Apple Bloom lay near catatonic on her bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling. She'd waited there for over two hours, her mind humming with the forces of creation. She hadn't heard a sound in the big farmhouse for quite a while. By the glow of the moonlight, she saw that the clock read eleven twenty-five. Now was a good time.

The filly rolled out of bed, carefully lit her lantern and gathered up her saddlebag. In the hall bathroom she got out the small makeup collection she'd taken from Applejack's bathroom. She couldn't remember ever seeing her sister with makeup on. The fact that many of the tubes and compacts looked unopened came as no surprise.

She took out a tube of the reddest lipstick, gazed into the mirror and began drawing circles around her mouth. When the application was lopsided and overwrought, she stopped and smiled at herself. Then she started with the eyeshadow, putting it on in much the same fashion until her eyes looked like two irregularly shaped blue bruises. She smiled wide at her reflection once more. Then she took the lantern handle in her mouth and crept down the stairs.

Apple Bloom entered the living room and paused longingly in front of the display case where the camera sat. She scooted a chair up to the case and then her eyes flicked over to the stone bookend on the shelf. She snatched it up and climbed onto the chair where she was eye level with the camera. The house was large and everypony but Granny slept upstairs and everyone knew she didn't hear too well.

Using the stone like a hammer, Apple Bloom bludgeoned the pane of glass which separated her from her art. It crackled and spiderwebbed but held so she hit it harder. The glass gave way with a modest crash. She set the bookend down on the chair and breathlessly plucked the camera from amongst the collection of heirlooms and knicknacks.

She didn't hear the ceiling creak from an alarmed Applejack stumbling out of bed so Apple Bloom left the house through the front door and made her way to the hen house. She paused and smiled when she heard the sound of quiet, soft clucking from the moonlit hutch. She set her bag down and unstrapped her tripod, popping it open a few paces from the structure where she set up the shot. The only light on the farm was the moon and her lantern which sat on the ground

Once the flash was mounted, the camera set and in focus, she got out the old flowered hat and the feathered boa and threw them on. She couldn't see herself but she knew she'd look amazing. Now all that was left was the most important element. Apple Bloom went to the tool shed and found a metal canister of kerosene. She excitedly trotted back to the hen house and began dowsing the perimeter of the little shelter, splashing fuel out of the spout. She made a full lap around but kept going till the can was empty. This would get her accolades in class and a cutie mark for sure. Not to mention less chores and more camera time.

Apple Bloom set the can down out of the prescribed shot and swallowed, hardly able to contain her zealous euphoria. Panting with fervor, she picked up the lantern in her hooves and smashed it against the hen house. With a whoosh, an orange ring of fire ignited around the structure, illuminating the front of the old farmhouse with a warm frenetic glow.

Apple Bloom stared, mesmerized by the blaze as it licked and crept up the walls. Not yet, she thought. It needed to be the perfect time. At first the The chickens didn't sense anything wrong. Most of them were probably still asleep. But as the flames grew higher and smoke began to fill their home, Apple Bloom could hear them beginning to wake in terror. There came fluttering. Then panicked cries, then screaming and more fluttering as it became hotter and the air toxic. The only exit was on fire and their little brains couldn't overcome the primal fear that sparked inside them.

As the flames reached the roof and the chaos inside reached a fever pitch, Apple Bloom knew that it was time. She tapped the shutter button to start the countdown and then hustled over to a spot in front of the burning hen house. She settled into a standing pose, then straightened her hat and boa once more as the camera counted down. A sustained manic smile spread across her face so wide that she could feel the caked on eyeshadow cracking around the corners of her eyes.

A window in the second story flew open with a slam as Applejack shrieked her name but the filly did not move a muscle as the timer reached zero and a brilliant flash blinded her eyes.

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