Dear Twily,

How are you doing these days? With the letters you’ve been sending Princess Celestia, you haven’t sent a word for me and Shining Armor. Getting too busy there? For shame :P

Shining Armor and I are doing very well here in Canterlot, he’s still a goofball as always. I mean honestly, sometimes I feel like I’m married to a colt. He says hi!

Anyway, I’m writing this because I want to tell you that Shining Armor has long thought about it and we plan on moving to the countryside. Ponyville to be exact! Can you believe it? I’m not really much of a castle princess anyway. We’re gonna be spending lots of time together, just like the old days and hopefully, I can still baby you like I used to. Also, has Rarity returned from Canterlot yet? I haven’t heard from her since she left. And don’t forget to tell her I’m moving there, I’m sure she’ll love to hear it. Tell her I’ve got a fresh new bottle of Beaujolais (imported) for her when Shining and I come to visit this Tuesday. Say hi! to your other friends for me.

Sunshine and Lady Bugs,

Cadance<3

PS. Guess who’s going to be an aunt soon!!!

I run my hoof against the fabrics, the motions of my body as mechanical as the sewing machine. The snips and snaps of the needle through the cloth echoes in my mind, as though the source of the painful throbbing in my head stems from the pinpricks. There is no dress being made, the thread follows the needle as it rips and punctures through an indiscernible motley assortment of rags, torn fabrics, and paper. The sound fills the hollow emptiness of my thoughts; nothing exists but the monotonous snipping of that damnable machine-no boutique, no dress, no Rarity.

“Ack!” I cry. A seething pain stings the end of my hoof. Even before looking I know that blood has broken loose from my skin. I jerk away from the contraption’s needle, shameful and angry of the careless stupidity I bring upon myself; I blame it on the machine. My horn glows and the infernal device jumps from the table and goes smashing against the wall.

Shining Armor is here… in Ponyville!

But the silence that follows is no better. The thoughts the noise is meant to drown resurfaces, one by one, from the repressed depths of the responsibility to think, remember and judge. I place hoof to my mouth and lick at the seeping blood.

Did he come for me? Did Shining Armor come here for me!?

My head drops to my hoof, eyes shutting close. I cannot bear to look at anything right now. I bite my lip.

I only notice my heavy sweat, slicking down my chest, the moment that a coarse dryness corrodes my throat and lips. Out of my control, my hoof slithers down to the source of the heat.

Will he come for me as he did the night before?

“Shining…” I whisper.

My marehood was already wet even before I felt it. That first touch to my quivering weakness overtakes my whole body and thought. I know what I want, what this body of mine yearns for. My legs loses strength, giving all their energy to the one extremity that refuses to stop moving. I collapse, leaning against the drawer where leftover fabrics lay unused. The heat of my body rises again, different this time, but not imaginary. The juices running down my calves run hotter than usual; the thick viscous liquid dripping down my thighs feels like its simmering the fires of my loins from where it seeps. And here I melt to my own frustrated desires, falling to my knees and then to the cold, hard floor.

To save me from Applejack!

My body slowly curls to a ball, centering towards that growing pressure in my womb. My eyes painfully shut close, my teeth clenching onto my foreleg. A small puddle pools beneath my feet.

Images of a smiling cowmare flashes before me. I try to ignore them, deny them, replace them with my prince, as one would ignore self-hatred and self-disgust. Guilt or no guilt, shame or no shame, my hoof would not stop moving, desperately trying to quell the seething fires, but only working to fuel it all the more; like a desperate virgin in heat, craving only the dross fleshly discharge.

“Shining... A-Armor...” I moan.

There is a knock on the door and my attention snaps. I freeze, suddenly; for a moment all that heat and rising temperature is extinguished by cold terror. My hoof stops, but the pressure between my legs and in my loins will not let go. It remains there, waiting to be released. The knocking on the door continues and I look in horror.

Is it him? Is it Shining Armor!?

It is a struggle to lift myself from the floor, to wobble towards the door, to open it, not knowing if he’s there. I open the door just wide enough to see who stands on the other side.

“Rarity?” Fluttershy’s face appears from the narrow opening.

I hold on to whatever good reason I have left not to close the door on the pegasus’s face. I clear my throat, but the tension still lingers. “Y-Yes... darling, how can I help you?”

“I was wondering if we could talk to you,” she says in the tone of a question.

“We?”

Fluttershy steps aside and another pegasus comes into view through the narrow opening. It only takes a glance to know to whom that spectral mane belongs.

“Hey,” says Rainbow Dash.

“Good afternoon, Rainbow Dash,” I say, clearing my throat once again. “What is this about?”

“I came to apologize for what I said at the party,” she says, half-sincere and half-memorized, “can you let us in for a minute?”

“T-That won’t be necessary. Apology accepted.” I push the door close, but Rainbow Dash’s hoof comes through the doorway.

“Hey c’mon, Rarity,” she pleads. “I’m not good with this sort of thing but I’m trying to apologize properly and you’re–”

“No. I-I believe you. I accept your apology.” I try to push the door close again but Rainbow Dash’s hoof will neither budge nor let go.

“What’s wrong?” she asks. “Too busy to spare a minute of your time for a friend trying to make things right?”

“Rarity...” Fluttershy says, in support of her foolish crush.

Right now, there is nothing more I want than to hide in the privacy of my room and finish the heat in between my legs, and perhaps afterward, and only then, would I be willing to entertain my guests. But I see little choice in the matter, not when I cannot afford to risk a rift between me and my friends in exchange for a temporary carnal outpour. They are my friends; Rainbow Dash saying so made me remember. It makes me wonder, too, when and why do I forget.

“Alright...” I say, “but wait for a minute... the place is... The place is a mess.”

Rainbow Dash pulls her hoof from the narrow opening. I close the door and begin to work in the room. The place is not in a state of disarray as I have suggested, but neither is it organized chaos. There are some cloths and fabrics here and there, but nothing unnatural; except for the pool of lust in the middle of the room and the distinct scent of sweat and pheromones. I take the nearest cheapest bottle of perfume and spray it all over the room. I drag some cloths from beneath the cabinet and use it to cover the stain on the floor.

“Come on in,” I say, unlocking the door.

The two pegasi make their way into the parlor and head to the center table. They try not to make it obvious that they wish to look around the room. No doubt the both of them have already caught the unnatural, strong aroma of the perfumery, but neither says anything of it.

“Rarity, are you okay?” are the first words from Fluttershy mouth.

“Of course, my dear. Why did you ask?”

Fluttershy almost steps on a broken sewing machine. She takes it in her hooves and places it on top of the nearest platform. She looks at me and says, “Is that a bite mark on your foreleg?”

“Opalescence,” I lie. Fluttershy knows.

“And your face is flushed.” She flies to me. “Do you have a fever?”

She moves her hoof to my forehead but I draw back from her. “No. I’m fine.”

“If you say so.”

Fluttershy flies back to Rainbow Dash, standing a few feet from us. The canary pegasus whispers something to her and Rainbow Dash mumbles something in response. Fluttershy flies in to my kitchen, to give Rainbow Dash and I our needless privacy.

“So...” I say, wanting to get it over with as soon as I can. But then, it doesn’t really matter now. The heat between my legs slowly dies down, and so does my desire to release it.

“Rarity,” Rainbow Dash says, taking a few steps forward, “I want to apologize for acting like a jerk back in the party. That was very uncool of me and... well... I’m sorry.”

Too practiced and too artificial; Rainbow Dash’s tone is sincere, her words, however, are not. “Did Fluttershy tell you to apologize?”

I do not know what made me say the words I did. It is not out of genuine interest but, rather, more of the desire to put Rainbow Dash to shame, if it would help making her leave.

“Yes... and no,” she answers. “She talked to me and helped me clear my mind of some things. She gave me advice on what to say and... I’m here to say it.”

I managed a smile. “I’m glad she could help you. As I’ve said, apology accepted. Now, if you two could be so kind as to–”

“Aren’t you gonna ask?”

“Ask what?”

“Why I was acting all riled up.”

I know by the self-flaunting look in her eyes and the small curve in her lips that Rainbow Dash has some sort of half-memorized speech that she could offer as a sort of explanation. I do not even want to humor her at the moment, but her next words left me no choice.

“It has something to do with Applejack,” she says, scratching the back of her head. “I don’t know if she told you already but I once had a crush on her.”

She looks to me, searching for some sort of reaction. Finding none, she continues:

“It was a long time ago, back in the Running of the Leaves I think. I told her I liked her the second I felt it. You know, keeping it straight like I thought she wanted. But she said that ‘her barn door doesn’t swing that way’ or something. I remember urging her to give it a try but she didn’t even want to. She even went as far as to say that if I were a stallion then she’d be head over hoof for me. So... with that as a reason I couldn’t blame her. And then you came along, and Applejack telling us that you two... together...” Rainbow Dash turns away. “I felt like I was being played with and I got so angry I didn’t know which of the two of you I was gonna hit first.”

Fluttershy returns from the kitchen, carrying with her my first-aid kit. She flies to me, takes my hoof and begins to bandage the small cut made by the needle. It hardly needs treatment, a cut not even large enough to be called an injury, but Fluttershy’s extensive worry exaggerates the matter. Rainbow Dash looks to the canary pegasus for a moment and then back to me.

“So, anyway,” Rainbow Dash continues, her head lower this time, “I hope you understand why I acted like a complete ass. Again... sorry.”

“Am I right to assume that you don’t fancy Applejack anymore?”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it, but no.”

Outside Rainbow Dash’s line of sight, I see Fluttershy release a long-repressed sigh of relief.

“I take it then that I have your blessing?” I say to Rainbow Dash.

“Only if it works out,” she says. She immediately shakes her head and bites her lip. “I mean, Applejack and you are like whole continents apart. I... I don’t want it to happen, but I won’t be surprised if you two break up in the near future.”

“We’re trying to make it work, Applejack and I,” I scowl. “We’re not ignorant of our own polarities, we’re doing our best for one another.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong.” Rainbow Dash smiles for the first time. “I’m glad she bagged you in. Honest. It’s just this gut feeling of mine. Sure it’s gonna be bumpy with your being high classy all the time and her being a cowpony and all, but... I couldn’t ask for a better mare more her.”

“Thank you, Rainbow Dash.” The weight on my chest is lifted and I am able to return my friend’s smile. “You don’t know how much it means to me to hear you say that.”

Rainbow Dash flies close to me and gives me a hug. I accept it warmly. She pulls back a little and says, “Man your sweaty. Working out? Anyway, if I could ever help you two with anything, then don’t hesitate to ask. I may not be the easiest pony to deal with but I’m always loyal to you guys... But if you ever hurt Applejack and make her cry, assuming you even can, I swear by Celestia’s holy plot I’ll fly straight back here with Pinkie and make her throw a college party.”

“Okay, now that’s just too mean.”

Rainbow Dash and I stare at each for a moment until a grin breaks free from our faces, followed by a laugh that fills the room. Fluttershy is not laughing, but she is smiling all the same from the result of Rainbow Dash’s endeavors.

“Nice that this ended up smoother than I thought,” Rainbow Dash says, recovering from her laughter. “I’m going now, wouldn’t wanna keep you from your work.”

“No, it’s fine,” I say. “Stay. I don’t really have that much to do anyway.”

“Can’t.” Rainbow Dash flies into the air and stretches her muscles. “I still have one more place to stop by today, and this one’s gonna be tough.”

“Applejack?”

“Yeah, I’m saving her for last in case things end up ugly and we end up rough housing each other.”

“Oh, Celestia!” I gasp. “That won’t do. I’ll come with you.”

“Thanks, but... uhh... I’d rather do it by myself.” She shrugs. “I’d appreciate it if you could talk to her afterwards... but not now. You know: my fault, my mess.”

“Well, if you insist. But if you two end up fighting, don’t make it physical. I’ll be glad to talk to her.”

“I’ll try.”

“I want more than that,” I say. “If my dear Applejack comes back to me with as much as a black eye, I’ll–”

“Alright, I won’t. Pinkie Promise.” Rainbow Dash makes a sign with her hoof across her heart and eye. “C’mon Flutters.”

Fluttershy, who had been watching the unfolding conversation the whole time, stands up and follows the cyan pegasus. “Thanks for having us, Rarity.”

“Wait a minute, Fluttershy,” I say to the canary pegasus, then to the light-blue mare. “Rainbow Dash, do you mind if I borrow Fluttershy for a minute? Just a quick mare chat.”

“Why are you asking me?” she asks, obviously oblivious.

“Oh.”

“Sure,” she says, flying out the door. “Meet you outside Shy.”

As soon as I am sure that Rainbow Dash is outside hearing distance I turn to Fluttershy and whisper to her, “So... Any progress?”

“Progress?” She tilts her head. “With what?”

I point with a nudge of my head to the door. “Your Rainbow Dash of course.”

A small blush lightens Fluttershy’s face and she quickly turns away, hiding behind the bangs of her pink mane. “Rainbow Dash isn’t mine...”

“Not yet, at least. So anyway, progress?”

Fluttershy looks out the door, seeing Rainbow Dash wiggle her tail to Opalescence. “Well, last night–”

“Oh my Celestia, last night you two–”

“No!” she yells by instinct. She immediately turns to look out the door again. Thankfully for her, Rainbow Dash had not heard her cry.

“So, you were saying?” I continue again.

“Last night we were ... well, she couldn’t sleep so she stayed awake.”

“Obviously.”

“And then we... uhh... read Daring Do together.”

“Ignoring the fact that it’s one of those crude escape fictions, it’s romantic,” I say, and Fluttershy nods slightly. “Together, beneath the blanket, lightened only by a sole dying candlelight, your eyes not on the pages but on one another, and as the night wore on and the fire dies out, your Rainbow Dash will pull the covers beneath you two, take you in her hooves and–”

“Rarity!” Fluttershy shouts in denial. “That never happened.”

“Well, it was supposed to.” I shrug. “Make sure you make it happen in your future endeavors.”

“Future... endeavors?” Fluttershy shrinks in place, “I’m not really trying to... I mean... I can’t... I’m...”

“Hey!” shouts Rainbow Dash from afar, still playing with Opalescence. “Hurry up you two!”

Fluttershy looks at Rainbow Dash, blushes, then turns away before the light-blue pegasus can see it.

“Good luck, Fluttershy.” I wrap my hooves around her. “I hope you find your true love as I did with Applejack, and don’t forget that you have your best friend here to support you.”

Fluttershy looks up to me and makes a nervous smile. “Thank you, I’ll do my best.”

Long after the two pegasus had gone, I still stand by the doorway, my eyes following their trails to Sweet Apple Acres. Finally, when time grew impatient, I retire back into my house, locking the door.

I trot back to my sewing machine, levitating it back on the drawer along with the rags of what is meant to be a dress. Below me, just under my hoof, a square purple cloth lies on the floor. I pick it up. It is moist, having absorbed the wetness on the floor. It smells of a mare’s lust.

I hope you find your true love as I did with Applejack.

“I love Applejack...” I tell myself.

My own words sting me.

I take a bucket and a mop and clean the mess from my floor. Once done, I return to my work of running the cloth and fabrics on the sewing machine, the sound of its snips and snaps filling the silence.

The four of us sit in the middle of the library, sharing stories over a bottle of fine Beaujolais. The wine melds perfectly with the taste of dark chocolate, helping the sweet treat melt in our mouths. We laugh gaily, sometimes to the top of our lungs, with the alcohol loosening our tongues, more drunk with joie de vivre than anything else. It makes Twilight worry that we might wake up the sleeping neighbors at this time of the night, but not worry so much as to hold back her own laughter.

I sip my glass and continue: “...and then somepony in the back shouted ‘spill some white wine on it.’ Really, it was embarrassing.”

Cadance and Twilight laugh, signaling then that I can share in with a laugh of my story.

“And then what happened?” Cadance asks, sipping her glass.

“Well,” I take a small bite of the chocolate, “after the party I talked to Pearlchops and apologized. I promised him I’d pay for that rug but he insisted that I shouldn’t be bothered. Half of me was glad to hear it, to be honest, since that carpet was from Saddle Arabia! It’s pure pile and nap made from a white tiger’s coat. But the better half of me doesn’t want to run away from my own mess–what would the rumors say!–so I took that carpet and brought it back with me all the way to Carousel Boutique.”

“You stole it!?” Twilight almost gasps.

“Heavens, no! Let me finish. So I washed the living Tartarus off that carpet, cut it to pieces and used its material to make the best damn jackets and tuxedos you’ve ever seen. I showed the set to Sapphire Shores and she loved it. She bought everything and–”

“Wait, you made clothes out of a carpet?” Cadance doesn’t need to answer; she ends up laughing.

“I washed it!” I laugh as well. “And then I used the profits to pay back Pearlchops–and here’s what I can’t forget: when I came back two weeks later to hand him the bits he was wearing those carpet-made jackets. He’s wearing his own rug!”

Cadence, Twilight and I laugh together.

“He doesn’t know to this day,” I conclude, catching my breath. “He has a new carpet this time, exported from Tall-Tail Town, so I guess all’s well that ends well. That story has certainly taught me a valuable lesson, such that I even considered writing a letter to the princess.”

“What did you learn? Maybe I could write it.” Twilight smiles, her attention taken at the thought of her mentor. “Always look at the positive side of a given situation and act accordingly?”

“No.”

“Always be resourceful with your labor and materials while at the same time learning the risk versus reward consequences of every investment?”

“No.”

“Then what is?’

“Be careful drinking red wine over a white carpet.”

Cadance almost spews out the wine laughing. Twilight too falls back in laughter.

“Well, who knows,” Cadance says, pouring herself another glass, “with enough red wine and enough carpet you might make a fortune selling jackets and tuxedos.” She giggles a little and leans on to her husband. “So careful where you buy your clothes, honey. It could be made out of somepony’s living room rug for all we now.”

Shining Armor smiles meekly. “I’ll be careful then.”

Cadance pouts and grabs Shining Armor by his cheek. “Honey, what’s wrong with you? Why so quiet suddenly? You haven’t said a word since Rarity came in.”

“I just don’t want to get in the middle of the story,” he says.

I was aware of him of course, more than I was aware of anypony else in the room. And I know, as well as he, that I have his full uncompromised attention. I know because not once since having entered have I see him lay his eyes on me.

“Oh, I apologize if I’m intruding, Cadance dear,” I say. “I know you three have a lot to catch up on and here I am running my mouth about my old Canterlot gossips.”

“We enjoy it,” Cadance laughs. “Hope I don’t get used to this before we move, right sweetie?” She takes a bite out of the chocolate bar and levitates the rest to her husband. Shining Armor shakes his head, declining.

“I hope that as well,” I remark.

“How do you mean?” Cadance asks.

“I mean that among other things,” then I add, before she can fully grasp the nature of my words, “but speaking of moving, I’ve been meaning to ask, are you a hundred percent sure you’re going to move here to Ponyville?”

“Of course,” she says triumphantly, “have I told you already, about how much I want to live in a small cabin on top of a hill? Oh wait, I just did.” She laughs for a moment. “It’ll be a great place to raise the foal.”

“And I can’t believe I’m gonna be an aunt!” Twilight almost squeals, slamming both hooves on the table.

“I know right, it’s great!” Cadance lunges and the two mares hold both their hooves together and do some practiced personal hoofshake. “I’m so excited.”

“The castle will be lonely without you,” I say, my hoof tilting the edge of the table. “Tell me, what would you do to your private keep if you really do move to Ponyville? It would be such a waste to simply abandon it.”

“Oh, to Tartarus with it,” she replies, then laughs haughtily. “That castle is too big for me anyway. Why’d you ask? Want me to give it to you?”

Calm down... She’s not insulting me... It’s an innocent question...

I like to think that as much as alcohol inebriates one’s judgment, it also, as a consequence, loosens one tongue. It may perhaps be the reason why I asked Cadance’s my question–with the subliminal tone, even to me, of a beggar asking for leftover alms–that threatens me the second she noticed its real intention. A few more swigs of wine in my system and I will have no doubt tested the fragility of the glass against Cadance’s muzzle.

“So where exactly in Ponyville do you plan to have that house built?” I ask, but regretted my question, having grown weary of any more discussion. I think of a method to end the night before the wine takes full control of me and I do something I may later regret.

“I still don’t know. Twilight’s going to accompany us tomorrow to look at some good places. Wanna come?”

Our first instinct, Shining Armor and I, is to look at each other. An instinct we both resisted.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” I say, leaning against the chair, “I have a date tomorrow.”

“With Applejack?” the bitch asks. “Where are you two–”

“Ah, we’re out,” I interrupt, shaking the bottle of Beaujolais albeit knowing it to be empty. A small spill and a few drops fall into my glass.

“Already?” Cadance says, disappointed. “And I thought we were just getting started. I’m sorry, Rarity, that bottle was supposed to be for you alone and here Twi and I are downing the hatch.”

“It wouldn’t have tasted half as good if I hadn’t shared it with you.”

“Oh, I knew I should’ve bought two.”

“I guess that’s Princess Luna’s way of saying that it’s time to turn in for the night.” I fake a yawn. “Where are you two staying? Twilight’s library isn’t really fit for sleepovers.”

“Hey!” snaps the lavender unicorn. “You and Applejack had a sleepover here long ago.”

“We weren’t a couple then,” I smile, and then turn to Cadance. “But if you’d like, I have a spare guest room in my boutique.”

Cadance’s smile broadens. “That would be lovel–”

“We’re staying in the inn,” Shining Armor says, almost snapping. For the first time in the night our eyes meet, and I emit a triumphant smile. “We wouldn’t want to impose.”

I do not know whether the words are meant for me or Cadance, but the tone, the harsh whipping tone, is no doubt targeted to me.

The latter, however, is too inebriated to notice. Cadance nuzzles her husband on his neck and Shining Armor returns the gesture to his wife with a protective embrace, protection from my knowing gaze.

“It’s no trouble, I insist,” I tell him.

“We already paid for the room.”

“We did?” Cadance looks at Shining Armor with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes,” he replies.

“Regardless,” I say, in almost of the tone of a whistle, shifting my eyes to Cadance, “if you’re up for some late night drinking, you know where to find me. I believe I have a bottle of something in my cabinet somewhere.”

Though I look at Cadance, Shining Armor knows my words are not addressed to his wife. He lours, glaring at me. Nopony else notices it.

“I’ll hold you to that offer,” Cadance says.

Cadance and Shining Armor both rise from their seats, the former wobbling in an attempt to maintain her balance, and proceeds to the door.

“But really Cadance,” I say, following them to the doorway, “drop by my boutique sometime. I’ll love to size you up for an ensemble.”

“Count on it.”

By the time we reach the door, Cadance and I give each other a small friendly peck on the cheek and wrap our hooves around one another. Standing outside the library, just a few feet from us, Shining Armor is staring at me. In front of him, he sees the wife he betrayed embrace the mare he betrayed her with. I do not know if he is angry or disgusted–I am guessing both–as there is no indication in his face except the acceptance that he, too, is part of the façade. He knows how much I hate Cadance to my very guts, and how I still do.

“Very glad to see you again,” I tell the princess.

“Me too,” she says, “and tonight was so much fun with you around. Let’s do this again some time.”

“Save it for when you get your cabin.”

“Bring Applejack too.”

“She’s not much into drinking these days.”

Twilight exchanges a few more words with the two of them, and the married couple leave into the night among the lightless houses in town.

“Wow,” Twilight exclaims as soon as the pair are gone, “I didn’t know you and Cadance were close.” We return to the kitchen where she hands me a glass of water to dilute the strong leftover burn at the back of my throat.

“Best friends, darling,” I say, wiping my lips with a napkin.

“Really?” Twilight gasps, smiling. “What really happened during your stay in Canterlot? You come back with Applejack as your lover and now my foal sitter is your best friend.”

“Oh, you know, just one of those serendipitous happenstance in life.” I yawn, a genuine one this time around. “Darling, do you mind if I spend the night here? I’m too tired to walk back and I have a big day tomorrow.”

“Sure. Spike won’t be back from Pinkie’s sleepover till tomorrow afternoon anyway.” Twilight manifests a blanket with her magic and hands it to me. “So where’s Applejack taking you? Candlelit dinner in a restaurant? Canterlot opera house?”

“Climbing.” I ascend the stairs to Twilight’s bedroom. “Mountain... climbing.”

The unnamed mountains past Sweet Apple Acres are not at all savage–thank Celesitia for that–but neither are they civil in terms of cleanliness. At least it is fortunate enough that the path is crawling with things that do not literally crawl: innumerable stones, rocks, wet dirt, dry leaves and the occasional snapping twigs, their dark blue hues in the shadows and moonlight making them barely visible; I can only feel them, more consciously so, beneath my hooves, staining my horseshoes and recent hooficure.

The last rays of the sun descended behind us an hour ago, giving me an estimate of the time and the hours we have already spent walking. The walking, I do not mind much. It is the upward ascent taxing my energy and the stepping on unidentifiable objects that exhausts my patience.

“Are we there yet?” I say, trying not to make it sound like I am whining.

“Rarity, ah love you for a lot of things in spite of others. And one of those others is asking the same question five times in the same minute.” Applejack is in front of me, leading the way and making sure to clear out any obstacles—bushes and boulders—from our path.

She was keeping count?

“I’m sorry, dearest. I don’t want to be a nag.”

“It’s fine. Want me to carry ya?” she asks, despite already carrying both our saddles. She sits on her haunches and points to her back. “Best seat in the house.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why? Are ya heavy?”

I pout. “I most definitely am not!”

I trot past her with my head held up high. She laughs as she catches up to me. I levitate a small tree branch and wave it in the air to draw away the mosquitoes flying towards her.

“Wherever you’re taking me better be worth it. I swear this might be your way of getting back at me after I made you go to that Canterlot party and kept calling you Jacqueline.”

“It is.” She looks to me, smiles, and then giggles.

“Aha! I knew it.”

“Ah got a chance to see yer world, now’s yer turn to see mine. Lucky for ya ah didn’t take ya apple bucking or to a rodeo where ya’d have to wrestle a bull. Though ah couldn’t think of a good nickname to tease you with... Ah’d call ya Fairity or somethin’.”

“Eww...” I groan, stepping on some mush I do not even want to look at. “Lucky indeed.”

I remember that day in Canterlot when I dragged Applejack store to store, fitting her into every kind of dress, gown and ensemble to go with that coat and hat of hers, trying out hundreds of perfumes, pushing her in to have her hooves polished, and giving her private lessons on how to speak ‘fancy’ as she called it; all in a day’s work. I remember her belching quite a few times then.

“Bear with it, hun,” she says, “Almost there.”

“Pardon, dearest, but where is ‘there’ actually? Can you at least give me an idea so I’ll know what to expect.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if ah’d told ya,” she says.

“Try me.”

Applejack turns around and smiles deviously, and says, in her dare-you-believe-it tone, “My castle.”

“What?” I stop on my tracks, ears perking up.

Did I hear her right?

“Told ya it’s mighty hard to believe,” Applejack laughs. “Ah was plannin’ to surprise ya but ah don’t want to give ya no heart attack. Ya high society unicorns have yer castle, we Apples have our own.”

“Darling, did you say you have a castle?” I march towards her, hooves tingling, “I mean a castle castle. Not some sort of figurative symbolic castle. I mean a literal solid castle.”

“Eeyup.”

I blink a few times. “You’re... you’re kidding, right?”

“Nnope.”

“Oh my Celestia, a castle!” I squeal. “As in a big and beautiful, sparkling shiny castle?’

“Passed down from the Apple family,” she says proudly, “gift from the princess for the invention of cider and made by Equestria itself, or so the legend goes.”

“How come you never told us?” I jump on to Applejack, wrapping my hooves around her, showering her with kisses. “I love you so much.”

“Woah, there nelly,” she laughs, pushing me back a little. “Don’t get starry-eyed just yet. Save it fer when we get there.”

“Let’s go!” I lock forelegs with her and began to drag her to our general direction, mindlessly galloping over the small nuisances earlier.

“Wait, Rare, wrong way!”

Applejack overtakes me and we run, almost breaking into a full gallop. It was dark but the moonlight lighted just enough of the orange silhouette. I need to do nothing more than let it guide me. I try to control myself, yet I cannot stop squealing.

What kind of castle is it? Crystal? Ruby? Maybe even gold?

I shake my head, trying not to get my hopes up. Goosebumps climbs my legs. I feel like a filly on her first trip to the carnival.

It’s probably just like every castle in Equestria, bricks and limestone... But then again, dear Applejack says it’s a gift from Celestia so... marble maybe?

How big is it? Fifteen floors? No, I’d give it a five or ten. It’ll be enough for Applejack and I.

“Just through here,” Applejack says, making her way to a cave entrance at the foot of a mountain.

In there?

From the outside, the cave looks like a canal to Tartarus. Dead and dying branches of trees are climbing towards the opening. A thicket swaying against the wind hangs just above the mouth of the cave where all sorts of vines and ivies are crawling towards the surface of the pale walls and jagged ceiling. The entrance is thick with an odorless, dark miasma that the moonlight cannot penetrate.

Is this Applejack’s idea of a joke?

“Ah know how it looks,” she says, as though she hears my thought. “Nopony goes into these parts, not at this time of the night. That why the castle’s here—so nopony will find it.”

Applejack turns to me and I shake my head. She stands by the entrance of the cave, waiting for me. I cannot move. She approaches me and holds on to my hoof.

“What’s the matter, hun? Ya scared?” It was a sincere question, not the kind that espouses a challenge.

I answer with a nod.

“Awright, just bear with me,” she says, nuzzling my neck. “Let’s go. Together.”

I try my best not to make it difficult for her. It takes courage to enter that cave, not knowing what matter I may be stepping in or what castle-guarding dragon might step on me. The cave is too dark; I can not even see Applejack, nor as much as my own hoof in front of me, but I know she does not leave my side. I know she is beside me, her hoof does not let go of mine and I can hear the sound of her breathing.

Bear with it, Rarity, the castle is just beyond these walls...

The light at the far end of the cave shows itself a few seconds later. From where that light emanates I can already hear the sound of flowing water.

A fountain?

“Just out there,” confirms Applejack. I can tell, by way of her intonation, that she is smiling. “Ya’d be the first unicorn to see this place, nopony else knows about this place ‘cept Mac and Granny Smith.”

My hind legs tiptoe the ground, the hair my coat on its end and I can almost squeal. Moonlight enters and Applejack’s frame forms before my eyes. She is as excited as I am. She smiles to me and drags me by my hoof, out of the cave and into her castle.

“Behold, my princess, our castle,” she declares, moving in front of me and tracing her foreleg across the scenery. “...Ya like it?’

But when I finally break through the cave, past the darkness, uneven floors, dripping ceiling and cold walls, I see nothing but a clearing. I look around, looking for some sort of large distinguished mansion and there is none. I turn to Applejack, hoping for some answers.

We are at the heart of the mountain; a clearing enclosed by a giant smooth wall of ivory rocks. There is neither ground nor earth; the entire glade is a still-blooming garden of night-hued bluebells, hydrangeas, appleroots, roses and sunblossoms tended by the pale light of ignis fatui. A small waterfall flows from an opening in the wall where crystal-clear water fills the two sparkling ponds that nourish the floras. I try to figure the origin of that sparkling stream, and I look up; above the garden the enclosure opens to the cool whistling breeze and to the thousand twinkling stars scattered on what would otherwise be an empty night. It is as though we are inside the crater of a volcano that, instead of liquid fire, is alive with nature’s most quiet and simple fairies. At the very center of the glade, surrounded by hundreds of dancing fireflies, is a lone apple tree.

“What’s the matter, hun?” Applejack says. “At a loss for words?”

“It’s beautiful, dear Applejack but–” I hurriedly catch myself, almost to the point that I was about to bite off my tongue.

“But what?” Applejack asks, her glance moving down.

But... but it’s not a castle.

“But you’re more beautiful,” I manage to say. I grab Applejack, turn her to me and kiss her cheek. “Thank you, it’s lovely.”

Applejack laughs meekly and breathes out. “Glad you like it. Ah was worried ya wouldn’t since ah know this kind of place isn’t really yer hammock but... y’know.... glad it worked out.”

“You’re my hammock, Applejack,” I say, hiding my face in another kiss.

“Make yerself comfortable, I’ll start with the tent.”

“Yes... of course... a tent.”

I spend the rest of the time watching Applejack work. She unpacks her saddlebags and raises a small yellow tent on a small tuft of grass just below the apple tree to avoid damaging the flowers. She plucks dry sticks from the branch and starts the fire. All the while I just stand there. I asked Applejack if there is something I could do, but she replies, “Don’t ya worry about no work, princess. Just feel at home and lemme take care of everything.” However, I have no idea how to relax in such a setting. I sit by the campfire and mindlessly weave a wreath from the petals of blue roses. As soon as Applejack finishes securing the tent, she sits beside me, the wreath barely finished.

We sit beside one another, our bodies touching. Applejack speaks for the both of us. She talks about how this place was passed down from the first Apple family settlers down to her, how Granny Smith eventually forgot about the place and how it was Big Mac, in his young adventurous coltish days, who rediscovered the ‘castle’ again. I do not follow the conversation; I hear the words, but not what is being said. I make approximate safe responses of yes and no, I laugh when I do not hear what she tells me, hoping it isn’t a question. I try to listen, I really do, but the disappointment, perhaps, clouds all the attention Applejack deserves.

“Ya awright, hun?” Applejack says. I had not noticed the prevalent silence until she says those words.

“Why, yes, of course.”

“Ya seem a little... Ah dunno, am ah borin’ ya?”

“What? No.” I say, wrapping my hooves around her. “What made you assume such a thing?”

“Well, ya haven’t talked much.”

“I’m fine, I assure you.”

“No, you’re not.” Applejack looks down. “Just tell me, what’s the matter? Ya ain’t comfortable? If ya don’t like it here then... ya know... feel free to say so. Ya don’t have to pretend ya like it to spare mah feelings. Ah understand. Next time, if ya’d like, ah’ll bring ya out to a fancy restaurant in the city.”

“Oh, Applejack, I like the place, really,” I say, caressing her shoulder. “It’s special for you, is it not? That makes it special for me too. But, well, I guess I’m too tired from the trip to appreciate it at this point, at least not as much as you appreciate it. And, I admit, although I am not really used to these kind of environments, I can always learn to love it.”

“Ya really think so?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, hun, means a lot to me to hear ya say that.” Applejack stands, and stretches her limbs. “Whaddya say we both go for a dip?”

“Swimming... As in... in the pond?”

“What can ah say, feels good. Ah promise ya won’t regret it.”

“I’d love to Applejack but... but as I have said, I am too exhausted from our climb,” I say, and Applejack’s shoulders sags. I try to assure her, however, “But that shouldn’t stop you from enjoying yourself. Go ahead.”

“Whatcha gonna do? Just watch me?”

“With pleasure.”

Applejack hesitates for a moment, and then finally decides to jump into the pond. I follow her and sit on a rock by the shoreline, the water cooling my hooves. I take Applejack’s hat from the rock where it is carefully placed and hold it against my chest. I watch her, I watch Applejack enjoy the coolness of the waters, a pale-orange silhouette. The pond, so crystal clear that it mirrors the stars above, made it look as though she is floating among the celestial bodies to which her golden mane shines like the sun. She would glide through the water, she will let herself be carried, then submerge and swim back up through the still surface, where she would turn to me, smile and wave.

Then I cannot help myself imagining, regretfully and shamefully, that each time Applejack swims beneath the water, away from my vision, it will not be her who shall emerge but, rather, Shining Armor.

Shining Armor, surely he has a castle... A real castle, not this–!

I bite my lip and hold on to the Stetson against my chest.

Will I ever see Shining Armor like this? Will I ever see him swim, knowing that I am watching him? To see him smile to me and wave?

I shake my head. “I love Applejack...” I mutter to myself.

When I look to the pond again, the mare I said I love is nowhere to be found. I stand up, place the hat aside and look for an orange figure amidst the star-lit field.

“Applejack!” I yell, hoping for a response.

Suddenly, the waters beneath me bubbles and out bursts the cowpony from the depths. She grabs me by the forelegs and pulls me into the pond before I can even scream. The splash of cold water washes away all the weariness throughout my whole body, I feel my limbs animated once again. I hold my breath and open my eyes, the water is so clean and transparent that I see everything the night illuminates: the multihued pebbles at the bedrock, the ribbons of moonlight piercing the water, the orange-coated earth mare that is my lover. Applejack smiles to me, her watery figure shimmering in the thick liquid. My hoof still on hers, she leads me to the very center where we resurface.

“Applejack, you brute!” I say, catching my breath. “What if I couldn’t swim?”

“All the better,” Applejack laughs. “Ah would’ve still dragged ya out here to make ya cling to me.”

I pout and feign temper, but I cannot feign it for long. I swim to Applejack and hold on to her as she wanted. “There, hope I don’t drown you with me.”

“Would ya believe me if ah say ah’d be the first to drown before ya even have to hold yer breath?”

“I don’t want to believe it. I’d prefer we drown together.”

Applejack looks at me and frowns. “Now, don’t ya say nothing like that. Don’t even joke about it none. Ah’d be damned before ah let anything happen to ya.”

A kiss and her frown is gone. “You’re too serious, dear,” I say. “I was just trying to be romantic.”

“Well, that’s some fine taste ya got there.”

“Yours isn’t better,” I respond, splashing some water into her face. “Really, hurting yourself for me? As though I’d let something like that happen.”

Applejack splashes some of the stars back and I knew, by the sly grin across her face, what is coming next. We start splashing that pale-blue water to one another, the fireflies drawn away by our laughter. I fling my hooves in quick succession, but Applejack’s powerful hooves seem to throw a gallon for every liter of mine. Slowly, as Applejack moves towards me, the laughter and splashes dies out. She grabs me, her hoof around my hips, and pulls me close so that our chests touch.

“Ya know,” she says, “yer absolutely beautiful with yer mane down like that.”

“My coiffure!” I suddenly remember. I grab my mane spread on the surface of the water, and look at the disastrous mess I had spent hours brushing before the trip. Applejack laughs at my reaction.

I levitate her mane and pull out the rubber band from her ponytail. “There! Laugh at me... will... you...”

My voice trails and when I expect laughter there is only the silence of astonishment from the both of us. I look at Applejack, I know she’s a mare but never have I seen her femininity as I do now. Her golden mane, free from the obstruction of that Stetson and her coils, flows evenly down her nape. The cute freckles below her emerald eyes stand out the most when she smiles. No, it’s more than femininity, it is as though she is a different pony entirely–no, not even a pony. She is more than a farm mare; she shines of the divine, Olympian even, the half-daughter of Demeter. And here she is, bathing in the moonlight. And she is mine.

“Jacqueline,” my hooves move to her shoulder and I brush the mane behind her ear, “I know you’re the stallion in this relationship but looking as lovely as you are now, well... you bring out the colt in me.”

“Don’t ya get used to it,” she laughs.

I move forward, pulling her head, and press our wet lips together.

Applejack leads me by the hoof as we glide on the surface of the night, relishing the purifying coolness of the water that washes away the worries of the outside and the distinct warmth of each other’s bodies that seem to alight us awake and animate. She holds me so close that I feel the beat of her heart against my chest.

We return to the campfire several kisses later when the cold has finally caught up to my spine. When I told her, Applejack only giggled and led me straight back to the camp where the crackling fire awaited.

She wraps me in a clean towel and hands me a comb while she, after shaking the water off her coat from a distance, begins to roast some beans in a small makeshift kettle she brought with her. She returns the Stetson to her head and the band around her mane.

“Hope ya like coffee,” she says, pouring some into a small wooden cup.

“I don’t hate it.”

Applejack sits beside me, and I levitate the towel to wrap it around us. I drink the coffee and it’s warmth melts into my bones; but the taste is so-so. It must be some unbranded coffee harvested somewhere. It is nothing compared to the coffee Cadance once gave me.

Cadance...

Shining Armor... what are they doing now? They’re probably at the inn and...

It should be me with Shining Armor tonight.

The kisses we shared in the pond give rise to the idea of what the both of us want from each other for the rest of the night. I do not know what Applejack is waiting for; I expect her to take me as soon as we have made our way to the campsite. I look at her, from the corner of my eyes; she’s watching the fire die out. Applejack grabs the kettle and fills it with water from the pond. She returns and extinguishes what embers remain.

“Why don’t we get some shuteye?” she says. “Go take yer rest now. Be with ya in a minute after ah’m all done here.”

I enter the tent as ordered. It is a small shelter made of the usual canvas, too big for one pony and too little for two. There are no sleeping bags, only a portable thick fabric that is meant to be a mattress and a thinner one meant to be a blanket. I lay on my back on the beddings, my head on the pillow, and wait for Applejack. I know what will happen next, I can smell it in the air. Two lovers isolated in their own world, hearts racing. My chest tightens and the ever familiar heat between my legs rises in anticipation.

Applejack enters the tent, earlier than I thought her patience would allow her. I neither quiver nor shake, lacking a sense of fear or excitement—only a quiet acceptance of what is going to be done to me. Applejack moves forward, on top of me, careful that her weight does not crush my fragile body. She starts by planting a long deep kiss to my wet lips, then small quick pecks on my neck.

Then she lies behind me on the beddings and wraps one foreleg on top of me while the other takes its place as my pillow. I feel the light pressure of her lips on the back of my shoulder and neck. I wait for her to touch me more. None comes.

“Goodnight, hun,” she says.

Did I make her angry for some reason? No, of course not.

Unable to believe what I heard, I turn to her. Her eyes are peacefully closed.

“Applejack...” I whisper, “you don’t want to... with me?”

Applejack opens her half-lidded eyes. “Do what?” Then the revelation strikes her and both eyes open wide. “Oh... Oh! I’m sorry. I thought ya said ya were tired. Do ya want me to?”

“I’m your mare, dearest... I’ll let you do whatever you wish.”

“If you want... y’know, I can. Are you in the mood?”

“Oh, never mind me,” I say, blushing. “You know I’m always willing. I just thought that you wanted to... with you bringing me here alone and all.”

She smiles. “That ain’t got nothing to do with it all. It’s our first night sleeping together as a couple and ah just want it to remain like that, just sleepin’. Me hugging ya until morning.”

“Just hug?”

“Yup, just hug. Why? Ya don’t believe it?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just...” I didn’t think it was possible. “It’s nothing.”

Applejack smiles and shifts her weight; she offers one her foreleg as a pillow and I take it, turning my back to her so she could hold me all the better. I shuffle close so that we make as much contact with our bodies as possible. There is a distinct warmth exclusive to Applejack and absent to all other ponies; as though beneath her coat and skin there lies an inextinguishable fire that burns brighter with every pump of her heart. She moves closer, nuzzles my neck, brushes my mane over my ear and pulls me closer.

“Goodnight, Rarity,” she says. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Applejack.”

Would Shining Armor ever cradle me like this? Would he touch me as softly and as gently as Applejack does? Would he bring me to his castle and kiss me beneath his chandelier? Lay me down on his bed of satin and expensive fabrics?

Several hours later, still nourished in Applejack’s warmth, I speak again.

“I love you, Applejack,” I repeat.

She replies, “I love you too.”

I turn to her, our face inches apart. She, too, is wide awake, not in the sense of one who cannot sleep, but one who does not wish to.

“Can’t sleep?” she asks.

I shift my weight and gently climb on top Applejack. She is startled for a moment but then takes a pleasure in being pressed by my body. She wraps her hooves around me and I nuzzle her neck.

I do not love Shining Armor.

“I love you, Applejack,” I whisper to her ear. “Do you believe me?”

“With all mah heart,” she says.

“Then...” I sit up over her and hold both her hooves, “make love to me... please.”

Applejack shuffles in place, still not letting go of me, but making enough space so she can get a good look at me with the dim moonlight.

“Hun, look at me,” she says.

I turn away. “I love you.”

She grabs me by the chin and forces me face her. I thought she would kiss me, as she is often fond of, but she does not. Her eyes, austere, fix not on me but on my eyes as though she searches for the truth in them; as I can see my own truth, and lies, in hers.

“Applejack...” I whisper. “Let’s make love right now.”

Applejack does not say anything, her face unchanged.

“I love you,” I say, for the third time. “Don’t you believe me? I love you, Applejack. You’re the only one I’ve ever loved–and ever will. So please, take me, right now. Make love to me. Let this be our real first night. Everything’s perfect, don’t you see? It’s all perfect and beautiful and everything is so right. It’s just the two of us here, nopony will disturb us. You can do anything you want to me, I won’t resist; I’ll like it. What’s the matter? Don’t look at me like that. Are you mad at me? Don’t you believe me when I tell you I love you? Please believe me because otherwise... otherwise...”

“Otherwise,” Applejack sighs, “ya won’t believe yerself...”

I bury my face beneath Applejack’s coat in shame. I do not notice until she tells me: I’m crying.

“Rare, don’t cry now. Ah didn’t mean bad by it. Ah know ya love me fiercely, and ah believe it, honest, only not as much as ah love ya. Ah know cuz it’s tough to beat, it’s comparin’ a molehill to a mountain.”

“You...” I sniff and make a small giggle, “you know I love you more than something like a little molehill.”

“Ah know, hun, so forgive me if ah’m not good with’em words but ah say what ah mean and ah mean what ah say. Rare, ah already know what ya feel, maybe even before ya did. Ah don’t want ya to make love to me just to prove something. Just hearin’ ya say it is proof enough. If ah didn’t love ya like ah do ah wouldn't give two bits ‘bout yer feelin’ and jump the gun this second. Ah already took advantage of ya twice now and ah’d be damned if ah’m gonna do it a third time. It ain’t right. Let me grow on ya and we can take it slow, we can have all the sweet time in the world. Ya understand me, hun?”

I make a small nod.

“If it’ll help ya feel better, ah confess that ah can’t wait until the time comes and yer ready. Then ah'll be on ya every second of everyday of the week... ah mean... oh jeez...” She slaps her forehead and shakes her head.

“It’s alright, dearest,” I say, taking her hoof away from her face, “It does help me feel better.”

“Ah promise ah’ll take good care of ya.”

“I know.”

She starts to rub my mane with her hoof and kisses me on the cheek. “So... ya wanna sleep on top of me like this?”

“Oh, my apologies.” I slide down to her slide, but her hooves restrain me in place.

“Not that ah mind though.” She shrugs and pulls our bodies closer.

“Jacqueline...”

“Oh, not that name again,” she groans.

“I like it,” I giggle. “Applejack, can you just promise something then?”

“What is it, mah princess?”

“Promise me that no matter what happened, or what will happen, you will believe me that right now, this night, in this very moment, me looking at you, and you looking back at me, that I love you with all my heart.”

“Mah princess,” she says, “ah swear it.”

Our hooves interlock, we stare into each other’s eyes in total stillness. We both know that no more words will be spoken for the rest of the night, that no more actions beyond our breathing will be done, that there is nothing there to experience but the company of each other’s warmth; and despite the motionless suspension in which Luna’s magic often visits, sleep would not come so soon.

“What are you doing here!?” I shriek. It is the cacophony of two sounds: one of a delighted surprise, and one of a cry for help.

Shining Armor frowns. “I came here to buy something.”

I stand on the door, barring his way to my boutique. With one hoof I want to push him away, yet the other wants to pull him in. I tremble in place. ‘I love Applejack’ I want to say to him, but I cannot do so.

“May I come in?” he asks.

Turn him away, shut the door in his face! You love Applejack, don’t you?

I step aside and let him enter.

He does not look at me, or the room. His eyes are distant, fixed on everything he cannot see. He is naked, for the lack of a better term, unclothed. There is no movement in him, in the way he enters, except for the mechanical locomotion of his legs. His face returns to that ruthless stoicism one uses to put the lid on boiling emotions.

“What can I help you with?” I turn away from him and proceed to the other side of the room.

“A dress...” he says, “for Cadance.”

“Of course,” I say. “Do you know what you want? Cocktail dress? Evening gown?”

“Anything... whatever.”

“Of the half-dozen four-bit retail joints here in Ponyville you walk into mine.” I absentmindedly move my hoof to and fro the rack of anythings and whatevers. “You’re not really here to buy a dress, are you?”

“Not really.” He moves to the nearest window and stares out, far into the distance. “Should I tell you what I came here for or do you want the polite conversation first?”

“I’ll go with whatever you wish.”

“Alright, damn the stalling,” he says, without the necessary harshness demanded of swearing, “I’m here to tell you that you will stay away from my wife.”

I nod in acceptance, searching for an ensemble in the array. I begin to wish I have in stock some cheap off-the-peg factory-made clothes. Deciding it does not make any difference to me whatsoever, I grab the one I have in hoof with my magic and place it in a blue plastic bag.

“How do you do it?” he asks, marching to me all of a sudden.

“Do what?”

“That!” he snaps. “How can you pretend that...”

“Pretend what?”

“That nothing happened.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t play with me!” he yells. He grabs me by the shoulder, turns me around and shoves me against the wall.

“Am I?” I respond, as calmly as I can. “I apologize; I thought this is how you want it to be. I believe you stallions call it a one-night stand, a temporary outlet of your discontent: not a word exchanged, before and after‒ never to be mentioned again, hidden behind the veils of fabrication as we were hidden behind closed curtains.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It never is.” I shove his foreleg away from mine and walk away from him. “You’re not the one who woke up in bed, your precious virginity gone along with the stallion whom you’d given it to. But then again... do you I have the right to demand, or to expect, anything more?”

My eyes turn downcast, towards the plastic bag. It has the initials ‘CB’ imprinted golden letters. Carousel Boutique, my home and prison, the closest thing I can call my castle.

“I’m not pregnant if that’s what you’re afraid of.” I shrug. “Is that why you came here, to make sure? I took a precaution the night after, just in case... some pills... It’s safe.”

Shining Armor is stunned for a moment, nothing about him moves but a small flicker in his eyes. “I came here to talk about Cadance.”

“It concerns Cadance, does it not? At least it would have.”

“Are you still going to pretend you’re friends?” he asks.

“You don’t want me to answer that question... Neither response will be pleasant.”

“Tell me all the same.”

“Friendship is immature–I’m the first of the six to say that–and has no place in the world of adult mares... But yes, I’ll keep pretending no more than she’s willing to believe. I’m good at that, the pretending. She’ll be a helpful stool in the social ladder.”

Eyes and nostrils flaring, Shining Armor raises his hoof in the air.

“Don’t hit me!” I cry, covering my face with my forelegs. The self-righteous pose I have held crumbles. Not at the fear of any physical pain, but at the thought of being Shining Armor’s object of righteous and justified anger.

There is a moment of stillness.

I wait for the impact. None comes. I peek from my hooves. Shining Armor is motionless, teeth gritting and hoof shaking in air, ready to slap me in the muzzle. The slap comes in the form of words.

“Vile... two-faced... traitress...” he mutters. “You... you... Don’t you ever go near Cadance again!” he repeats, placing his hoof down on the floor and sighing contemptuously.

“I won’t need to.” I gather my composure and push the plastic bag to his chest, and turn away from him. “She’ll come to me.”

Shining Armor inattentively lifts the plastic bag onto his back. “How much?” he sighs.

“Don’t pretend it matters,” I say. “Just... just go.”

He does not move for a moment. His horn glows and levitates a pouch of bits to the counter. He briskly turns away and trots toward the door.

Is this it? Is it over? Is he leaving me?

Of course he is!

He’s leaving because I love Applejack.

And then I feel it in my soul–only it’s not in my soul because one’s soul is not to be found in one’s guts–a nauseating sense of vertigo, a foreboding dislocation growing greater with each step my prince takes away from me. The slow inches of space stretching between us tightens the barbed tendril coiling around that beating object in my chest.

“Shining–” I shriek. I do not know why. It was in the tone of a beggar and I could have, at that same time, no differently thrown myself beneath his feet.

He stops for a moment and makes a small turn with his neck, wanting to look at me if not for some invisible force pulling his muzzle to the other side. I know then that I can say something to him, to deter him, to apologize. He waits for a minute too long until it becomes apparent that he will not leave until I say what I need or want to:

“I just want to know... Given the chance, would you–” I stop, biting hard on my lower lip.

“Yes?”

“No... It’s nothing. It’s just...”

Out of words and conviction, I recite a memorized line:

“It comes in pairs...” I clear my throat, “the dress... with a black suit for a stallion... two hundred and ninety-nine bits.” The volume of my voice trails down from the high pitched confidence of a saleslady to a whimpering monotone.

I do not expect a response, I expect him to ignore me and leave outright, but Shining Armor’s next word surprises me. “Alright...”

I look up to him.

“Just so Cadance won't plan on coming here and buy something for me.”

“You don’t have to... D-Don’t explain.”

I move to the other end of boutique and rummage through a workable selection of black tie dresses. My eyes move back to Shining Armor, trying to get an approximation of his size. He is roughly the same as Big Macintosh in height, but is less broad than the workhorse. I return to the selection again and find one of the few sizes that would fit him. I bite my lip and return it to the pile.

“Shining...” I clear my throat. “I... I need to measure you.”

“...make it quick.”

I approach him, tape measure in hoof.

“I-I can’t use my magic to hold it... I’ll have to use my hoof.”

He does not say anything.

I move to him, starting on his side. I press and pull the length of tape against his coat; from his hips to his neck, his dorsum to his chest, the muscular mass of his shoulder and thighs down to their hooves. At some point, I stop looking at the numbers and focus only on the texture of his steel frame. My hooves flow over his body in a careful caress, as a sculptor would conjure the image of a statue in his mind by sheer physical contact.

I move in front of him and wrap the tape measure around his neck, my hooves working their way down the line of his throat, his collarbone and to his broad chest. Then our eyes, which have been expertly avoiding one another, finally gaze into the mirror of his eyes; a little unicorn stands there, behind his irises, her small body shaking in tense anticipation of that which will not come. We remember, the both of us, at that same instant the memories of that pivotal night that turn us to this moment: he came to my suite, he grabbed me as one would grab a trophy and victim, he forced me to submission, and he made passionate love to me. My whole body remembers him, the touch of his hooves in the way he held me, the texture of his coat and the scent of his mane. We remember that no matter how much he may despise me, there was a night when we were lovers; I was his mare, he was my prince, and no amount of denial or rejection can change that.

My mouth opens slightly and I feel my hot breath escape the torturous prison of my throat. I do not know whether it a cry or a yearning for a familiar kiss.

A kiss!

Just one tug, just one tug and I can pull him to me, taste his lips for the last time as a parting gift. Our muzzles inches apart, I am close–so close–to take that kiss, but I do not.

What if he rejects me!?

No, what frightens me the most is not if he rejects me–but if he doesn’t!

She flashes before me, I see her upon the throne of conscience, as I saw her two nights ago: a lovely, loyal and dependable mare, swimming in a sea of stars, her golden mane glowing like the sunrise amidst the darkness, she who loves me and trusts me more than anything else. She whose touch has never been gentler, whose words have never been sweeter, whose love has never been more sincere.

I love her! I love Applejack!

And then, I feel the pressure of Shining Armor’s lips against my own, and the image of Applejack is dimmed beneath the lights of a golden chandelier in a prince’s castle.

Shining Armor’s hoof grabs the back of my head and pulls me in and, just as quickly he grabs my shoulder, he gently pushes me away. I see him; there is a stark of terror in his eyes. I can almost hear the cries in his thoughts, loud protests of a conscience and the condemnations of guilt and shame. He can bolt of the door this instant, if not for what remains of his honor preventing him from such the obvious act of a coward.

“I... I’m sorry...” he mutters, taking a step back. His hooves press on the floor, ready to gallop.

“No!” I jump and grab him with what might I can muster. “No... You’re not sorry.”

He stops— his body towards me, his eyes towards the door. His whole being stills: his heartbeat, his breathing, his world. He knows the final decision is his to make; I made my choice the second I leapt to him. Every slow excruciating second that ticks as he hesitates between the door and me—between conscience and temptation—tears him apart like a spiritual rack pulling him in opposing directions: it is scribbled on the twitching muscles of his legs, still pointing towards the door, and the painful tension of the look on his face. I look at him, the internal raging violence evident in his inability to move.

And then he does move—the choice has been made—bursting in the violence of how he seizes my hips, pulling me closer and forcing my soft lips against his. It is a fierce painful kiss, half-pulling and half-pushing, dragging me in the direction of his mouth. I can feel his teeth against the corners of my lips and the movement of his tongue. We pull back, after a minute, panting heavily, our faces flushed.

“Upstairs,” I say, catching my breath, “...m-my bedroom.”

He pushes me up and I pull him to me, mouths as locked as our hooves, almost slipping, as we ascend the stairs to my private chamber. He bucks the door open and slams it closed with his magic.

I do not know whether I fell or he pushed me, but suddenly he is on top of me and I am lying on my back against the floor. He lurches forward, his mouth half-open. He starts with my lips, tasting the tip of my tongue, then moves to my cheeks, shoulders, neck and chest. I feel the edge of his teeth in his kisses, as though there is a restrained desire to bite down through my skin and inflict punishment upon the object of his hatred and pleasure. The heat of our body rises and I can already smell the sweat of our bodies in the moisture of the hot afternoon air. My back arcs for a moment and a drop of perspiration drips onto the floor where I lay.

“Wait...” I say to him, my tail flickering.

“What is it?”

“The floor is cold... and hard. Let’s move to the bed, please.”

“Alright.” He stands, a motion that seems painful to him, and helps me up. “Sorry for being impatient.”

I smile at him, not daring to say that I do not want him any other way in fear of what he may suddenly do, or not do, to me.

He sits on the bed and waits for me to join him there, but instead I kneel in the front and squeeze myself between his thighs, in front of the fully erect stallionhood. Never have I seen one in all its details: the dark pigment, the pulsing veins, the solid rings and the viscous liquid dribbling from its tip. I clear my throat and lean forward—no contact yet—to the throbbing extremity before me. The smell fills my nostrils, an odor that cannot be described as anything else but masculine, and it makes me salivate. Until now, my femininity could not comprehend the chauvinism stallions attribute to their pride, and why they would call it so in the first place, but now, in front of Shining Armor’s own, I find myself helplessly attracted to virile dominance. I extend my tongue and touch with it the base of the waiting member; the salty flavor spreads throughout my taste buds almost immediately and it makes me–and Shining Armor–draw back for a moment from the sudden electrifying tinge. I lick my lips, exploring the taste, and finding myself eager to have more. I shuffle over, the equine rod pressing on my chest, and I bend my head down to take the tip into my mouth. Shining Armor groans, as though in pain, and I retreat.

“Is it... alright?” I ask.

“Really,” he chuckles, “in your mouth?”

“I’m sorry, I’ve always read that stallions like... I thought it’d feel good for you.”

“It does, very much. I’ve just always thought of it as... adolescent.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No–oh dear Celestia, don’t!”

I try not to laugh, but fail. I fear I may have insulted him in doing so, but the smile at the corner of his lips shows no sign of being offended. He takes a hoof and caresses my cheeks and mane as though to encourage me to proceed. I do not disappoint him.

I reopen and my mouth and take in the tip of the tasteful stallionhood before me. Careful with my teeth, I widen my jaw as much as I can. My tongue remains inside my mouth, caressing the rough texture of his pulsing member. The salty taste remains on my tongue, but it is the odor that fills what space is left in my mouth. The musk of his shaft makes my head numb, dispelling all thoughts. It must have been shameful, sucking on a stallion’s phallus–adolescent as Shining Armor put it–but I cannot think of it now. My sense of sight becomes useless at this point. I may very well be in a daze, aware of nothing else but his shape, smell and taste. I pull out, lest I drown in the sea of sensations clouding my consciousness. I tilt my head back and swallow what mixture of salivation, sweat and precum has accumulated in my mouth; the aftertaste tingles the back of my throat. I take a long good look of the slobbering mess I have made and find, to my surprise, that I have only managed a third of his whole length. I return to it, running my tongue from the base up, licking clean the drool trickling down the whole shaft. I move my head closer in, almost nuzzling his pride as my tongue gives a long slow lick on his scrotum.

I finally look up to Shining Armor to witness what kind of reaction my indecency has produced in him. He does not even look at me. His head is laid back; his eyes would be staring at the ceiling if they were not shut closed. The unsteady heaving in his chest shows that the sensation is overpowering him as well. It becomes apparent to me that not once has Cadance done this; the thought granted a sly grin across my face.

“Watch me,” I tell him. “Don’t take your eyes off of me.”

As soon as his head moves, and his eyes move to me, I dive once again on him. I run my lips along his length to further dampen the already moist member. The smooth member slips into my mouth again, first the tip and and the rest slowly sliding down. There is an unmentioned challenge between me and Shining Armor’s size; I push in farther, trying to draw in as much as I can. It is impossible, of course, to take in his whole length, it would have to reach down my windpipe, but I am determined. I shuffle in place and push in further. My mouth stuffed, anything I may say will just come out as a muffled groan. I close my eyes and all of my sensations focuses on the base of my tongue and the roof of my mouth. It becomes a daunting task just to breathe, and, every time I do, it is his scent that fills my nostrils. Suddenly, the tip of his member connects to the back of my throat and I immediately pull away, gagging, coughing and catching my breath. I hear Shining Armor chuckle and I ignore him. My mouth feels dirtied, soiled, and I feel like spitting. But I do not; it would be such a waste and the act itself is most unladylike. I return once again, more determined, more aggressive, trapping the tip of his member in my lips. My tongue moves expertly and slides to the slit of his head. The reaction is instantaneous and violent: Shining Armor jerks back, and forward again, groaning, his hoof almost pushing me away. I feel a small sense of victory in eliciting such a reaction from him, a small revenge from the chuckle he made. His eyes move to me and–as I bob my head up and down, tongue wrapping around his dimensions, slurping, sucking, and pressing his bulk, from the edges of my lips to the elasticity of my cheeks, going faster and faster–my eyes never leave his.

“Ra-Rarity!” he groans all of a sudden. “Wait.”

He grabs me by my shoulder and gently pushes me back, his shaft sliding out of my mouth with an obscene flop.

“Wha– I’m sorry,” I say. “Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No... It’s... uh... great,” he says, blushing lightly. “It’s just that... if you didn’t stop I would’ve came in your mouth.”

I smile just a little, happy to hear what he said. “It’s fine. You shouldn’t worry about me... I mean... if you wanted to... in my mouth... I wouldn’t mind...”

I plant a small kiss on his tip and he makes another short chuckle; it makes me start to wonder if a stallion-part is ticklish.

I give him another lick, stroking him with one hoof, and, with no forethought, I say what most occupies my mind in an attempt to impress him further: “She’s never done this to you, has she?”

It has the reverse effect as intended. Even without saying her name we both know who it is I refer to. Shining Armor knows her more than anypony else. The cheerful ambiance in him dies out instantly, replaced by the gloomful aura of menace.

He glares at me. He grabs me by the shoulder. He hurls me hard onto the floor.

“Listen well,” he says, teeth gritting, leaping to his feet. “You don’t talk about Cadance, you don’t say anything about her and you don’t so much as mention her name! Understand?”

“I-I’m sor–”

“Understand!” he thunders, nostrils flaring. It is not a question.

I nod.

“Now stand up and turn around,” he barks.

I find myself powerlessly under his command. I stand on all fours, legs trembling in excitement and fear, and turn my back to him as he ordered.

“Lift your tail.”

I do so, exposing my slick anticipating marehood in front of him. The waters of my concupiscence drips all over my floor after having served him for so long. It is still hot in the afternoon, but it feels as though a cold breeze passes between my legs the moment he takes a full look at me. I hear him stand up and trot close to me. His hoof starts caressing my flank, pressing it firmly against my cutie mark, and onto my back. I feel his weight shuffle to me and the hot air of the impending appendage inching closer to my entrance; I know how it will feel, I can imagine. I’ve licked it long enough to know. But instead of lurching forward he grabs me by the hips with one hoof and pulls me in.

He enters me, in one smooth slow movement, my folds pliant to the rock-hard shaft it worships. He stops the moment his tip touches the edge of my cervix, signaling that he has already filled all the solid space he could. He stays still, relishing the hotness of my inner flesh, and I, too, feel the fiery embers burning me from within. My whole body melts from my womb outwards. I struggle to maintain my footing over my trembling legs–that I carry his weight on my back makes it difficult to stand. But it is a lie, I know that it is the thought of him ravaging me on the floor that tempts me the most. I feign exhaustion and collapse, but he holds on around my hips and starts moving. My head grinding against the floor and my hips raised to him, he pulls back to allow enough space tothrusts back in with a grunt. Every push, every slam, every vicious stroke against my walls echoes in the back of my head, shutting down all thought. It is different, compared to our first night–then he was gentle, solely focusing on my pleasure, but now, as though to reclaim what he has given me, he shoves back and forth, brutally, painfully and deliciously, to use my body as an instrument of his desire. That he can use me as he does so, that my body can deliver him to unimaginable heights and satiate his hunger, is a token I take pride in. I could ask him what he wishes for me to do, but we both know it to be unnecessary. He’ll take me in any way he wants, and tell me his desire in a pleading request or the bark of command, and I would not resist him in the slightest because I am his property and prize.

“Hey, Rarity!” comes a voice from below the boutique. “You home, hun? It’s me.”

The ice shattering impact of her voice resounds in me. Ice, that is the word, that which replaces the blood in my vessels , freezes my heart and chills my bones, from my legs to the root of my spine, that which countervails the warmth of my womb, harbinger of the blind unfathomable terror of being divulged.

“Applejack!” I do not mean to scream her name, but it cannot be contained in my thoughts any longer.

“Ya in yer room?” she shouts from below. “Ah’m comin’ up.”

“W-w-wait!” I yell. I do not know to whom.

The sound of hoofstomps climbing the stairs is all I hear. I squirm away from Shining Armor, painfully tearing myself away from his embrace and protrusion. The door to my room opens slowly, slightly. Before it opens further I jump, throwing all my weight, and shut the door closed to Applejack’s face.

“Hey!” the voice says from behind the door, “What gives?”

“Y-You can’t come in,” I say, catching my breath. And it seems too that my unsated marehood is breathing in as well, eager to return to Shining Armor.

“Why not?”

“You... you just can’t.”

Then Shining Armor moves towards me, his hooftsteps light and his face blank. He grabs me from behind by my hips, pushes me against the door and slowly, so carefully, thrusts his throbbing shaft through my delicate passage. I bite hard on my lower lip, forcing myself not to moan. My forelegs remains against the door, making sure that Applejack cannot push herself in.

“Hurry up and lemme in,” the voice in front of me says. “Walked all the way here to see ya.” The knob turns; I lock it in time.

“D-don’t... C-come back next time, dearest...” I stutter. “Not now... Ju-Just leave.” Shining Armor grabs me by my navel and pulls me in, pushing me at the same time and pressing me against the door. I can feel his broad chest against my back, wedging me between the door and him. His thrusts grow stronger, deeper, as painfully pleasurable to me as he possibly can. He wants me to moan, or scream, or cry, knowing that it is my reluctance that fuels him. I cannot oppose him; I cannot want to, we both know it. My silence is my last form of rebellion, and he intends to break it as much as he is breaking my inner walls. My folds tighten around him at the thought that he holds not only my body under his mercy, but also what’s left of my dignity that I have yet given him. He knows me, he knows my wanton more than he knows his, and more than I know it.

“Ya don’t sound well. Ya sick?” she says. “C’mon now, something’s ain’t right with ya. Open up.”

“No!” My eyes on the ground, I see Applejack’s shadow through the doorsill. A droplet of sweat slides down my chest and drips onto the floor, sullying the white color to gray. Shining Armor lifts me by my hips as he starts moving faster and faster. His breathing becomes precarious, nostrils flaring, his hold clings tightly around my belly. I feel his member throbbing and swelling inside me–

“Rarity, ya open this door right now or ah’m gonna buck it to next week. Ah’ma gonna give ya a count to three... One–”

“Get the fuck out of here!” I shriek at the top of my voice.

My eyes go wide, my whole body numbs. I do not know what sends me into a state of shock: the profanity I uttered to the mare who loves me the most–or the hot blast of thick stallion seed pouring inside me.

I quiver in place, all four hooves shaking, clenching my teeth against my hoof to hold in the moan of my climax. My eyes remain fixed on the door. There is no sound behind it except what seems to be a whimper that lasts for a few painful seconds.

“A-awright...” the voice finally says. “If that’s what ya want. Ah’m goin’ now.” There is another silence, and then she follows: “I love ya...”

She is still there; I hear her breathing, waiting for my reply. I do not respond. Shortly after, I hear only the sound of hoofsteps trotting downstairs and of a closing door without the justice of a slam.

Shining Armor pulls out of me and I collapse onto the door. I remain there for quite some time, not moving and wishing I do not have to move any longer. I have half a mind to chase after Applejack and apologize to her, grovel for forgiveness beneath her feet, but I eventually discard the thought.

How would I do it? Like this? Reeking of recent sex, Shining Armor’s seed still dribbling down my thighs?

I savor the lingering hotness inside me, over the pink ebbing glow just below my navel as though a small flame is lighting me from me within. I move my hoof between my legs, the entrance to my womb is swollen, seeping out the white viscous liquid of Shining Armor’s mark. He is sitting on the floor, his back resting against the bed, his head downcast. I stand, almost falling down in the process, my hind legs drained of all vitality and my flaring marehood aids me no better.

“Aren’t you going to cry?” he asks, genuinely sympathetic. “I did.”

“I’m trying, desperately.” I move towards the cabinet and take out a small case. “Do you want a cigarette?”

“I don’t smoke,” he says, his voice sullen. “Do you?”

“Sometimes,” I answer. “Depends on my company...”

“Don’t.” His horn glows and he levitates the cigarette case back into the cabinet. “It’s unhealthy.”

I still take a cigarette from the case, levitate it to my mouth and light it with a spark of my magic. I stay standing for a few seconds, puffing tobacco smoke from my lungs; there are no nearby chairs in the room. The bed is unoccupied, but I would not dirty it with the juices of my body. I decide then, not so easily, to sit on the floor beside Shining Armor, my head leaning on his chest.

“Applejack...” he whispers, to sting me with her name. “Tell me, were you already with her the night you offered yourself to me?”

I shake my head.

“...now you know what it feels like to betray a loved one.”

“I’m not proud of it,” I answer. I wait till I exhale another breath of smoke. “Is this your intention, to make the two of us even?”

“We became even the second you loved her back.”

“I love Applejack,” I say, solemnly. “At least I think I do. But even so I cannot want her. I still want you, Shining Armor. Remember what I told you back in Canterlot, in the balcony and then in my suite? It still stands, every word. I’ve never had a chance to thank you for that night... the night you bedded me... And for the painful release you have given me now. You do not have anything to fear from me, we both know I can keep our secret better than you ever can. I am not doing it to protect your marriage or my reputation, but because I believe that whatever it is we have is too private to be shared with anypony else. Call it guilt, call it a moment of weakness, however you dress it up it is still ours, and should not involve anypony else. I want you to know that I care about Applejack, sincerely, deeply and passionately. I want you to use this knowledge against me. I do not want her to know about us, not for my sake but for hers. I care for Applejack as you care for your wife, maybe even more; but who am I to say so? How does an honest pony measure love? That I do not know. We are dishonest, and so we measure our love for them by how much we hide in order to spare them the pain and shame we prefer to keep to ourselves. If one of us slips, the other catches us by a rope around the throat. I do not want to put it as bluntly as I do, no contracts are necessary between conspirators, but we have each other in our mercy...

“It’s redundant telling you this, my prince; I do not usually tell ponies what they already know. It would have made no difference either way if I went to your house and told you to stay away from my mare, we would have still succumbed to one another and you would have told me these things I am telling you now. We are drawn to each other, Shining Armor, not by something as innocent as love or sex, but by self-contempt and guilt. We hate each other, and we hate ourselves for what we commit behind closed doors. That this promiscuity is done in the name of pain and not pleasure is a temporary respite from weeks and months of deceiving those whom we love the most. We’re each other’s priests confessing sins of adultery in bed, wanting forgiveness whilst caught in flagrante delicto. It’s wrong but... Shining Armor... I do not want to stop.”

“Rarity.”

“Yes, my prince?”

“Shut up.”

I obey him. I do not say anything more. I toss the cigarette aside and crush the flickering flame to a smoldering ash beneath my hoof. I crawl in front of him and work my mouth back to his hardening cock.

“You still remember the place?” he asks.

“Yes,” I reply. “Trottingham, 377 Stonehoof St. The Black Saddle.”

He nods. He grabs me and gives a quick open kiss, his moist tongue dipping inside my mouth. In the brief contact I can smell the scent of fresh shampoo and soap on him. He pulls away, levitates the bag of clothes onto his back and exits through the front door. Without looking back, he makes his way to the forthcoming dusk.

I close the door and return to the act of drying my mane with the towel. “Becoming as popular, as popular la-la-la...” I hum. “The pony everypony should know...”

There is a knock on the door and I turn briskly to its attention. I forgot the Carousel Boutique is still open, but I disregard the thought that it is a customer. Not at this time of the day.

Did he forget something?

I wish he did not. I fix my mane and tail to its usual curls and take my time. I do not want him to think I’m overly excited. The knocking continues.

“Coming,” I sing.

I open the door, and almost sigh in my disappointment.

“Oh... It’s you,” I still manage to say. “Is there anything wrong, darling?”

Fluttershy’s face is pale, too pale to be healthy for one as young as she. Her eyes are wide, showing in no way that there is any form of exhaustion in her, only the denial to see or be seen.

“Oh my stars, what happened to you?” I say, genuinely concerned. “Did something happen? Was it Rainbow Dash?”

I move a hoof towards her, to gauge her temperature in case she is sick. But then she recoils back and shrinks to her haunches with a sound of an eep. It is there that I realize that Fluttershy is not being shy more than usual, but she is, in fact, terrified.

“What’s the matter with you, dear? Anything wrong?”

“Rarity...” she squeaks out. “Y-you... you didn’t come to the spa... today.”

“Oh! Is it Friday already? About that, I’m sorry. I was busy making dresses and–”

“–and... so I-I... I looked for you... here... and... Shining Armor...”

The icy terror returns to me again, I feel my hooves firmly pressing against the floor. “Oh, him! Yes, you just missed him. He came to buy an evening dress for himself and Cadance.”

“I-I-I.... I heard... sounds... from your room and... I looked through the window... and I saw you... y-you and... Shining Armor...” Fluttershy further shrinks, hiding behind her mane. She makes a step feeling I might jump on her at any second. She is right to feel it.

Never in my life I have thought myself capable of murder, nor harbored any such thought to my fellow ponies. I have always imagined that the mad passions which motivated the most corrupt of killers were blind teeth-gnashing emotions. The thought, the feeling that I can kill Fluttershy right now, comes to me in the expressionless and stillness silence of a stoic.

Fluttershy shivers in place, her wings snapping shut to her sides, ready to flee at the first sign of danger.

“Fluttershy,” I clear my throat, “would you like to come in? I feel this conversation is more appropriate indoors.”

Fluttershy looks around as though searching for the words she can use. “I-I’d rather not... I mean...”

“Get inside,” I say. There is no emotion in my tone, only the lack of it.

Fluttershy looks past me, to my boutique, and over her shoulder, to the vast expanse. She knows she is cornered. She knows, by the way I look at her, that the consequences of disobeying me are worse than otherwise. Finally, after a full minute, Fluttershy gulps and enters. I flip the door sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed’.

“Please have a seat.” I motion to the center table. “Would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee? I have a bottle of red wine if that’s to your liking.”

The canary pegasus remains seated, looking away from me. She does not answer.

“Red wine it is, then.”

I enter my kitchen, pull out two wine glasses and an unopened bottle from the lower cabinet. I return to the living room; Fluttershy lifts her head and turns away just as quickly.

“I wish you could have joined us Tuesday night,” I say, laughing. “Cadance brought a bottle of Beaujolais and we drank it to the last drop. I mean, sure, it is not exactly healthy for a pregnant mare like her but she promised it would be her last bottle until her delivery.”

Fluttershy nods meekly.

“Now, this isn’t as good as a Rioja, but a Cabernet isn’t bad.” I lay the two glasses on the table, unscrew the cork of the wine bottle and proceed to fill both containers. I levitate my glass, playfully swish the red liquid around and give myself a small taste. “Indeed, not bad at all. Mind you, I’m no connoisseur but I can dare say that I appreciate wine and spirits more than the next pony.”

“R-Rarity...” she finally mutters.

“Yes, best friend?” I say, punctuating those last two words, my eyes not leaving the red liquid sloshing in the glass.

“You and... Shining Armor... but... he’s with Cadance and you’re with... Applej–”

“You know, darling, as an artist and fashionista there is one material I hate most in this world.” I finish the rest of my glass and fill it again. “Plastics. You know what plastics are, of course. Those synthetic things that have no definite shape and can be molded and twisted into filaments and wrappers, taking the form of anything you throw in it. Yes, those plastics. You can’t use the material properly outside exhibitionism. That’s basically the only thing they’re good for, bags to throw garbage in. Plastics are trash and trash bags... There’s something very funny about the material, specifically on how you can stretch it to its limit effortlessly. But then go further and it will be recalcitrant until it tears apart. So when handling plastics, one ought to be careful with how far one is willing to test its elasticity. But what happens, suppose, when you need to put enough of your garbage in it, only to find out you couldn’t fit it all in and the plastic breaks? You know that when it rips apart it’ll vomit–pardon– it’ll spill out all that trash back to you. So what do you do? Simple: you take another plastic and fill it with the rest of trash. Plastics are cheap after all; you can get them on almost any corner. Such is the nature of a plastic.”

“Rarity, I don’t–”

“I’m not done. Plastics are principally snitches, once it can’t do its job of keeping what’s it’s supposed to keep it starts spilling all that dirt on to what should have been a clean place... Like, for example, if a certain snitch–excuse me–plastic were to scatter such filth as, say, one mare is having an affair with another mare’s husband, then it dirties the whole environment. And when one part of the environment gets dirty do you know what happens? Others become careless, especially those whose backyard you’ve spilled your trash on, they start not using plastics any longer. They throw their garbage all over the place one piece at a time like–oh, I don’t know–nasty rumors about a certain canary pegasus mare who, taking advantage of a certain childhood friend's loyalty and drunkenness, dragged her to a home and rapes her–”

“I never did that!” Fluttershy leaps to her feet in horror, “I would never do anything of the sort to Rainbow Dash!”

“Oh, darling, I never said any names,” I laugh. “We’re talking about plastics remember? Now, where was I? Oh yes! What do you think will happen to that cyan pegasus upon knowing she was molested by her childhood friend? Oh, molest! the words I use. I’m sorry my dear, I have no euphemisms. That’s how dirty rumors work you see, the word kiss turns to the word assault, assault turns to molest, molest turns to rape and so on, until the truth of the matter is buried beneath a muck of lies long before the subject of the rumors even hears about it. Going back to my example, do you think that cyan pegasus, whom shall remain nameless, would return the feelings of that canary mare? I personally do not think so. I mean just imagine it! I can already feel the shivers running down my spine: what would I think if I heard that the friend I trust the most, whom I grew up with, whom I thought would take good care of me in my most vulnerable state, would suddenly climb me onto the bed whilst my judgment and good reason is inebriated by alcohol and then violate my purity; I’d most likely think that’s she’s an unkind, disloyal and opportunistic little slut!”

“You promised!” Fluttershy cries, tears flowing from her eyes. “You promised you wouldn’t tell!”

“Tell what? Darling, you’re confusing me.” I take a small sip of the wine; it is deliciously sweet. “I won’t tell such a harmful and disreputable thing to anypony... because I know you won’t either.”

Fluttershy remains in the air, her wings batting slowly as she descends to the table. She wipes the tears from her eyes with her forehoof and turns away from me. “I... I won’t say anything...”

“Of course you won’t, dear. Because there’s nothing to tell, right?”

No response.

“Right?”

She makes a small nod.

“Say it.”

“...right.”

“Oh, I’m glad we understand each other,” I say, my tone high and cheery as though singing. “Have a drink, dear, it tastes great. What are you so scared about so suddenly, you look like I’ll jump you any second. We’re best friends, remember?”

“Yes...” she mutters, “best... friends...”

“And since we’re such best friends, I’ll make up for my absence today by going to the spa tomorrow. You will be there with me, of course. My treat.”

There is no movement in her.

“Fluttershy... I said you will be there with me, in the spa.”

She nods.

“Great, I’m so excited.”

“...Can... can I go now... please?”

“Oh, darling you make it sound like I’m keeping you here under threat of divulging your dirty secret, of course you can go.”

I use my magic and open the door for her. Fluttershy, without looking at me, gallops to the door, wiping the tears from her eyes. But before she can exit entirely, I call her attention one last time.

“Oh, and Fluttershy dear, one more thing,” I say, she stops in her tracks. I levitate the bottle in front of me and make it look as though I’m reading the label. “Do you know what else is good about plastics, aside from being cheap?”

I turn to Fluttershy, her face looking similar if not worse than when she entered a few minutes ago. She nervously shakes her head.

I look at her, studying her small figure from top to bottom.

“They’re disposable.”

Author's Notes:

WARNING: The next chapter, "Chapter 5: The Fairest of Them All", will be an equivalent of two chapters, spanning approximately 30,000 words (half of which are clop scenes).