She haunts me in my dreams, and every night I wake up sobbing and breathless to find that my dreams are but a shadow to my waking nightmare, a brief reprieve from the Tartarus of my days. Even the darkest recesses of my mind could never manage or imitate a face as twisted and demonic as the crooked little smile she wears for me.

It says, “I know.”

“Equisetum Trinervata Nigra, the black-veined horsetail. It only grows in the forest and is easily recognized by its three black veins. Mrs. Creek will be impressed if you write about it.”

I look at the book she's holding up. “That's the most poisonous one?”

“Around here? Yes. Even small amounts will kill a pony, but you'd never mistake the—”

“I have to hurry back. Mom's waiting for me.” I almost forget but turn around to grab the book before galloping out the door. “Thanks!”

The diary sits on her table, in plain sight of the door. It is the first thing I see, and she knows. It's why she put it there.

She just nods at a bit of open floor, expressing her intent without a word. I stop there and stand, like a marionette following her silent will. I immediately feel the walls closing in around me as she shuts the door, and I breathe a little faster.

“I-I don't like this,” I say and try to look around at her.

“Don't worry,” are her words, but her smile says, “I know.” With another nod she makes me look straight ahead again. I don't know how she has such power over me. Is it magic? I don't see her horn glowing, but maybe they don't have to do that.

Her room is small and cluttered with dresses and pieces of fabric. I recognize some of the dresses because she often wears them to school. There's an old loom by the window, and her table holds many needles and other tools for sewing and stitching. Her bed and a small bookcase take up the rest of the limited space, leaving barely room on the floor for one pony and certainly not for two.

I startle as she brushes past me to pull the curtains, leaving only a narrow strip of light to fall across the floor. The way she moves draws my eye to her tail and her cutie mark; a black spider in its web. Her lavender coat and dark blue mane and tail with the violet and rosy streaks … I blink and look up into her violet eyes as she turns with a smile; that smile, telling me that she knew where I had my eyes.

“I-I'm sorry!” I blurt out. “I didn't mean any of those things. P-please, I'm really sorry!”

“I know,” she says from where she stands, and the faint light of the window falls across one half of her face. She smiles placidly. “That's all in the past; don't worry about it. I forgive you.”

My eyes drift to the diary sitting on the table next to her, and the needles and tools surrounding it. My mouth feels dry and has a bad taste. “W-what do you want with me?”

“Shh …” A pale indigo light surrounds her horn and drifts across the table, searching out something. She lifts a piece of measuring tape off the table and trots towards me. “Just trust me.”

I feel utterly paralyzed as she stops right in front of me, our eyes fixed for a second. She smiles as she picks up the measuring tape and wraps it around the base of my neck. She casually looks down to take note of the measure.

I sink and close my eyes, but that only makes the tightness in my chest worse. I fear I can't breathe. “I-I really don't like this …” I whisper and feel her hooves touch my coat as she adjusts the tape. “P-please, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!”

She's not using her magic to hold the tape. Her hooves and warm muzzle brush against my neck and along my body as she takes my measures in silence. I feel her entire body lean against me as she walks around me in the small room. I open my eyes and stare straight ahead as the tape snakes around my hip and under my body. Her breath touches the soft skin of my belly while she reads the number, and for a second her lips touch my nipples as she picks up the tape again.

She's behind me now, nudging for me to spread my hind legs. Again I dare not do anything but silently comply. A hoof brushes aside my tail, and she's got her muzzle between my legs, measuring stifle and gaskin. I weep and try to think of something else, anything but her warm breath and tickling mane between my legs.

I watch her sitting by her table, skillfully cutting and sewing the fabric. I've been standing for what feels like hours, shut in this tiny room with her, trying not to cry. My legs hurt, but I dare not move or sit down. I dare not say anything. Every time I think of flight, my eyes fall on the diary like it knows my every thought and wants to keep me.

She stands up and drapes the cloth around my shoulders, her face set in concentration as she adjusts the fabric to fit. She's very gentle, but it doesn't feel right. She lifts my wing carefully with a hoof to fit the dress with her teeth. She still doesn't use her magic.

I wish I could fly, away from here and away from her.

I only hope she will let me go soon … maybe if I play nice and do everything she says, maybe if I thank her for the dress, maybe then she will let me go home.

She steps back and takes a look at me. She looks happy, so maybe she will let me go now. I dare to look down at myself, at the dress she has made for me. It is a nice dress, and it fits me perfectly. The fabric is light, and the white and pale yellow colors suit me well.

I look up and try to smile at her. I really try. “T-thank you. It's very lovely,” I say and pray to Celestia that she accepts the gratitude.

Her smile is warm, like a friend's. And it seems genuine. “It is yours. I want you to wear it.”

I smile and nod. I just want out.

Her smile twists a little and I feel my heart sink again. “I really hope you like it,” she says and walks closer, reaching a hoof out to touch my cheek. “I want to show you how much I adore you.” I hold back a sob as she caresses my cheek. “I want you to know that you are beautiful.” Sincerity fills her voice as she looks into my eyes. “Even if you've said and done some nasty things to me, I have never felt this way about another pony.”

She closes her eyes and her lips touch mine. It is brief, completely confident but still a little fumbling. She's never tried this before, I can tell. I stand frozen and simply take it as my hope dwindles into nothingness. She opens her eyes again and looks at me.

“I love you,” she says, and I know she means it.

I don't know what to say. What does she expect? I just stand there, lost and alone, hoping she will let me go. She's looking at me, waiting for me to speak. I know what she wants me to say, and I can’t say it. I used to dream of her, but this isn’t how I thought it would be.

I hate her, and it hurts so much.

“P-please, I just want to go home,” I manage as I look down.

Her smile falls and a fire lights in her eyes. I veer away as she trots past me. Before I can react she spins around and pushes me.

I cry out as I fall onto her bed and try to get back up, but she's on top of me in an instant, pressing me down and holding a hoof against my mouth. “Not a sound!” she whispers, the warning obvious in her voice. I sob and struggle to breathe as the whole weight of her body presses me down into the mattress.

The room falls silent as she waits, listening for hoofsteps outside. After a minute she speaks again, her voice low and sinister. “I'll tell you how this is going to work.” Her face is close to mine and I can't look away. “I want you. I want you to be mine. I want to play with you and be your friend, and I want you to love me too.”

She straddles my body and pushes me down harder, forcing my head up to see where the diary sits on her table. “And you will, because I know all your little secrets! So let's try it out.” Her horn glows and a piece of fabric floats towards us. I shake my head and cry as she folds it up into a long strip.

She leans down and whispers in my ear. “I know all your worst fears too. Oh yes, I know how the darkness makes you feel. Make any noise now, and I'll make sure your parents are first to read your diary. Imagine what they'll be thinking as they do so.” She lets go of my mouth and I gasp for air. “What do you fear more?”

“Please! I don't want to! Anything, just don't—” I cry and choke as she wraps the cloth around my eyes. I try to close my eyes to the darkness, but it never helps. My chest heaves as I try to breathe in the cloying dark, feeling it closing in and drowning me. I try to break free but she's holding me down, pressing her body against mine. “Please!” I beg through tears and choking sobs.

“Not a sound!”

My heart is racing; I can't breathe!

I'm going to die!

I don't want to die!

“You're so beautiful when you cry,” her voice whispers next to me in the terrible darkness. “I love you, Daffodil. You have no idea how you drive me insane.”

“I want to hear that you love me too.”

I hate her!

I hate her!

I just want her to die!

A branch snaps as I stumble through the dark forest, feeling the trees looming around me and the darkness closing in on me. But I have to carry on!

I want her to die! I want it all to end …

She sets her cup down on the table and smiles. It's her second cup.

My first cup is still full. I keep staring at the clock and feel nothing but cold. I couldn't have been mistaken about the plant, and there's no way anypony could survive that much. She should be dead. How isn't she dead?

She just smiles at me and pours another cup. All I can see is that twisted little smile of pure demonic innocence.

She knows! Celestia save me, she knows I poisoned the tea!

I can't move, and I can't breathe! It's all dark and there's no room!

H-help! I-I can't breathe in here!

She's here, smiling next to me! And I …

I want to live! I want to … Oh please …

“Let me out!”

I scream, sobbing wildly, and sit up with a sudden start, flailing at the air as I try to …

… breathe …

I sit in the dark as still as I can. I dare not look around or close my eyes. It was just a dream, just … a dream, but it felt so real, like it really happened to me. I turn my head stiffly and watch Apple Bloom across the room, hugging Stitch in her sleep. I miss my doll. I've never wanted to hug her like I do right now. I don't want to go back to sleep, not alone.

I sniff and look down. Scootaloo is still sleeping. I untangle a shaking hoof from my blanket and rub her shoulder. “Scootaloo,” I whisper, my voice trembling.

“Wha—” Scootaloo mumbles in her sleep and opens her eyes blearily. “Sweetie? What are you …” She rubs her eyes and sits up slightly. Her face quickly turns to concern. “Whoa, what's wrong? You're shaking all over!”

I simply reach out to hug her. She quickly and freely returns the gesture. I'm so happy to have her as a friend. I know she can be a little shy about affection in public, but when I really need it she's always there, giving of herself without reservations. And right now there's nothing I need more.

She holds me tight. I can feel her worry. “Wanna talk about it?” she asks uncertainly after a while.

I vaguely shake my head with my face buried in her short mane. “Do you … I mean, would you mind holding me while I sleep?” I feel a bit timid and self-conscious voicing the question, but it helps a little to ask. It's hard to blush and be afraid at the same time. “I don't want to go back to sleep alone,” I add so quietly I wonder if she heard it.

Scootaloo is silent for a few uncomfortable seconds. “Um … sure,” she says, and I feel her relax and brighten up a little. “I'll keep the bad dreams away from you. Maybe I'll get my cutie mark in fighting off evil nightmares and bogey mares,” she teases me lightly. “I bet that would look awesome, don't you?” She waves a hoof in a sweeping gesture at something behind me. “Like, maybe a shield and sword on a starry background or something wicked cool like that.”

I smile a little at her. “You're a great friend, Scoots. Thank you so much.”

“Hey, it's cool.” She stifles a yawn. “Lady Scootaloo, Knight of the, um, Lunar something, at your service tonight.” She groans a little. “That probably could use some work.”

I chuckle and lie down, snuggling up next to her. Scootaloo watches me for a moment, then settles down as well and rests a wing on my shoulder. I sigh and bury myself under her protective wing where it's warm and safe.

“That ship ain't never gonna sail,” Apple Bloom proclaims, tapping her cheek and pouting critically at the vessel in question. “Anypony would tell you that.”

I turn my head to take in the old thing as we trot by. It's more like a boat, really, because it doesn't have sails and doesn't look like it ever had … though it's kinda hard to say. It's so old and weathered that the wood looks more rotten and full of holes than some of the cheeses my dad eats. It's kinda long, and sitting on display in the middle of the entrance hall of the museum.

Scootaloo gives it a critical look. “Did it ever sail?”

“It certainly did, young filly. Four thousand years ago.”

Scootaloo jumps and spins around to look up at the earth pony stallion who had spoken. “Whoa! Where did you come from?”

I don't think any of us saw him arrive.

“Sorry ‘bout that, everypony always says I sneak up on them,” he says with a smile. He's pretty small for a stallion. “My name is Little Peat, and I work here at the museum.”

Cheerilee comes trotting back from the reception. “Mister Peat has been kind enough show us around and tell us all about the many things in the museum,” she explains brightly.

“Indeed, it's my pleasure to do so,” he says and gestures at the ship. “For example, the ship that you are looking at here is one of the oldest surviving vessels from the pre-Equestrian era. It was built by earth pony tribes who lived in these parts long before the official founding of Equestria. They were skilled sailors who traded frequently with the sea pony tribes off the coast. The marshes around here hold many riches such as this, most of which remain to be discovered.”

“I hear you have a real dead sea pony,” the excitable Snips pipes up.

“Ew, don't tell me we have to see that,” Diamond Tiara complains, looking pleadingly at Cheerilee. I wish Diamond Tiara's reaction would make me feel better myself, but I'm not feeling much enthusiasm for this whole trip.

Peat chuckles. “I'm surprised that's all you've heard,” he says and begins trotting across the room. Everypony follows behind him. “Many things end up lost in the swamps, and we do indeed have some remains of ponies and other creatures on display, including a very old and remarkably well-preserved sea pony.”

“I-I hear the museum is haunted.” Twist looks around anxiously, even though it's bright day. “By the dead ponies you store in the basement.”

“Aha, so you have heard the stories,” Peat laughs. “I'll tell you true, Miss, if you listen to all the tales around here, then soon enough every house in town is haunted by at least two different ghosts or ghouls.” He stops in front of a display showing a collection of stone tools. “I've worked at this museum for five years, often at night, and I haven't seen a single one of our inhabitants get up and walk around.”

“Remember, children, that you should never believe everything you hear,” Cheerilee provides with her usual sunny smile as she ushers everypony towards the display. “Especially those things said around campfires or at slumber parties when all the light is out.”

“You should definitely listen to your teacher, though,” Peat agrees. “A skeleton or dead body may look scary, but it's no different from a piece of wood or sack of oats. You can be absolutely certain it won't ever get up and walk around. Stories may be amusing and interesting, but it's facts that matter. Now, for example, these tools you can see here …”

I gaze blankly at the display case. Some of the objects behind the glass look like crude needles or stitching awls. Some of them look like they're made from bones, others are stone. They remind me of a table lined with needles of many sizes, just like this, in a small room in which she worked …

Maybe bodies don't get up and walk around, but I know I've seen a ghost. And the ponies in my dreams, they're real too. I'm sure of it, as sure as I am that I can not leave them.

Who were they? What happened?

The others have moved on. I wander slowly after them, gazing vaguely at the displays. Peat is saying something distant and unimportant. I'm thinking of the forest and three young fillies. The unicorn with the button eyes; the white, yellow-maned pegasus … and the one who looked like Twilight Sparkle.

A sudden tightness grips my heart. I find it hard to breathe again. I feel like crying, and shouting. “I hate her … I wish she would die!”

“Whoa! T-that's not okay, Sweetie Belle. That's way too far.”

I hadn't noticed Scootaloo was talking to me. She's looking at me with shock and worry. I am shocked myself, and I don't know what to say. “S-sorry,” I stammer. “I was thinking of my dream last night.”

“Oh.” Scootaloo takes a step closer. “Still don't want to talk about it?”

I shake my head and try to erase the images and thoughts of a moment ago. Scootaloo is about to say something else but is interrupted by Cheerilee calling for us. Looks like everypony has moved on again. I follow behind Scootaloo, but I can't shake off the dreams, or the little house at the edge of the forest.

The others are gathering around the dead sea pony, gasping and oohing in equal measure at the sight. They all want to see it after all, but I am still staring at the sad remains of a unicorn, arranged in a glass case. The sign on the wall says it's the remains of a young mare who was found drowned in the swamp. She had been dead for a long time and was never identified.

Peat said there are many like her, still out there, and that's why you should always stay on the paths and never go without somepony who knows the swamps.

The others are slowly moving on now; I guess the tour is almost done. I stare at the hollow eyes of the skull one last time and wonder what they once saw.

“This here fabric seems nice, don't you think?”

I turn my head to look at what Apple Bloom is holding up. It's a dark auburn piece of cloth. She's rubbing it gently between her hooves. I shake my head and turn back to my own search. “It's too thin and soft, and the color is wrong,” I mutter as my gaze drifts across the room.

“Oh.” Apple Bloom sounds a little disappointed as she puts it back down where she found it. “Uh, what does a deerthingy even look like?”

“Deerstalker,” I correct her as my eyes find the rows of dolls and plush animals lined up on shelves in view of the window. They are the only thing in the shop which are lit up, everything else is murky. No doubt they attract more customers than the plain fabric and woolly sweaters filling almost every square inch of space in the room. “You know what twill is?”

I think I hear a muffled “No” somewhere among the shelves and tables of fabric. Apple Bloom pokes her head out from under a stack of carpets. “That's a silly name. Who would stalk a deer, and why would they need a hat for it? Why not just talk to the deer?”

I should get her a doll of her own. I miss my Stitch at night. All the dolls here are strange, though. Most other dolls are ponies or teddy bears. I see one or two of those, there's also a dragon which looks kinda like a deep-red Spike, but most are strange chimeras or fantastical creatures. There's even a big black spider with a mustache, which doesn't look so scary to me. They all look like somepony was stitching something they'd seen in a dream.

“Hey,” Apple Bloom says, undeterred by my lack of response. “Why don't we just ask the owner?”

I turn to look at the old unicorn slumbering away in the corner, slouched back in her rocking chair with a thick blanket over her and a ball of yarn in her lap. She has been rocking back and forth in her sleep the whole time we've been here.

Perhaps the dolls were stitched from a dream.

“I think we should just—” I begin, too slowly.

“Excuse me, ma'am? Ma'am?” Apple Bloom is practically standing on the old pony's chest, speaking loudly into her face. I decide that Apple Bloom has experience with elderly ponies and how to wake them, so I leave it to her.

I trot up to the shelves of stuffed and stitched creatures and pick up a lone pony, stuck between two dream monsters. It's soft and cuddly, and entirely non-threatening.

“Wha—huh?” Behind me, the elderly pony has awoken. “Oh hello there, youngins. Interested in the dolls, eh?”

I turn the stuffed pony in my hooves. Its coat is colored a burnt orange, and it has a dark violet mane. I hug it and feel a little warmer, as if I was hugging a real pony.

The old pony's chair creaks as she gets up. “It's a fine doll, ain't it?” She seems eager to chat now that she's awake. I'm not really paying that much attention. “Did you know many of them were designed by my sister's own youngins? About your age, too. She says I shouldn't encourage them, but I always say there's nothing wrong with youthful imagination.”

I smile and nuzzle the pony before putting it back on the shelf among its weird friends. I look at it before turning back to the old pony and Apple Bloom. “Actually, we're just looking for twill, or something similar for making hats. Do you have any that we could buy?”

Something lights up in the old pony's eyes, and her wrinkled face softens into a warm smile under the graying, once vividly red mane.

Half an hour and several stories later, I close the door behind Apple Bloom and trot down the street next to her. Pieces of twill are draped across her back, ready to be turned into hats for all three of us.

I look up at the clock tower. “I wonder if Scootaloo is back at the hotel by now …”

I turn the unfinished hat around in my hooves and blink my eyes tiredly. Outside the moon hides behind a cloud drifting in from the sea. I look up at my weary face in the glass of the window, a pale and tired white against the dark city and the black silhouette of the forest in the background.

The quiet click of the bathroom door opening and closing wakes me from my thoughts. Apple Bloom steps into the room, rubbing her mane with a thick towel. “How's it goin' with the hats?”

I hold up the hat I've been working on for the last hour, probably. “Slow but steady,” I say and attempt to muster a reassuring grin. It's not such a bad hat … really. “What do you think?”

Apple Bloom scrunches her face at the hat and turns to Scootaloo on our shared bed. “It needs a bit more work, I think. What do you say, Scoots?”

Scootaloo mutters something incomprehensible and turns around, letting out a snore. The comic she's been reading is left stuck to her cheek for a second before falling back down beside her. I hold the unfinished hat up to cover a grin, while Apple Bloom snickers. “I concur, Scoots. I'm plum tuckered too,” she says and crawls into her own bed.

I sigh and return to making a few more stitches, trying to not get distracted by the forest in the distance. I can't make out the little house by the forest in this light, but perhaps I should move away from the window altogether so I can maybe stop staring at it.

“Aren't you going to sleep, too?” Apple Bloom asks and yawns as she reaches over to turn off the light.

As the room goes dark, the world outside seems to light up, and all hope of ignoring it is gone. “I want to finish this hat first,” I say as I wait for my eyes to adjust to the change. “Shouldn't be long.”

“Alright.” Apple Bloom nods and rests her head on her pillow. “Goodnight, Sweetie Belle,” she says and pulls Stitch close to her under the blanket.

“Goodnight, Apple Bloom,” I say and watch her. She's soon asleep.

I turn back to the window and my idle work. “Ouch!” I catch myself in cursing to not wake the others, and hold up my hoof. Dumb needles. I sigh and suck on the wound as I gaze at the dark house in the distance.

There's a faint light in one of the windows now that wasn't there before.

I narrow my eyes, staring fixedly at the light as it flickers off. A moment later it's moving around the house, across the marsh towards the forest. I quietly drop the hat and needle and drop off the window sill, biting my lip as I watch my two friends sleeping.

After a moment, I grab my scarf and wrap it around myself. The door closes silently behind me as I sneak across the hall in the dark, looking over my shoulder to make sure no pony sees me.

White clouds drift from my muzzle as I trot past the house, glancing at the dark windows. I can't look away, but nothing moves or appears behind the ancient panes of glass. I pick up my pace, and soon the house disappears behind me, hidden by the trees.

I slow down and hold my breath as I look around. It's utterly silent, not a branch is moving. I can even hear my heart beating. I wrap the scarf around my muzzle, as if I could hide myself behind it and walk unseen in the shadows of the forest. I let out a little breath through the soft fabric and continue on.

A green light flickers among the thickets of old branches. I stop to watch it for a moment before changing direction, following an old river bed. I don't know where I'm going or why, I only know I have to follow her …

The light flickers in and out among the trees. I crawl up a little bank of dirt and push through a dense thicket of old leaves and branches. A path, long since overgrown, winds through the forest. It bends around a huge rotten tree stump not far up ahead. I know that tree stump, and I know this path … I've walked it before in a dream.

I climb my way onto the path and trot around the tree stump. I pick up my pace, breathing into my scarf. There is no light now, but I don't need it to find my way. I know the way clear as day.

The forest is exactly like I remember it from the dream, with tangled old branches and still as the grave. And then I see it, the crumbling stone sitting under the leaning old tree. I slow down and walk the last few steps before coming to a halt in front of the grave. The stone is older now, overgrown by moss and grime. How long has it been here, forgotten by all alive?

I kneel down in front of the grave and reach out to brush off the moss. My hoof rests on the words as I stare at them. “Daffodil Dreams.”

I sit down before the grave, feeling so bitter cold and alone. A deep sadness which isn't mine alone fills my heart, and I cry as I close my eyes. I don't know how much time passes before I feel her by my side, here under the old tree.

“I wish … she would dream again. Will you let her dream again? Sweetie Belle …”

A branch snaps somewhere behind us. I look up, and she's gone again. The grave lies before me, old and forgotten, but the sadness is gone now too. I stand up and rub my eyes as I turn around. Did I sleep? Another snap of a branch brings me out of it. I back up against the leaning tree and look around.

“S-Sweetie Belle?” A frightened whisper echoes from the forest.

I step out from under the tree and try to find her. “Scootaloo?” I spot a bit of orange in the dark and hurry towards her. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing out here?!” She looks around at the trees and the shadowy branches, rambling nervously. “I don't like this, Sweetie Belle, we're not supposed to be out here. I heard you leave and tried to follow. I think I would have been lost if not for your hoof prints in the mud. Are you alright?”

I don't really know. I don't know why I went out here. I just know I'm glad to see her, so I give her a hug. “I'm sorry. Let's go back … I think I can still find the way.”

She returns the hug and sniffs. “Yeah … I really want to be back in my bed.”

I let go of her and cast a last glance back at the lonely grave before following her back along the overgrown path through the forest. For a brief second I think I catch a flicker of green and the ghost of a young pony sitting under the tree.

We pass by the old house on our way back. The windows are still dark, and nothing moves there. My eyes linger on it until it is just an outline behind us. I lower my gaze sadly, walking a bit behind Scootaloo.

We haven't gone far before a voice pipes up.

“There they are, Miss Cheerilee! I told you they were out walking in the forest.”

I look up at the evil little faces of Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon, radiating fake innocence next to Cheerilee. Silver Spoon shoots me a wicked look, clearly miming the spiteful words, “You two are in so much trouble now.”