“A Certain Rare Beauty"
(RariJack)

You are the weak link. The imperfect gem. You know that, don’t you?

Rarity had known. She was many things--a swirling mixture of good, bad, and other--but she was hardly stupid. She had known.

She trots around the workroom at Carousel Boutique, pulling curtains as she circles around the room. With the windows and curtains closed, the room quickly grows stifling, hot, nearly unbearable. But not as unbearable as it would be to leave the windows open.

Once she’s finished this small task, she sits down in the middle of the room. Her eyes slowly adjust to the dark, and she glances around the room, at her fabrics, at her mannequins. Usually she loves this room and the creative energy it brings to her, but today … today, she simply feels lost.

You are the most selfish and vain Element of Generosity I have ever met. And I have met more than a few previous holders of that pretty little jewel you wear around your neck. Oh, yes, indeed. Didn’t you know there were others?

The taunt had merely been a distraction, of course, and she ignored it as the distraction it was. Instead of taking the bait, she’d risked taking her eyes off that sneering face before her to glance over to the corner of the cave, where five ponies hung in suspended animation, encircled with a sickly green glow of a magic born of neither pureness nor friendship.

When she'd looked back at the creature, he had grinned. It was the most obscene expression she’d ever seen. With a small sneer, a bit of petty defiance, she’d asked just what it was that he wanted.

She lights a small candle with her magic and sets it on her worktable. She picks up a pencil and begins sketching, simply going through the motions, trying to regain some sense of normalcy. She will sketch, and she will sew, and she will create. She will make beautiful things.

Beautiful, beautiful things.

As she continues sketching away madly, she swallows a sob.

Tell me. What would you give for them? For your friends? For those you claim to love? Just how generous are you prepared to be, Element?

Anything. She would have given anything. Everything.

Anything that she had, she’d spat at him, anything that was hers to give. She'd promised to give away the world, if only he would leave them unharmed. And that grotesque grin had grown even larger.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a flash of something bright, and she turns her head without thinking. That flash of light proves only to be her candle, reflected in the long, full-body mirror in the corner.

She finds herself staring into her own eyes. Gazing upon her own face.

The sob wells up again in her throat, coming from somewhere deep inside her, and it takes all of Rarity’s willpower to force it back down. Then, with a feral cry, Rarity upends her entire table with a sudden flare of magic. The entire room is bathed in blue as she reaches out and tears fabric in two, smashes her mannequins to pieces, throws chairs across the room. And then, while standing in the middle of the wreckage, she focuses all of her attention, all of her rage, all of her magic, on that damnable mirror in the corner.

Instantly it explodes into a thousand tiny shards of glass. Slowly, grimly, Rarity smiles.

What I want? I want your face. Your pretty, pretty face. Give me that beauty you are so very proud of, that beauty that you hold in higher esteem than any dress or any gem. Give me your face … or they die.

His grin had been smug, confident. Too confident.

She had given it. Without hesitation. Without regret. She’d said yes.

And finally, at that, he’d stopped grinning.

It had hurt. It had hurt more than anything she’d ever experienced before, the feeling of flesh being torn right off her skull. She’d collapsed to the floor of the cave immediately, shaking and breathless, in so much agonizing pain that she couldn’t even so much as whimper, let alone scream.

“Rarity? What’s all that ruckus in there? Are you all right, sugar cube?”

She shuts her eyes and begins shaking her head, even though the voice is coming from the other side of the door and the voice’s owner cannot possibly see her. Perhaps, if she can just pretend … if she can just hold on …

“C’mon, Rare. I know you’re in there.”

That farmer always has been too stubborn for her own good. But Rarity can be stubborn too. Still ignoring her unexpected and unwanted visitor, she walks over to what remains of her mirror and stomps a hoof down on the remaining pieces of glass. It doesn’t even hurt. Nothing hurts anymore.

The door opens and shuts, but she doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t flinch when the curtains begin opening, flooding the room with harsh daylight. She blinks rapidly at the sudden assault on her eyes but otherwise doesn’t stir, not even when she feels a pair of warm, strong legs wrap around her shoulders.

She will not move, will not bend. She must not move. Must not react.

Is she okay? Is she even … is she … Oh, gosh, she looks like she’s … Don’t even think that! She’s gonna be just fine … Rarity! Rarity, you gotta wake up, you gotta … Everypony, back up! Give her some room! I’ll see if I can … Her face, guys … oh, Celestia, her face is … Hush it! That ain’t … it ain’t important right now …

They had tried. Every one of them, in her own way. Twilight had sworn that she’d find a spell to restore what had been lost, and Fluttershy had poured through her veterinary texts in hopes of finding something useful for ponies. Pinkie had baked absurd amounts of cookies and cupcakes, given over to Sweetie Belle with instructions to deliver the baked goods with a smile and a hug, and Rainbow Dash and Applejack had worked overtime to pool together enough bits to pay for the finest reconstructive surgeons in all Equestria.

Nothing worked. Nothing helped.

It was the nature of this particular brand of dark magic, Celestia had explained, her eyes soft and sad. Rarity had granted permission, had given her consent … and that meant what had been done could not be undone and what had been taken could never be restored.

“You’re bleedin’. You want me to go fetch ya some bandages?”

When she finally replies, her voice sounds far away and muffled to her own ears. “No. No, thank you. It … it doesn’t hurt very much.”

“All right. If’n you say so.”

“Well, I do say so,” she snaps back, more for the sake of pretending at normalcy than any true ire.

Applejack says nothing. Simply sits there and squeezes a little tighter. The silent rests between them, uneasy and tense, until suddenly Rarity smells the familiar, friendly scent of apples right before she feels a pair of gentle lips upon her forehead.

Instantly, Rarity jolts back to life, struggling against Applejack’s embrace, trying to pull herself free.

“N-no! No!” She thrashes her head back and forth, and she feels a snarl rise up in her throat. “Don’t kiss me! Don’t touch me! I’m … I’m hideous!”

“No, you ain’t!”

“Yes, I am!” She’s breathing hard now and much too fast. She feels like she’s drowning, like a riptide is pulling her under. “Don’t lie to me, Applejack! Please, of everyone, don’t you start lying to me, not now …”

Applejack lets go, but before the unicorn can even blink, a pair of orange hooves are cupping her face. With a mostly gentle yank, Applejack forces Rarity to look at her. Those green eyes burn bright and deep.

“Rarity, you listen to me and you listen good,” begins Applejack, very quietly, leaning forward close enough that Rarity can almost taste her. “I ain’t never told ya any lies, and I sure ain’t startin’ now. You got me?”

Rarity purses her lips--what used to be her lips--and stares balefully at her captor.

“You’re beautiful. You’re the most beautiful pony I ever did see.” Applejack pauses and smiles, a smile as gentle and warm as the breath on Rarity’s face. “The truth o’ the matter is ... you ain’t never looked more beautiful to me than you look right here and right now.”

There is no deceit in those open, green eyes. No insincerity, no cunning, no trace of the slightest falsehood. There is only Applejack, and there are only Applejack's quiet, honest words.

It’s too much. It’s too soon. It’s too everything, and somehow it’s still not enough. Rarity shuts her eyes, so hard that little flashes of light spark behind her eyelids, and finally the sobs come tumbling out of her, sloppy and wet and loud. Applejack just pulls her forward and holds her tight against her chest.

It’s still not enough. But it’s something.

It’s a start.

Author's Notes: By and large, you can easily tell which characters I most favor by tracking how much suffering I put them through. The more a character suffers, the more I like that character. That's kinda messed up, I realize, but there it is.

And yep, this is another story I adapted from a submission to a TMP writing prompt.