The Outsider

 Adeena's consciousness fades in and out as her eyes adjust to a sudden change in brightness. The glow of the moon and the salt in the breeze roll into the foyer, the book on her chest feels heavy and her back aches from having fallen asleep on the sofa. The front door is open.  Her joints creak and crack, a pain she's all too familiar with- The chitin has again overgrown whilst she dreamed of a life she never lived. She sits up and sets her grimoire aside, eyes focused on the open door. It's night outside. Moonlight bleeds out of the opening and through curtains, crashing waves reverberate just beyond.  She steps onto a pier at the other side, the only sign of their home's existence is the empty doorframe standing on its own behind her. She walks down the wooden pathway, her chitinous feet clacking quietly against the boards, and finally sits at the very end next to the grey-skinned man who took her in.   He's slumped over, his eyes are closed, yet he seems focused on something. With a soft squint, she sees it too: White silhouettes floating above the waves, dipping and weaving like surfers. It is then that she also notices other silhouettes at the beach, phantasms of people. His friends. Unlike hers, his dreams are those that truly were.  Adeena reaches out to touch his shoulder and notices another illusion: Her hand, no longer covered in brown chitin, but white. Delicate, polished, like a true-born changeling and not an accursed. It seems to mimic her movements, or is it the other way around?  "Did I give you enough love, Spore?"   Zerathur mumbles in his sleep in reaction to the hand on his shoulder. That was a name he'd never spoken of before, and a voice that wasn't hers responded:  "The day that you left, my mother and I knew it was for the best."  "Yet it never felt right."  As he responds, his dull blue eyes open and stare out into the dark ocean. The illusion breaks free from her, standing up and walking away. As she looks back, she sees the full figure of Zerathur's long-gone daughter; A pale changeling with long purple hair, simple grey clothes flowing in the sea breeze, a grand crown of chitin and iron grown from her very head.  Adeena loses grip on Zerathur's shoulder, and she quickly looks back at where he was, only to see the vestige of a lightless twirl of blue flames. He's warped away. She'll stay here for a few moments longer, watching the illusion of his friends lounging on the beach and surfing in the waves. And then, when they fade, she'll walk back into the empty doorframe and close the door behind her.

(( An off-season short horror story. I don't think I've ever posted this one, seeing that it's been sitting in my WIP folder for a while so.. Have at it! ))

Cold wind ravages the outer magical shields that surround the interloper, yet all he feels is a gentle winter breeze. He marches through the apathetic snow on a path that hasn't been used in years, a path that he'd never used before yet knows like the back of his hoof. There in the Frozen North, where the Siren's curse buried whole kingdoms in frost, he will find his quary. Nestled on the side of a mountain range, a lone castle overlooks the long-abandoned valley. The river that once gave it life is but a memory, the houses and farms that dotted the landscape are naught but abandoned archeological dig sites. The bones of the archeologists and explorers that worked at those sites now serve as a warning, decorating in grim fashion the castle's gate. Nothing can be heard within the frozen halls other than his own muffled hoofsteps. Even the howling of the wind outside has ceased as he approaches the inner chambers, frost-covered marble pillars glistening like crystals under the pale lights he'd summoned. A pair of hungry eyes watch his every move, looking for an opening through which to strike.  The castle's throne room is but a shadow of its former glory, its light smeared and stolen by the angry mob that sacked it long-ago. They never found the food they were looking for, only an emanciated queen that did her best to share every blessing with her followers in their last days. She yet remains, sat upon the rubble that once was her throne, muscles twitching and mouth agape in starved excitement. The Interloper stops before the throne of the Northern Changeling Queen and watches as her slim silhouette rushes to meet him. She was an Unicorn once, a fair lady of the Sorcerous Empire of 

This is nice. It ain't often that Frost Tear is able to leave her house in the Whispering Woods, the world is a dangerous place after all and only His presence can keep her safe. With the Evergrowing by her side, nothing can bring her harm! Not even the dubiously cheap (yet large) hayburger she's currently munching on, it is definitely a very healthy meal for this Tuesday afternoon. As the cold autumn breeze rolls through the park, she wonders if her supernatural companion is capable of feeling it. Can it even taste the popsicle it is gnawing at? Although the Evergrowing may wear the skin of a unicorn, it is very.. Obvious that it is the skin; She can see the gaps left by old scrapes showing the woodened interior of the corpse. It really is just a big wooden doll the more she looks at it. Frost blinks and quickly looks away when she feels his lively blue eyes fall upon her, probably having noticed that  was staring. He's taught her long ago to see through the illusion spells that surround him, spells that obfuscate his very existence to the average pony's eyes, yet even now she finds new strange details of her guardian's true form. Like, how his legs aren't exactly moving and bending how they're supposed to. Kinda weird. She did not expect, however, that something weirder was about to take place. Quite, just as she was about to take the last bite from her hayburger, a stallion stepped out from behind a tree just a few meters away. And! It was another Evergrowing! Except instead of being a decrepit depiction of a corpse worn by a wooden mannequin, this one was actually a living and breathing stallion with dull blue eyes and white draping clothes.  With her mouth still agape, she watched as the Evergrowing, or, well, rowing walked towards their bench. He stopped, squinted his eyes at the undead version of himself, then continued on his merry way down the path to vanish behind another tree. Frost Tear, having witnessed this unprecedent level bullshittery, looked up at her companion and said,

 Zerathur can hear them downstairs. The clattering of kitchen utensils being washed by the automata; The chatter of daughter and mother as Spore and Astria idle by the fireplace; Erian hammering away at some new wacky invention down in the basement. An unchanging reality, a long awaited and well deserved dream come true. Everything he wished for, the return of all he once loved and the life that was robbed from his very grasp.  He reaches upwards with his mind, his consciousness slips through the veil and takes ahold of reality's string. He can feel its edges like a crack in a perfectly smooth wall, thin as a needle and as vast as the night sky. His nose bleeds as he pushes through, his right arm reaching up towards the ceiling. Zerathur would see to leave himself behind, for the husk of what he deeply desired deserved to live in its paradise.