Zorin Blitz slept the dreamless sleep of the utterly exhausted. Fatigue was a feeling she had long since disregarded as an entirely mortal concern. Unfortunately, now being mortal herself, she was finding herself subject to its rigors. The long run through the cold rain had not been kind to her new body, a fact that Zorin became painfully aware of the moment she awoke.

“Scheißkerl...” she muttered as she opened her eyes and was assaulted, once more, with feelings of pain. “I have got to stop vaking up like zis.”

As soon as she awoke her muscles began loudly protesting. The embers in the fire pit were still warm. Zorin didn't have any desire to imagine how much pain she would have been in had Sweet Cup not shown her this small kindness. Suppressing a pained groan Zorin stood, and noted that the dawn had just barely begun to peek over the horizon. It seemed that, now that she was mortal, her mind had gone back to waking her at a farmer's hour. Determined not to take any more unwarranted charity, Zorin began fixing the fire pit for a new day. Despite lacking the advantage of being born into a pony body, Zorin Blitz was a soldier and therefore adaptable. She gripped the shovel in her mouth and began scooping the ashes into the bin beside the pit. Once that was done a few more logs were thrown on to began a small blaze to cleanse the morning coldness away.

“Zuch a mortal necessity, varmth,” Zorin said softly to herself as she surveyed her work with a strangely satisfied feeling. She had been careful, too many logs and the afternoon would be insufferably hot, too few and it would be a waste. The small amount of work had served a few other purposes as well. For one it had gotten her blood flowing, it had also alleviated the unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling of guilt, and it had provided her with fresh heat. Zorin had always associated such mortal needs with weakness, yet with that need came the visceral pleasure of fulfilling it. It was a far cry from the intoxicating rush of drinking blood but it was pleasant in its own way.

The sound of light hoofsteps above her interrupted Zorin's musings as a very sleepy-looking Sweet Cup made her way down the stairs. It brought a small smile to Zorin's face, it reminded her of Rip who, true to her name, was more like a ghoul than a zombie after waking for the evening. A small pang of loss strung unexpectedly through her heart. Rip was gone, killed by Alucard on the Eagle. Zorin did not make friends, it was not in her nature, but she had liked Rip after a fashion. The markswoman's shy and clumsy manner, love of German opera, and quirky nature had made her difficult to dislike.

Sweet Cup yawned daintily as she made the last step onto the ground floor. “G-good morning Ms. Zorin,” she said, stifling another yawn, rubbing her eyes clear of sleep. Only after she blinked a few times did she notice the state of things. “Oh! The fire pit is... thank you so much!” she turned to Zorin, beaming, “I kept telling myself I was going to clean that old thing but it's so time consuming that I never got around to it.”

“Nein, it vas nothing, I am indebted to you for your hospitality,” Zorin said, feeling a little uncomfortable with the mare's blatant gratitude.

“Not so, it would've taken me all morning to do it so cleanly,” Sweet Cup said earnestly and Zorin couldn't help but agree. She was familiar enough with the anatomy of beasts to know that this mare lacked any kind of real muscle. It probably would have taken much longer for her host to complete the relatively simple task than it had taken Zorin. “Well, since I seem to have my morning suddenly freed up, I'll make us some breakfast,” said Sweet Cup with a smile.

The mention of a home-cooked meal forced Zorin to remember how hungry she was. Growing up, money and food had not been plentiful so an empty stomach was not unfamiliar, which was probably why she hadn't noticed the feeling before. That and the fact that hunger for anything but blood had been absent from her needs for many decades.

“Ja, zat vould be... nice, danke,” replied Zorin, she didn't want to be any further in debt but she knew she would not get far without some kind of food. “Vhere is Frau Applejack's farm? I zuppose I vill need to valk zhere soon.

“Oh, it's quite easy to find, I'll write down some directions for you after we eat,” Sweet Cup replied as they entered the kitchen. “Would you mind starting up the cookstove?”

“J-ja,” Zorin said, surprised at the request but unwilling to deny the charitable mare. To her relief the stove was of the simple wood-burning variety, the kind Zorin remembered from childhood. Opening the hatch, she knelt down, tossed in some kindling, then went to work carefully igniting it. The two worked in companionable silence, Sweet Cup busy chopping vegetables for a stew.

After a few moments however the quiet was interrupted by Sweet Cup asking, “I'm curious Ms. Zorin, I was puzzling over it all night, may I ask what your cutie mark represents?”

The odd question made Zorin look up sharply and ask, “My vhat?” She followed Sweet Cup's gaze to her flank and saw the sharp and sickly-purple spiral that once adorned her right shoulder now represented on both of her flanks. “Scheiße,” she hissed under her breath, “Ah, z-zat, it is... personal, I am zorry.”

“O-oh, no problem, I was just wondering, I'm sorry if the question was out of line,” Sweet Cup said, painfully apologetic. Zorin was not enjoying the sudden mortal emotions she was forced to deal with, the look on her host's face actually made her feel... bad.

“Nein, it vas not your fault,” Zorin said,shaking her head as she stood up from the now-lit cookstove. “It is zomezing from my past.”

“I see, uhm, not to tread on personal ground again but,” Sweet Cup fidgeted for a moment uncomfortably before pressing forward, “for safety's sake I wanted to ask: can you see out of your right eye alright?”

That, at least, had been a question Zorin had expected, “Yes, I can zee fine do not vorry,” she answered with a disarming smile so the innkeeper wouldn't feel bad about asking.

“Ah, my oh my, but I must seem terribly rude,” said Sweet Cup, wearing a bittersweet smile, as she began dumping the vegetables into the now-boiling pot.

“Nein, you gave me varmth, und a roof. Now you are giving me food as vell,” Zorin listed off with a serious expression, meeting the innkeepers gaze. Zorin's eyes betrayed nothing, they were just dark pools filled with memories, “you are far kinder to me zen I deserve.”

“Now you shouldn't go and say things that,” Sweet Cup admonished, “you seem like a perfectly honest pony to me.”

'Clearly you are a terrible judge of character', Zorin thought privately. “I have done some zings I am not proud of, we shall leave it at zat for now I zink.” Curiously, Zorin found that there was no lie to her words. Looking back on some of the things she had casually done as a vampire made her feel ashamed. It was true, she was not at all proud of many of the things she had done. Zorin had campaigned alongside the Major for the sheer bloody love of it. No ideals or motives had guided her hand.

Zorin's tone was kind but brooked no alternative so Sweet Cup acquiesced, just as well, suddenly the quiet morning was broken by a loud knock on the kitchen door. “Oh! I completely forgot, Ms. Pie was bringing over a delivery a pastries this morning!” Sweet Cup gasped as she set aside her utensils and washed her hooves. “Come in Ms. Pie!”she called to the door which, true to the mare's trusting nature, was entirely unlocked.

The door was bumped open by a painfully pink flank bearing three balloons on it. Her tail was had the appearance of cotton candy and, as more of the mare was revealed, Zorin saw that the same was true of her mane. The new pony dragged in several colorful boxes, the contents of which smelled divine, which Sweet Cup took from her and set aside on the counter.

“Heya Sweet Cup, good morning!” the pink pony said brightly, Zorin had the painful feeling that this one was most likely an insufferable morning-pony. “And I told you, call me Pinkie Pie! Or just Pinkie! And also- OMIGOSH IS THAT A NEW PONY!?”

Zorin flattened her ears as Pinkie's voice suddenly skyrocketed several dozen decibels, she found herself relieved to see that Sweet Cup visibly flinched as well. Pinkie crossed the distance in the blink of an eye and was enthusiastically shaking Zorin's hoof before the former SS officer could even begin to deny her the opportunity.

“G-good morning Pinkie, uhm,” Sweet Cup gently prised Pinkie's hoof off of Zorin's, who was an unspeakable distance outside of her comfort zone. “I'd like you to meet Ms. Zorin Blitz, she's Germane, and, uh,” she leaned in to whisper, “not accustomed to sudden physical contact.”

Pinkie gasped cartoonishly, something that Zorin had the uncomfortable impression was not feigned in the slightest, “So you're from OUTSIDE OF EQUESTRIA?!” she shrieked, completely missing the point of Sweet Cup's words.

“J-ja, I am newly come to zis land,” Zorin said as she carefully inched away from the pink menace.

“Wow! That's so cool! Awwww, I wish I'd brought my party cannon and my welcome wagon,” she said dejectedly flipping between happy and sad so quickly it made Zorin's head spin. “Oh well! I'll just have to throw you an awesome 'WELCOME TO EQUESTRIA' party! Wow, I've never done one of those before.” Pinkie looked so excited about it that even Zorin couldn't find it in her to describe just how much she did not want such an event to occur.

“O-oh, z-zat is not necessary, I am very busy anyhow,” Zorin scrambled desperately for an out, “Frau Applejack has hired me to verk on her farm for avhile and I vill be very tired aftervards.”

Sweet Cup came to her rescue as she pulled out a few pastries from the boxes and offered them around. “How about you talk to Applejack first Ms... ah... Pinkie, after all, Zorin is a new hire and can't be coming to work exhausted because she went to a party.” Zorin silently mouthed, 'danke schön' to Sweet Cup who gave her guest a long-suffering smile and nodded.

“Hmmm, yeah I guess we can't have that, I don't want Applejack to be mad at me,” Pinkie said thoughtfully. Just how much actual thought passed between those pink and fluffy ears Zorin was unsure of but at least it seemed to have kept the problem at bay. For now anyway. “Alright, welp, enjoy the goodies! I gotta deliver a few more batches, nice meeting you Blitzy!”

Sweet Cup brought a single hoof up to her face and sighed, Zorin just nodded stoically, not trusting herself to open her mouth for fear of what might come out. “ I am so sorry about that Ms. Blitz, that was our resident party-pony and master baker, Pinkamena Pie.”

“Master baker? Zo she made zhese?” Zorin asked quizzically, holding up the colorful blue cupcake she'd been handed. “I had zhought her completely unbedarft,” she said frankly as she brought the baked good up to eye level. She studied the little baked good carefully, unsure if she should eat something made by a pony that she would have had sectioned on sight. Clearly Sweet Cup had faith in the pink one's abilities though and in spite of herself she was coming to like, or at least respect, the little innkeeper. So, cautiously, Zorin brought it to her mouth and took a bite.

That one act changed her entire opinion of the strange pink creature that had just literally bounced out of the kitchen. The pastry was soft, and so moist it melted in her mouth. The frosting was just light enough that the fluffy sweetness complemented the cake without overpowering it. Whatever localized anomaly served as the brain to the pony which Sweet Cup had called Pinkie was now immaterial. Her treats were simply incredible, in Germany, reflected Zorin, that pony would be hailed as a culinary genius.

“Zhese are ze most delicious cakes I have ever tasted,” Zorin said in disbelief through the concentrated delight she was eating. She stared at the bitten cake in her hoof in wonder. Sweet Cup laughed, a pleasantly light tinkling sound, and nodded.

“That's how most ponies react to Pinkie, both the pony and her pastries,” she explained whilst stirring the now-bubbling stew.”Please don't hold your first impression against her, Pinkie just honestly wants to make everypony smile,” Sweet Cup pleaded with a soft smile. “You know, Pinkie once told me that that was the whole of the reason why she had learned to bake in the first place.”

Sweet Cup's words hit a chord in Zorin's newly beating heart. The entire reason? Just to make ponies happy? To make them smile? That kind of logic simply didn't compute in the lieutenant's mind. Such a pure and honest purpose being the entirety of what drove her in life? And this simple cake Zorin was holding was the culmination of that desire. A part of her understood Pinkie more deeply than she had any right to.

These were almost literally made with love

The sweetness died in mouth as that thought fully formed. Suddenly Zorin felt sick, this tiny cake should be burning her hoof like holy water, she thought. There was even a very real chance that back in her world it might have. Vampires were corrupt in every sense of the word, that was why religious icons repelled them, they embodied pure faith. Zealotry might be blind but it was also pure, and that was painful enough. Zorin sat the rest of the cupcake down on the counter and wondered idly if swallowing that tiny bite would have killed her old body as surely as the police girl had.

“Please, excuse me for a moment, I vill be right back,” muttered Zorin tersely, her eyes cast to the floor. Without waiting for Sweet Cup's answer she left through the kitchen door.

Standing out in the cold morning are braced her as she fought back the overwhelming urge to throw up. “Zat zhing does not belong in my stomach,” Zorin croaked. She was gritting her teeth so hard she could hear it, her chest was tight with a feeling similar to rage. If only that were the emotion she was pushing back, she thought bitterly. “How can I eat zat? It should be poison to me,” Zorin said, her voice cracked and raw. Not once since she had first landed in this world had she more fervently wished she were still one of the undead. Soulless and heartless, taking pleasure only in the misery of others. Instead, however, she was alive. Even worse, she found herself fighting off the most unfamiliar feeling she had been subjected to since she awoke in that ditch.

Zorin Blitz, a formerly proud officer of the Nazi SS with more atrocities and crimes against humanity under her belt that most armies, was trying very hard not to cry.