The three fillies, minds still reeling over the strangely vivid fantasies they had experienced, trotted down to the Cutie Mark Crusaders clubhouse, to prepare themselves mentally before Twist arrived. Apple Bloom was tired, cranky, her footsteps resonating with an almost savage sound. She had been up all night, sweating, tossing and turning, voices in her mind shouting at her to stop, others telling her she had to carry on with what would be an exciting adventure and would get her cutie mark. Her once vibrant eyes were washed away, hollow and lifeless. Her mind had conjured up images of dark, soulless creatures, demons, and they were taking over, chipping away at her sanity.  The demons inside her had sucked away the previous Apple Bloom, and had only left the psychotic shell intent on killing and seeking revenge. Even her once pleasant, Southern voice had faded away to a hoarse, regular one, sometimes becoming guttural whenever the Harvest was mentioned. Apple Bloom was no longer with them. The self-conjured demons controlled her now, and the effect was achingly obvious, from the droop in her walk, the bags under her eyes and her desire to kill, savagely, to satisfy the demons, to get them out.

Sweetie Belle tried to look bright, tried to ignore the guilt, to satisfy the edgy Apple Bloom. She could not be sure of Scootaloo’s opinion on the plan, but judging by the way her head hung as she walked, she could tell it was not positive. The trip seemed longer for Sweetie Belle, somehow, as if Celestia had known of their intentions and tried to wear down the little fillies before they could get to their destination. Celestia, Sweetie Belle thought, biting her lip. If she found out, we would be sent to the moon, like Nightmare Moon, or maybe even executed on the spot…

Scootaloo dragged her hooves across the path, dread muting her usually loud, happy voice from within. Images of Twist crying, bleeding, dying were burnt into her mind, repeating, eating her from the inside out. She just wanted to get the harvest over and done with, and hope to live through the tale long enough to tell an adult, someone who could help her and Sweetie get better from the whole ordeal and help Apple Bloom’s head get better. She looked up to look at Apple Bloom, and looking at the shell of the previously determined, honest and playful filly, Scootaloo wanted more than anything for the old Apple Bloom to come back. She smiled ruefully, imagining what they’d be doing if they weren’t about to steal the life of an innocent classmate. She pictured them trying another scheme to get their cutie marks – perhaps tight rope walking, or even cooking? She laughed inside, picturing Sweetie Belle pulling some theatrics about how she nearly fell off the rope, or how the oven was obviously not working, and Apple Bloom rolling her eyes and pulling silly faces behind her. We are only fillies… she thought. How can we even be doing this?

Finally, the little clubhouse appeared in view, and each taking a sharp breath, the three fillies filed in to the room, sitting on the cushions laying on the wooden terrain and looking at each other, eyes shining with different emotions – determination, doubt, regret. All they could do now was wait for Twist to arrive, the subject of their thoughts for the previous few days, arriving at long last.

An hour passed, but it seemed like an eternity to the impatient crusaders, Apple Bloom even pacing the area repeatedly, snorting, stamping, and whipping her neck back with a crack to let a maniacal laugh trickle from deep within her lungs. Scootaloo looked into Apple Bloom’s amber eyes, searching for any signs of sane life in the orbs. Nothing. Scootaloo hung her head, willing the wait to go on forever.

However, Twist, being herself, was punctual. She arrived laden with a sleeping bag, pillows, and a bag stuffed full of various treats, fresh from Sugarcube Corner, delicious, buttery pastries, rich chocolate treats, delicately iced cupcakes, freshly popped popcorn slathered in butter and crystals of sweet sugar, sweet, fizzy drinks in cold, curved glass bottles. She knocked on the weathered wooden door enthusiastically, her purple frames slipping briefly. Apple Bloom immediately cantered over to the door, whipping it open, a freakishly wide grin on her face.

“Twist. You’re here.” She yelped, pupils shrinking. She licked her lips and invited the filly in.

“Are you guys… okay?” Twist said, her speech fuzzy and masked in confusion. Scootaloo looked up, her amethyst eyes full of remorse and pity. She nodded, a tiny movement, barely noticeable. She stood up shakily, holding a piece of crumpled material. She stepped towards Twist, her vision blurring with the uncontrollable tears slipping out. She lunged at her, ramming the rag into her mouth and tying it securely behind Twist’s head. Sweetie Belle ran slightly behind, another rag trailing like a banner behind her. She clamped it around Twist’s eyes, blinding the worried filly. She desperately gurgled, muffled pleas for help, but nothing coherent came out. Apple Bloom savagely snatched her body, even though it was heavier than herself, and stuffed her into a bag. She left a small gap, allowing Twist to breathe.

“We don’t want our prey to die before we can have a play, do we?” she said

.

Reluctantly, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo nodded. They set out in the chilly night, navigating twisting paths by the silvery moonlight, hauling the bag in turn when they got worn out. Soon, Apple Bloom had led the Crusaders and their victim to a lone, ramshackle barn on Sweet Apple Acres farm. Sweetie looked at Apple Bloom, doubtful. As if she had read her mind, Apple Bloom explained.

“Applejack has gone to Appleloosa for the weekend. Big Macintosh is out with some friends tonight. And you know Granny Smith – she’s asleep by now.” She said, in a dull, monotone voice.

Next Chapter: Chapter Six - Let the Harvest Begin Estimated time remaining: 44 Minutes