Epilogue: Eyes Without a Face

It’s good and late when I decide to open up the box again. Dark. As dark as it gets. Tracy has already left to start work for the spring season up in the weather factory. She did nothing but complain about it all day. Poor Tracy; she needs the money, but I know already that she won’t last long. Come April she’ll be sick of it and looking for work elsewhere. She'll never make it through the entire spring season. The kids up in the factory never do.

I feel free to use Tracy’s room while she’s out. Place is messy. Cluttered. There’s clothing strewn about the floor, and magazines and comics littering her nightstand, and posters plastered over every inch of every wall. Whole place reeks of youth.

I open the window to let in some fresh air and moonlight, and the sight of clothes hanging from the line that tethers this building to the adjacent one gives me pause. I can’t actually see the clothesline that saved my life all those nights ago; it’s invisible under the silver glow of Luna’s moon, making it appear as though the shirts and pants and blouses on the line are levitating. Held in place by some unicorn's spell. On an impulse, I stick my head out the window and squint down at the stretch of sidewalk where I nearly bled to death on that first terrible, wonderful night.

What was I looking for then? Revenge? Justice? A way to bring my friends back? To make up for losing them in the first place?

No... It was to beat the fear. They died because I was afraid, and I couldn’t be afraid anymore.

I stare down at the sidewalk, and I imagine the Rose of two seasons past lying there. Writhing on the ground. Bleeding out. Gasping and choking on her own mortality, clawing and scraping and somehow still managing to survive. Living through a night that should’ve killed her. I picture the old Rose way down on Manehattan’s ugly face, broken and crumbled and twitching like a crushed bug, and I whisper goodbye to her. Redheart is dead and so is she; and if I’m to lay Manehattan low I can’t have the old Rose getting in my way. She was the worst kind of pony. A coward. A bully. An animal. A monster. The worst kind, and It’s about time somepony laid her rest.

I open the window and then the ornate box. It’s sitting on the floor in front of a tall mirror that's leaning against the wall beside Tracy’s closet. Inside the box my oldest enemy is waiting for me. My very first fear. Hooves throbbing with anticipation remove the box's lid, and there he is, peering up at me with eyes untouched by love or hate or desire. He is the color of the night, and he is shapeless and he is formless, and his gaze is every bit as flawless as I remember. He is peering up, staring into me through narrow slits of white light. He his pure. Perfect.

I free him from his ornate prison and, balanced on my hind legs, I hold him up to the mirror. Illuminated by silver moonlight, he dangles slack in my front hooves. Shapeless. Formless. Even now he has no body. No nose. No ears. No mouth. No need for such things. Just eyes. I hold him up in the moonlight and stare into those eyes, trapped once again by the perfection of his gaze.

And then I give myself to him and he does the same for me. We become one. I offer him shape. Form. Give him strong muscles, and hard bones, and a lithe mind. And in return he gives me the abyss. Gives me a means to conceal myself.

A cape to hide the wings I don’t have.

A wide brimmed hat to cloak the horn that’s not on my head.

A featureless mask. No nose. No mouth. No ears. No need for such things.

And then, our transformation nearly completely, my old enemy blesses me with his most precious gift: his eyes. His narrow slits of white light. Unblinking. Haunting.

Finally he demands I give up my weakness. The weakness that hides behind my eyelids. He tells me that my gaze must be untouched by love or hate or desire, if I wish to become something as perfect as him. To be pure, to beat Manehattan and her criminals, I must bury the old Rose, and that means finally burying Daisy and Lily as well.

Hesitation renders me powerless, but only for the briefest instant. Then I breathe into the thin cloth of my new face, and I lower my head, and I close my eyes—and I watch my friends die for what I know will be the last time.

I close my eyes.

The noose slips easily around Daisy’s neck.

Lily Screams.

It is still happening. The life is still draining from Daisy’s eyes. Lily is still screaming. They are still dying. Behind my eyelids, Daisy and Lily are still dying.

I close my eyes. When I open them again I know the ghosts of my loved ones will finally be gone for good. Finally allowed to rest in peace. They will be gone, and Rose will be gone, and I will become something perfect. Something like the eyes that watched me in forest all those years ago. Something able to stop Manehattan and her criminals…

…Criminals.

Criminals are terror.

Criminals are a terror.

The face of terror. My terror. I must disguise my terror. Disguise my face.

Daisy is dead.

Lily is dead.

Rose is dead.

…I shall become a mask.

A/N: Please see blog post for special thanks, dedications, and further notes regarding sequels (yes there's a sequel coming, so please don't nail me to a freaking cross for leaving so many loose ends untied) and upcoming projects.

And---as always---thanks for reading.