Author's note: Special thanks to Landee for generously editing and providing story suggestions. This is turning into an epic, so I appreciate the help!

In spite of themselves, Ponyville’s residents returned to relative normality in a few days. All except for Twilight, who was making everypony uncomfortable by asking them prying questions, and the Apple family, whose daily toil was devoid of its usual liveliness. Laughter and chatter once again carried through the streets, as time lifted the gloom from heavy hearts.

The peace troubled Sweetie Belle. Her newfound talent had brought with it a lust for torment, and that lust was building unsated in her. But she had no delusion and no intent to be exposed, so she carefully planned. Strategized. And, of course, played with her best friend, Scootaloo.

“Y’know, Scootaloo, Apple Bloom made that awesome cutie mark potion … and then we made a love potion, sort of … you should try to get brewing cutie marks!”

The filly pegasus responded by staring gleefully into the open air. Sweetie Belle had become accustomed to this behavior, and waited patiently.

“Yeah! Let’s do it!” she hollered, but her jocularity was quickly quelled. “… will you still help us, Sweetie Belle?”

“Of course!”

Satisfied, Scootaloo immediately regained her former grin, and the giggling pair set off for the Everfree Forest, and Zecora’s hut. Their behavior still unnerved everypony, the usual bustle of activity freezing in gawking groups as the two fillies ran through the streets of Ponyville. They weren’t deterred in the slightest, however, as they made their way through and out of the winding streets, passing into the forest, along the simple dirt road leading to Zecora’s.

“Welcome, welcome, my youngest pal, what brings you to my remote locale?”

“Hi Zecora,” Apple Bloom replied in a cheery tone, “we were hopin’ we could help y’all brew somethin’, to see if that’s our special talent!”

The zebra looked pensive, but was as friendly as ever. “This favor I will do for you, but only for the good that will come of this brew.”

“Thanks, Zecora!” She grinned ear-to-ear, her oversize pink bow bobbing with her every excited action. “So, what’re we gonna make?”

“Rainbow Dash promised this summer is warm, but animals don’t like much hotter than norm. To help the poor critters from weather so cruel, a brew I shall make to keep small bodies cool!”

“Aww, that’s so nice, Zecora! We’d love ta help you!”

Of course, as neither of the parties to this conversation were actually present, Sweetie Belle was forced to piece together what was happening by the expressions of her friend’s face. Concluding that the fabricated zebra had invited them in, she followed Scootaloo into the hut and glanced around, determining that its occupant was in fact absent.

The hut contained only one large room, and it had a strange, musty atmosphere filled with undefinable smells from past concoctions. Aside from the small cot which was the zebra’s simple sleeping place, the walls were covered in shelves and cupboards, containing neatly-labeled jars and pots of everything imaginable. And on the wall farthest from the door, there was a very tall cabinet with a large padlock on its door; but the door was open, its content having been recently used. This, Sweetie Belle concluded, is where she would find what she really wanted.

The large cauldron in the center of the room was already bubbling over an open fire. Obviously Zecora had been making something, but for some reason was forced to leave it. The brew-master would be back at any time, the little schemer concluded, so they would have to be fast. Sweetie Belle set her plan into motion.

“You and Apple Bloom stir it all together,” she commanded to the only other presence present, “and me and Zecora’ll get all the ingredients.”

“Yes sir!” Scootaloo chirped with a military salute, mimicking her idol.

“Cutie Mark Crusaders Potion Makers!” they both shouted, before setting to their tasks in a giggling fit.

This berry-hunt was frustrating, to say the least. Usually Zecora would have asked Applejack, as she knew full well that Sweet Apple Acres had somewhere in its midst berries of every variety imaginable. But she was also aware of how painful the grieving process could be, and so opted to leave the Apple family alone; she still felt like an outsider amongst the pony populous of Ponyville, and didn’t think that her presence would help matters.

So she searched on, in unfamiliar parts of the Everfree Forest, for precisely the berries she needed for her brew. The amount of time she was taking was beginning to worry her, as she’d left her partially-completed blend boiling, one step in its lengthy preparation. Fearing for damage if she left it too long, she rummaged one last time through a bush of the right yellowish coloring, but determined that the berries would not be found. This preparation, it seemed, would unfortunately be a failure. Turning around with a sigh, she began heading back for home.

Immediately in front of her were exactly the fruit she’d been hunting for for hours now. Relieved, she picked all of them she could find. Not being safe for equine consumption in their uncooked form, she was very careful while retrieving them, holding them gingerly between her teeth, before transferring the sweet-smelling selection to a small pewter jar she’d brought with her for this purpose. She carefully examined her hooves to assure that the dangerous juices had not escaped their shells; when satisfied, she closed the jar and placed it carefully in her saddlebag, before setting off once again for her hut.

When she got there, something was amiss. Nothing was obviously wrong, but something in the atmosphere seemed not to be as it ought. All of her prized possessions were in their correct place, her ingredients seemed to be well in order, and the large brew-pot bubbled away same as ever. And yet … she couldn’t quite place her hoof on what was wrong. After a moment of inspection, she decided that she must have simply left the brew to boil for far longer than it should have, and resumed her recipe. She carefully separated the ripe yellow berries from the green ones while removing them from the small jar, crushed them individually between her hooves, and let the seeds and juices fall into the still-churning broth. As the next step was to allow the concoction to reduce over night, she retired to the other side of the hut to read.

The mixture was not, of course, as she believed it to be. Having been altered into one considerably more unpleasant by a pair of precocious fillies, the new addition of these unusual berries was catalyzing a foul reaction. The brew was separating, the acidic components sinking in a thick gelatin to the bottom of the pot, leaving a highly caustic, alkaline fluid in their wake. This continued overnight, the mix becoming increasingly malignant, entirely unbeknown to its master.

“Oh, good evening, Scootaloo. How … how are you today?” Fluttershy’s soft voice carried a strong concern for the unbalanced little filly. Her usual inclination to help anypony in need was tempered by a sincere helplessness in this particular case, and the pain she felt over the poor pegasus’ loss.

“Hi Fluttershy! Me and Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle and Zecora made a potion for you!”

Sweetie Belle did her best to look awkward and sad, caught in the middle of a precarious situation. She smiled sheepishly and silently at the concerned yellow pegasus, carefully inducing a teary appearance to complete the illusion. Fluttershy nodded knowingly. Or rather, she nodded unknowingly, but thinking she understood.

“That’s very nice, Scootaloo. What kind of potion?”

In her excitement, the little orange filly pushed into the cottage without invitation; creatures of all sizes and descriptions scurried into their dens, scattered throughout the large main chamber. With a quick glance around, she found where the feed was kept, and trotted in that direction. “This summer’s gonna be really hot, so Zecora made something to help the animals keep cool! You just need to splash a bit in their food like this,” she sprinkled some of the blue liquid into a bag of bird feed while she explained, “and they’ll be healthier in the heat!” She continued to prance merrily about the room, splashing the brew into every type of food she could find.

Fluttershy was concerned, but unwilling to confront the filly lest she damage the little one’s already fragile mental state. She glanced nervously to Sweetie Belle, who had remained outside, and found the same small smile the bright young unicorn had before. Deciding that her trust in both Zecora and Sweetie Belle made up for the any unease she had with Scootaloo, she allowed the farce to continue.

When every variety of food had been found and augmented, Scootaloo stopped to stare up at the animal caregiver with a bright grin.

“Thank you so much, Scootaloo, that was very nice of Zecora and you.”

“You’re welcome, Fluttershy, bye!” The sentence wasn’t even finished before the pair of fillies were off in the direction of Ponyville, flinging the door shut discourteously behind them. Fluttershy took a deep, relieved breath, allowing herself a moment to relax. Whatever would be done about Scootaloo was not her problem to solve.

A rhythmic beating at her right hind leg brought her mind back to more immediate concerns. She turned her head to find Angel Bunny tapping his wrist.

“What is it, Angel?”

Exasperated, the white rabbit indicated to its mouth, mocking a chewing action.

“Oh, dinner!”

Applejack kicked a haggard, undeserving tree for a third time, using such force that the trunk splintered and bark flew in all directions. Its crop didn’t budge. Her anger and frustration reaching its limit, she prepared for a final assault, balancing her weight on her forelegs and pushing every ounce of strength left in her body into the task.

It was all so futile.

She stopped short, allowing her hind hooves to fall back to the ground. She looked up at the tree and its fruit; they were Golden Delicious apples. Bright yellow, such a joyous shade. Did they really deserve, she pondered, to be torn from their simple lives?

Would anyone even care if she didn’t?

Her gaze settled from the tree to the grass below. It was moist from a pleasant rain earlier in the day. It had been a nice distraction from the sweltering heat, and the cool grass it left would serve equally well in this waning evening warmth. She lay down on her side, knocking aside one of the large baskets which had been tasked with catching apples and spilling the few it had caught.

Would anyone even notice if she were gone?

In spite of herself, a stray tear fell to the ground, mixing with the rainwater in the grass. She just lay there as the sun slowly set, watching it silhouette her orchards in orange light before it yielded the darkness of a young night. Another tear. She nearly fell asleep like that, but was jolted back to consciousness by something cold and wet pressing into her neck. Winona whined anxiously, empathetic to her master’s state.

At least someone would notice. At least someone would care.

Fluttershy was awoken by a soft thud at the foot of her bed. Frightened, she immediately pulled her bed covers over her head, trembling obviously below them.

“H–H–Hello?”

There was no answer.

“R–Rainbow, is that y–you?”

Silence.

A terrified teal eye appeared from under the tangle of sheets, its gaze darting nervously around the room. Deciding that maybe she’d only imagined it, the eye’s pegasus owner extricated herself from the fabric and lifted herself slowly from her bed to investigate.

“Mrs. Blue! What’s wrong?” She glided over to the small, limp form quivering painfully on the ground.

The little yellow canary was in no condition to respond, but her mate, Mr. Blue, quickly landed beside her. He was in only moderately better condition, however, as he began to cough and heave in pain, his whole body distending then contracting in brief spurts.

“Oh my goodness oh my goodness! What’s happening, Mr. Blue? Mr. Blue? Can I help?”

The answer to that question became abundantly clear as he fell to his back and his abdomen tore open, blood and bile exploding in a quick, violent shower over the bed, ground, and Fluttershy.

Shrieking, the animal’s now grim and terrified caregiver darted from her bedroom and down the stairs to the main chamber of the cottage.

This place, which was normally a safe haven for animals of all kinds, presently seemed more like the antechamber to a slaughterhouse. Cries of animals in pain filled the air, and the smell of blood and stagnation filled Fluttershy’s lungs. Creatures peered out from all corners at their governess, in foolish hope for an easy cure. Even as such, their suffering would have easily gone unnoticed from Fluttershy’s insulated locale had she not been awoken unexpectedly; she routinely had to deal with death, that being part of her role, but she could never become accustomed to suffering. And certainly not on this scale.

“Oh no no no no no oh my goodness oh my goodness,” Fluttershy babbled near-incoherently as she fluttered, true to her name, flitting to each individual nest and cocoon and den. One by one, the animals were dying, suffering a similar fate to the late Mr. Blue, their overwrought master trying in futile desperation to prevent it. Counters were stained unpleasant shades and gave off worse smells, and the ground was littered with bits of mottled fur and vomit. Fluttershy’s coat was becoming matted with blood, but she had no concern for herself.

Animals crawled from all around towards the horrified embodiment of what little hope they had left, but few made it to her before collapsing into convulsing or inanimate heaps. The various fluids of dozens of animals were making the environment noxious, and the helpless pegasus was within a few minutes forced to throw open her door in need of untainted air; at the same moment, the desperate grasp of a pair of claws at her hind hooves startled her into leaping out.

Luna’s somber light illuminated the busy patch of nature surrounding the cottage, casting a blue hue over the scene. The condition here was no better than it had been inside.

Her chickens lay in a red pile, blood from the last still dripping over those that went before. The large tree in her side yard which housed many varieties of squirrels was eerily quiet. The other trees were littered with the lifeless forms of birds of all description; even the hardy ravens and eagles were not immune it seemed. Her thoughts consumed entirely by fear, she unthinkingly ran down the path towards Ponyville. But her escape was short-lived.

She stopped cold. Her heart sank and ice filled her blood, the warm summer night’s air deficient to keep her coat from standing on end and her wings from constricting painfully against her flanks. She stared for a long moment, unable to think or act, before finally she released a soft whimper.

“A–Angel Bunny?”

“Twilight, you’ve got to get some sleep!”

The irony in the baby dragon’s imploration was not lost on the unicorn even as her tired eyes trudged slowly over the dull text of The Criminal Mind: An Historical Study of Antisocial Behavior and Violent Psychoses.

“You should get some sleep,” she droned wearily, her fatigue draining all enthusiasm from her voice, “I need to study.”

“You’re not gonna help anypony like this,” Spike pleaded, tugging gently at his superior’s tail, “that boring book’ll still be here tomorrow.”

Finally lifting her head, the bookkeeper-cum-investigator realized that her watchful assistant was, as usual, correct. It was so late that it was, in fact, early, and the world outside the warm glow of her reading candles was bathed in the soft tones of night.

Sighing, she relented. “You’re probably right. I just …”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Twilight,” the little dragon chimed supportively, “Celestia wouldn’t ask you if she wasn’t sure you could do it.”

Twilight opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the door crashing in, allowing a streak of yellow in its wake. The intruder very carefully released a small white form from her gentle grip onto the wooden floor before simply staring at Twilight Sparkle with an unmitigated horror, panting heavily.

Twilight examined the situation. Fluttershy’s coat was mottled orange, her mane was disheveled in coarse locks. The piercing gaze of her bloodshot eyes carried an expression the unicorn had never seen on this shy pony’s face before. And the rabbit below … “Fluttershy, what–”

“Animals– food– poison–” she could only manage scattered thoughts, and was breathing too heavily to speak clearly anyway.

Twilight looked more carefully at Angel Bunny, breathing deeply to keep her own emotions in check.

“I’m … I’m so sorry, Fluttershy.”

The pegasus’ stare finally broke, as she instead looked down at the small parcel she’d carried so carefully to the center of town. There was no life left in the limp form.

Angel was her strength. Even though in principle she was the master and he was the pet, his stern attitude steadied her nervous disposition, and kept her grounded. Seeing what was left of him lying motionless, stained sanguine and glassy-eyed made her feel as though an important part of her spirit had been wrenched from her body. Unable to cope, she collapsed to the ground, quivering and sobbing, her eyes fixated on her former pet.

“You said the animal’s food was–” Twilight began but interrupted herself mid-sentence, “Spike! Please tell me you haven’t still been stealing the squirrels’ food!”

Spike’s sly smile was enough of an answer, and immediately he was lifted by a warm magenta glow. Hovering in front of the unicorn, he was poked and prodded uncomfortably, examined by an altogether unqualified examiner.

“Twilight! Stop! I’m fine, worry about the pets!”

Realizing that the incredible constitution imbued in all dragons had in fact rendered even this little one immune, Twilight once again took his advice to heart.

Although she tried to be gentle in speaking to the doleful pegasus, her question was too vital for courtesies. “Fluttershy, which pets do you feed?” she demanded.

The collapsed yellow pony remained despondent. She may not have even heard the question.

Unfortunately however, there was simply no time to worry about Fluttershy. “Oh dear … Spike, I don’t suppose you know?”

“Hmm … Owloysius?”

“No, he’s from the Everfree Forest originally, he always … err,” she paused, feeling that now was not the time for a discussion of carnivore diets, “makes his own food.”

“Gummy?”

“If Fluttershy fed him, he’d still have teeth.” Although no one could explain how Pinkie Pie’s dentition remained healthy, her toothless alligator was a testament to how poor a sugar-rich diet can be for one’s teeth.

“Tank?”

“Rainbow Dash checked out a book on care and feeding of reptiles, I’m pretty sure she’s trying to do it herself.”

“Opal?”

“Rarity wouldn’t even look at cat food that’s not imported from Canterlot.”

“Winona?”

“Applejack has dozens of animals, I’m sure she feeds her own–”

But her exposition was cut short by a gasp from an unexpected source. Fluttershy rose to her hooves, the desperation of the moment fueling her and driving her to speak, even though every movement pained her.

“Winona!”

Unsure how to react and unable to read Fluttershy’s twisted expression, Twilight simply watched, waiting for an explanation.

“I raised Winona when she was a puppy,” Fluttershy explained, every word clearly painful as her voice sank both in pitch and volume, “now she only likes my food.”

Before either pony realized what was happening, a magenta glow appeared around both of them, and they were whisked away in an instant to Sweet Apple Acres.

Zecora circled the brew pot, unsure what to do. She had been woken by a burning sensation in her nostrils, the smell of this foul potion invading her lungs painfully. There was definitely something wrong, but exactly what should be done was unclear. An unknown potion is a dangerous thing, and this one seemed more dangerous than most. She kicked dirt into the fire, deciding that at least letting it cool down until it was safe to dispose of was an obvious first step. Her eyes were watering and her nostrils burned, but her concern for the safety of the natural habitat surrounding her hut was greater than her concern for herself, so she steadfastly watched the pot, in case something unexpected would occur.

Big Macintosh was surprisingly unperturbed by the sudden appearance of two ponies in front of him. Since Apple Bloom’s death however, he didn’t seem to be perturbed by anything. He went through life in a near-catatonic state, performing all the necessary actions with no gusto, no life.

“Big Macintosh, we’re so sorry to disturb you, but–”

Twilight was cut off by an uncharacteristic shout from the pegasus at her side. “Winona! Winona!” She yelled it with such frenzy that the charred bits of hair that had collected on her due to the unexpected (and tiredly performed) teleportation flew off of her in a cloud of ash.

“Ah was just lookin’ for ‘er,” the big workhorse explained in a listless monotone, “‘cuz she didn’t come in last …” His voice trailed away, his vision fixed on something over the mares’ shoulders.

Both tracked his gaze, and found what all three had been looking for, open and spilling viscera onto the dirt path below.

“... how?” was all that he could manage.

Fluttershy’s fear, her terror, her emptiness, her cowardice all transmuted in an instant into a violent rage more severe than she had ever experienced. She seethed and trembled with hatred and was consumed with a desire for revenge. Her usual shyness was cast aside, revealing a bold and resolute second self. She spoke softly, but gratingly and with only cold malice in her voice.

“Zecora.”

How was it possible, the herbalist zebra wondered, that this mixture was still boiling after nearly an hour without fire? She stared at it ponderously, though still keeping a safe distance, but was interrupted by a crash and an unrecognized shriek coming from behind her. Before she had any opportunity to react, two hooves were at her neck, pushing her head forcefully into the frothing liquid below.

Yes, this brew was every bit as bad as she feared it might be.

At first her skin tingled oddly, but very quickly that sensation was replaced by several worse ones. She felt her hair dissolve from her face, each pore then blistering painfully as the liquid melted her flesh. Every inch that was submerged cried out in anguish, as if it was being torn from her by searing-hot claws. Her mind was filled with a high-pitched scream she couldn’t escape, as her eardrums were assaulted by the fizzing concoction. The eyelids she had instinctively squeezed shut were over the course of endless seconds dissolved away, allowing her to momentarily see the convulsing action before her. That was of course short lived as the brew trickled into her eye sockets, quickly rendering her blind even as it continued to burn excruciatingly against the back of her eyes. The scream faded into nothingness as all her senses vanished from her. She was in darkness. Alone. And in pain.

She screamed then gasped instinctively, drawing the foul stuff into her throat in the process. Her gums bristled in agony as the foam wended its way into her teeth, burning away each root in explosions of pain. She felt it flow in all directions through the now-exposed passages in her mandible, burning now both from inside and out. The skin of her ears thinned, until ultimately her left one could no longer maintain the weight of the large brass hoop earring in it. Its weight sunk to the bottom of the vat, pulling along with it a strip of burnt and bubbling flesh from the zebra’s cheek. But the pain, along with her consciousness, and ultimately life, were slipping from her; as her brain matter was burned away, she felt the last inklings of Equestria slip slowly from her perception, and drifted into unconsciousness.

When the form below her stopped struggling, Fluttershy released her grasp. Zecora fell to the ground with a wet thud, allowing the attacker to review her handiwork. Her mane, her ears, her eyes and much of her nose were simply gone, and much of the now-bleached bone of her skull was visible. Where skin was still present at all, it was a deep, raw red, wet with released oil and blood, and blistered in still-quivering pustules. Foam and pus ran from her empty eye sockets, dragging with it globs of skin as gravity cruelly pulled them away. The rings Zecora wore around her neck created a noticeable discrepancy between her unaffected body and mutilated skull.

But that discrepancy would vanish, as the liquid she had drawn into her lungs spilled forth in an unexpected burst, breaking through her skin and spreading a puddle of pink gel. Even without life the body continued to quiver as all of its supporting structures melted away inside.

Examining her own hooves, which had been submersed slightly in the liquid as well, Fluttershy could see that they were in no better condition. Where sinew should have been holding together the flesh and bone, instead there was only red muck. The anger had blocked her pain, but it was now starting to subdue.

She sat on her haunches and leaned against the now-cooling wooden brew pot, allowing her wings to finally relax from their constricted position and stretch as she continued to examine the condition of her forelegs’ hooves. Her retribution was fulfilled, but it only made her feel hollow; somehow, Zecora didn’t seem like sufficient recompense for Angel and Winona. It just made her feel even worse. In a minute of deep breathing and carefully-organized thought, all of her rage melted away, leaving in its stead the shy former animal caregiver that would never hurt a fly. Her moment of reflection was, however, cut short.

Thwack.

Fluttershy’s reaction to the sound and sudden pain in her left wing and flank was the same as it would ever have been: She ran. She bound through the door and down the dirt path, trying to ignore the pain in her forelegs as dirt packed ever-deeper into her still-open wound. Her left wing had been severed, unbalancing her, but by a stroke of luck the very potion which had so damaged her hooves had cauterized this new laceration, leaving a red stump instead of a fountain of blood.

The trees whizzed past her in a blur, both because of her speed and because the reality of her situation was chasing swiftly behind her, gaining precious inches every second. She ran through the tears and pain until the flora around her changed its form, now in neat rows with ripe, red fruit. But this was not the haven she sought, so she continued to run as rocks and dust collected in her coat, which was still packed with now-dry pads of blood.

She finally reached her cottage and slammed the door behind her, before sitting on the ground, leaning uncomfortably against a coffee table. The realization had caught up with her. She was weeping silently, surrounded by death and darkness, and trembling with shame and terror. All the life that had defined this place was gone, and she felt as if all the life was gone within her as well.

“Hi Fluttershy,” a happy, high-pitched voice echoed from the darkness, “have a fun time at Zecora’s?”

So shocked was she by the interruption, she could do nothing but respond softly, sobbingly, and in earnest. “... no.”

“Aww, that’s too bad. I was hopin’ we could have lots of fun together, Fluttershy.”

“… who … why …”

The answer came in the form of an axe with a wide, rounded blade and pure white ash handle. It slid with a metallic scraping sound across the wooden planks of the cottage floor, until coming to a stop against a now-unrecognizable carcass near the horrified pegasus.

She recognized it instantly.

“S– Sweetie …”

“Y’know what you’ve gotta do now,” the bright voice gambled from its shadowy realm, “right?”

The axe was surprisingly light. Its edge glinted even in the very soft moonlight, its sharpness obviously carefully maintained. Holding it hurt her damaged hooves, but she still held it firm nonetheless, examining every facet of it carefully.

“I think you know what you’ve gotta do.”

She did.

The corner of the blade was sharp. Blood trickled down her neck as she held it indecisively against her throat.

Zecora hadn’t deserved this.

Her eyes were blurry with tears. Her heart felt empty, devoid of purpose and virtue and not deserving to continue its rhythm.

Zecora hadn’t deserved this. She did.

“I’m … I’m so sorry.”

With her final resolve, she harshly pulled the handle.

Fluttershy’s death was swift. Painful. Excruciating, even. But swift.