She reached a hoof up and uncoiled the remaining ropes of limp flesh from her neck, dropping them to the floor with a meaty thud. “What the Tartarus indeed,” she said, swiveling her piercing gaze from the bloody heap to Ametrine.

“Don’t look at me.” Ametrine made a warding gesture with her forehooves. “Those things looked like they had minds of their own. Ever since Twilight liberated me from that coffin, I've had complete control of my… morphology.”

Eyeing Blueblood again, Tempest’s frown deepened. “You cried out in pain when I tore these… things off.”

Blueblood cradled his left foreleg with his right. “It… it still hurts.” He looked at the others. “Have you ever twisted a limb so hard… that you felt like it was going to come off?”

“I have never been on the receiving end of a limb lock,” Tempest said flatly.

Ametrine shrugged. “I can dissolve my joints at will. Besides, you know the only injury I’ve ever sustained… was a knife to the brain.”

“Fine,” Blueblood grumbled. “Suffice to say that it felt like a joint that twisted too far, but kept going… and going—” He cringed. “Now, it feels like… a raw wound.”

“Let’s hope you can get some control over it,” Tempest said. “Because if that pathetic attempt at an attack is the best your little mutation can do—”

“Cut my leg off,” Blueblood demanded.

“With pleasure,” Ametrine said. Her right foreleg tore open, exposing an oval-shaped extension of bone, with tooth-studded tendons running along the outer edge. She grinned as the razor sharp protrusions began to be pulled along at high speed, in a macabre mimicry of a continuous sawing motion.

“Ametrine.” Tempest held up a hoof. “If I thought sawing his leg off were a viable option, I would have mentioned it already.” She looked down at the mound of tissue. “However, considering the volume of material that was wrapped around me, I am forced to conclude that the infection is not limited solely to just the one limb.”

Releasing his foreleg, which at least had the courtesy to stop squirming, Blueblood looked with panic between the two mares. “What in Tartarus am I going to do?” His eyes caught a metallic glint at the edge of the closest torch’s light. There he saw—of all the crazy things to find in a wine cellar—an Equestrian Guard issue flintlock pistol. He blinked in disbelief.

You can always take consolation, in a manner befitting your ancestry.

And then he saw.

Celestia brought her hoof to the back end of the pistol and pulled down on the hammer, eliciting a series of metallic clicks…

“You can’t touch me now!”

“No! Princess! Don’t!”

A single gunshot rang out.

The vision faded.

Blueblood wiped tears from his eyes. He looked over to the edge of the torchlight where he'd seen the pistol. Only, it wasn’t there.

“Damn you Auntie. Damn you to Tartarus.”

Tempest raised an eyebrow. “How peculiar,” she said in an accusatory tone. “I assume you have something to tell us, then.”

Looking between the two mares, Blueblood wiped at his eyes again and sighed. “If I can’t trust you two, I’m proper rutted, aren’t I?” He exhaled another shuddering breath and paused to gather his courage.

“Celestia,” Blueblood put a hoof to his head. “I’ve been hearing her. I’ve heard her ever since we came to the manor.”

“I suspected as much,” Tempest said flatly.

Blueblood blanched, or would have, if his coat weren’t already white as snow. “What?! How?”

“Including the time when we first met,” Tempest said, “I have counted a half-dozen instances when I have observed you having a one-sided conversation with thin air.” Her scowl shut his mouth when it threatened to open. “And not the normal kind of pony talking to themselves, either; you were waiting and listening for answers, and then responding to them. At the time I merely thought you were unhinged, especially once I heard that you had been through several traumatic events just prior to my arrival.”

“You still allowed me to hire you,” Blueblood said, “even though you thought I was certifiable?”

“Your behavior was tame compared to the Storm King’s.” Tempest sighed. “Unless you start acting out ludicrous fantasies with your own trademarked action figures, you will continue to rate low on the totem pole of psychosis in my book. Besides, after witnessing the viewing table in action, its subsequent destruction, and observing the nature of Ametrine here, your actions began to make a bizarre, twisted kind of sense.”

“Well, that’s a plus, I suppose.” He shook his head, then looked warily back towards the edge of the shadows. “But this time was different. Just now, I saw—”

“Blueblood!” Shining Armor’s voice called down from the stairwell, accompanied by the sound of galloping hooves. “Blueblood! Are you down there?”

“Oh, damn it, not now.” Blueblood looked over to the cellar entrance as Shining made it down the last few steps. “What is it?”

Panting, Shining took a moment to catch his breath. “There’s… a commotion in town, lots of screaming—” He paused, eyes fixated on the gory and glistening pile of tendrils. “What in Tartarus happened down here?”

Blueblood ground a hoof into one of his temples. “And here I thought today couldn’t get any worse.”

---

Week 20, Day 3, Afternoon

The front doors of Berry’s Tavern ripped from their hinges and crashed to the floor as Tempest rolled through the splintered entryway. She quickly scanned the room for threats, then motioned with a hoof once no immediate hostility presented itself.

Blueblood walked past Tempest and surveyed the carnage. Corpses lay everywhere; he counted at least four dozen, all in various stages of mutilation. “By Celestia’s cake-plumped rump, what happened here?” He suddenly came to the realization that he’d need to update his list of expletives now that Celestia was dead.

“We were attacked by some damned cult,” Berry said, striding out from behind the bar while still cradling her blunderbuss in one foreleg. She paused, grimaced, and used a hoof to close Quibble Pants’ lifeless eyes. “When everything went dark, they started attacking my staff, my patrons…” She sneered. “And your prospective recruits.”

“Ametrine,” Blueblood said, turning to look back at where she stood in the entrance. “Go back to the manor and gather everypony you can. We need to help Berry get the survivors over to the sanitarium.”

“Of course.” Ametrine looked around in shock at the devastation. “Of course.” She shook her head, turned, and left.

“Prince.” Starlight approached Blueblood with four other ponies in tow.

“Starlight?! I’m glad you’re alright; this place is a disaster. I… I wish I’d come sooner.”

“Nonsense,” Starlight said, in a pleasant tone. “You came exactly when you were supposed to. I know you had trouble with your foreleg, there.”

Blueblood tensed. Of course she knew. She knows everything… which means—

“You knew this was going to happen.” It was a statement, not a question. Blueblood’s face contorted in rage. He brought his voice to a low hiss to avoid others from hearing. “You knew that these cultists were going to attack and you let them… you let them kill all of these innocent ponies!”

“Again nonsense,” Starlight said, her tone frustratingly calm. “The cultists attacked when your party breached the gateway and disturbed what dwells beneath. If you had stationed ponies from your company, the cultists would have just attacked somewhere else in town.” She gestured at her group. “So I called in some old friends of mine instead, faces that the cultists did not know yet. They just assumed that little old blind me and these four random ponies were completely harmless. We dispatched them quickly, before they could actually massacre everypony here and then move on to start razing the rest of the town.”

“If you had told me,” Blueblood said, his face red with anger, “then I would have postponed the mission—”

“Which would have postponed the eclipse,” Starlight interrupted. “And thus it would have also postponed their attack. Believe me Blueblood; out of all of the different ways this could have played out, this was the one way that resulted in the least amount of life lost.”

“You should have told me.” Blueblood’s muzzle still blazed crimson. “I don't care what powers of foresight you claim to have; you will inform me of anything that threatens the safety of my operation. Understand?”

“Of course,” Starlight said.

“Tempest?” Blueblood waited for the trotting death machine of a mare to approach. “Coordinate the efforts with the survivors here. I’m returning to the manor.”

Narrowing her eyes, Tempest scrutinized Blueblood.

“Judge me with your eyes all you want,” Blueblood said. “I need some time to myself.”

“As you wish.” Tempest had somehow managed to make the acknowledgement sound threatening.

“Wait,” Blueblood said as he was about to step over one of the cultist corpses. The dryness in his throat was exacerbated as he considered the implications of what he saw. He wanted a drink now more than anything.

“I am waiting,” Tempest said.

Blueblood knew down next to the body, just to be sure. He looked up into Tempest’s withering gaze. “I know this mare.”

---

Week 20, Day 3, Evening

Swearing, Blueblood stumbled through the now-dark basement. He lit his horn to try and see if—somehow—a bottle of that Prench Château le Boulet had somehow escaped his notice. Looking around, his eyes fell upon the section of wall where Tempest had done her best impression of treating him like a grape in a wine press. Several of the stone blocks seemed to be missing, probably knocked loose when she’d first slammed him.

Moving closer, Blueblood inspected the damaged wall and saw that, rather than illuminating the back of the indentations where the stones had been, his light vanished into some kind of larger cavity beyond. He blew air on one of the holes, sending powdered mortar through and into the space on the other side.

“Hollow?” Blueblood pushed against the cement and rocks which surrounded one of the openings, “What have you hidden back here, Auntie?” Part of the wall collapsed inward, revealing a room that was stacked with large wooden boxes.

Our house vintage, of unique and lurid terroir.

“Wine?” Blueblood looked around at the dust-covered containers. “There must be over a hundred crates of it here. Why did you wall all of this off?” He spun around, waiting for an answer that never came.

With no response forthcoming, Blueblood approached the closest crate. With a flare of magic from his horn, he prised the lid off, exposing dozens of bottles, which were made of a greenish glass and were filled with dark liquid.

Smacking his lips in anticipation, Blueblood encompassed one of the bottles in his telekinesis and lifted it to hover in front of his face.

He beheld his warped reflection in the glass and recoiled at the macabre distortion of his features. His recent metamorphosis in this same location brought a certain poignancy to the vision.

The bottle clattered back into the crate, leaving Blueblood breathless and clutching a foreleg to his chest. It felt as if the weight of the world was sat upon his back, and a tightness snaked through him. He felt it coil around his heart like a boa constrictor and clench down, bringing tears to his eyes and causing his panicked breaths to hitch in his throat. Between his watery eyes and his hyperventilation, the room spun uncontrollably, leaving him to fall to the floor and pass into the merciful oblivion of unconsciousness.

---

Week 20, Day 3, Evening

Berry threw a rag into what had been an empty water barrel, adding to the bloodied pile of soiled linens. She looked around at those of her staff who had survived, watching them as they worked.

Time Turner was wiping down the bar in an attempt to clean up the rank mess that had resulted from Quibble’s death. Bulk was soaking standing pools of blood with a mop and wringing it out into the waste barrel; there was so much fluid that a proper swabbing of the floors would have to wait. Spearhead had removed the broken furniture to the firewood pile, righted the remaining tables and chairs, and was now standing on one of them trying to snag the chandelier rope with a pike pole so that they could raise it back up.

And then there was Aloe, sitting alone on a stool in the corner. Twin streaks of wetness carved their way through the pink fur of her face. She was holding a white collar and headband, both of which were spattered with red.

“I cannot imagine her pain.” Time Turner had apparently finished his task. “To lose Lotus Blossom like that…”

“I can.” Berry‘s response caused Time Turner to tilt his head. Berry glowered. “Don’t look at me like that. All of you have worked with me for years now. We’re all family here, Turner. Aloe, Bulk Biceps, Spearhead, you, me… we have to help each other work through this.” She paused as a shuddering breath worked its way through her. “Quibble Pants, Lotus Blossom, Card Shark, Hard Bet… we lost four family members today. But I won’t let this destroy our family. We’ve worked too hard for what we have here. We’ll just have to adopt some new family members is all.”

She reached for another rag, but came up empty-hooved.

“Sorry madam,” Time Turner said. “We’ve gone through all of the spare fabric that we normally kept on hoof for cleaning.”

Berry looked around at the tavern—her tavern—no; their tavern. “And we still haven’t cleaned even half of the blood off of the floor and walls.”

“We never expected—”

“Take some bits from the till,” Berry interrupted. “Go to Ditzy’s and get some bolts of cloth, or canvas, or anything we can use to sop up this mess. The sight of our home in such a state breaks my heart.”

Time Turner moved in the direction of the bar. “At least… at least they took them away.” He shivered. “Quibble died mere hooflengths away from you. Are… are you going to be ok?”

Berry smiled, despite the fact that the image—of the life draining from Quibble’s wide eyes—refused to leave her mind. “I’ll manage. Just go get the supplies and hurry back so we can actually sleep here tonight.” She watched as Time Turner opened the till, pulled out a pouch of bits, and then left the tavern.

A sob almost forced its way from Berry’s throat, but she stifled it. Shaking her head, she adopted a more rigid stance and steeled her gaze. She had to be strong for her family, she had to be—

The sound of a loud crunch obliterated Berry’s reverie. She swiftly turned to see Starlight standing in the front door, having stepped into the open entryway left by Time Turner’s exit.

Starlight took another bite of the apple that hovered in front of her muzzle. Chewing slowly, she turned her bandaged visage to face Berry. “I’d like to talk to Aloe, if I may.” she said in an elevated tone around pieces of masticated fruit. “I think I might be able to ease her suffering.”

All of the work in the tavern stopped.

One of Aloe’s ears twitched and she looked up.

“How dare you.” Berry advanced on Starlight with murder in her eyes. “How dare you come into our home with your filthy predictions and lies while we’re still cleaning up the blood of our own!”

What Berry did not expect, was for Starlight to nod her head, take another bite of the apple, immediately turn around, and then leave.

Aloe stood up and approached Berry, her face still marred by tears. “What did Starlight mean?” Aloe looked with hope towards the vacated doorway. “She… she said she could ease my suffering?”

“No,” Berry replied. “I’ve heard her give her fortune-telling schpiel to others, and I’m not even slightly convinced. She’s just trying to capitalize on our family’s pain. What a leech.”

Berry spat on the floor. Then, seeing that Spearhead had lost his balance trying to hook the chandelier rope, headed over to help him.

What she didn’t see was that, now alone, Aloe continued to stare.

And the doorway, a yawning abyss which was as empty as her heart felt, stared back.

---

Week 20, Day 3, Night

“I somehow expected you to have a slightly higher alcohol tolerance than mere proximity.” Tempest’s face swam into focus before Blueblood’s opening eyes.

Blinking a few times, Blueblood shook his head and shakily stood to his hooves. He glared at Tempest. “What, not going to offer me a helping-hoof?”

“You are resilient,” Tempest replied flatly. “I think you can manage.” She looked around at the room full of wine crates. “I also think you have gone overboard in your efforts to hide the severity of your drinking problem.”

“They’re not mine,” Blueblood protested. “When you had me pinned to the wall like an ornamental butterfly, you knocked some stones loose. I… knocked them the rest of the way.”

Tempest continued to eye the secret storage room. “It was my hope that the lack of actual spirits on the manor grounds would be sufficient to get you to sober up.” Tones of exasperation worked their way into her statement. “Unfortunately, it will take you quite a while to work through this batch.”

“No,” Blueblood replied. “Get it out of my sight.”

Turning to face him, Tempest raised an eyebrow. “I must have concussed you earlier. You obviously didn’t mean to say that.”

Sighing, Blueblood lit his horn and put the lid back on the crate he had opened earlier. “I’m serious. You have my permission; get rid of this. Go through our company contacts and see about getting it out of here.”

Tempest didn’t move an inch.

Blueblood groaned. “I’m fine! Now go on, before I do decide to actually drink the whole lot myself!”

The barest hint of a smirk appeared on Tempest’s muzzle. “Consider it done.” She did a crisp about-face and walked back up the cellar stairs.

Taking one last longing look back at the cache of wine, Blueblood turned away and ascended back to the ground floor of the manor. “Some things are going to change,” he said to himself. “They’ll have to if we're going to win this thing.”

---

Tempest sat in the drawing room, only a single candle lit to aid in her search through sheafs of paper containing the names of various contacts. The sooner the wine was removed from the manor, the better. Any delay would likely precipitate the Prince’s descent back into unrestrained alcoholism.

“Hay, Tempest.”

“I am busy, Miss Glimmer.” Tempest did not raise her head, nor did she cease examining the papers.

“Oh, I was just going to make a suggestion regarding where to send the wine.”

When Tempest looked up, she saw the unnatural smile that Starlight and her friends liked to wear. “I will not ask how you found out about the wine so quickly,” Tempest said, glaring at Starlight despite her lack of ability to actually see it. “Make your suggestion, then.”

“The Prince is friends with all three members of the ruling triumvirate,” Starlight said. “I’m sure that one of them would be more than happy to take the wine off of our hooves. In fact, I’m willing to bet that Duke Fancy Pants would be able to find a use for it, since the Grand Galloping Gala is coming up in about a month.”

Narrowing her eyes, Tempest returned her gaze back down to the cluttered table. “I’ll take it under advisement, Miss Glimmer.”

“I know you will,” Starlight said.

Tempest’s eyes darted back up to Starlight. She could swear that she saw Starlight wink at her, despite the incredibly thick bandages.

---

Exhaustion settled quickly upon Blueblood as he stumbled his way up the basement stairs and down the drawing room hallway, pausing only briefly to see that Tempest was working within. Things will have to change indeed, he thought, seeing as how panic-attack induced unconsciousness is rarely as restful as normal slumber. He continued to stagger into the foyer, up the stairs, and down the hallway to his bedroom.

Placing his hoof on the latch to his bedroom, Blueblood paused for a moment. Thoughts of change mingled with questions of how they could possibly fight horrors like what killed Moondancer…

He heard a schlorping squelch from within his chambers.

Another one, Blueblood thought. No—he shook his head—another four. Then he set his horn against the door for a moment, resting as he tried to gather his thoughts. It’ll be all of them, won’t it?

A brief burst of possibility shot through his brain, fueled by reflexive hatred of having to kill something that looked like Moondancer. Can I… would it be possible for me to… pull a repeat of what I did with Ametrine?

May as well try. After all, what’s the worst that could happen? Harrumphing to himself, he opened the door.

“Hello Moony,” Blueblood said as he looked around, “and company.”

Next Chapter: Arc 2 Chapter 1: Astrological Apotheosis Estimated time remaining: 7 Hours, 49 Minutes