So my grimdark pony fic is going slow.
This is the first time I've actually brought it to light. I've stopped working on it tonight because I'm going to bed soon. I expect no comments on this, because I'm used to shit like that.
The room was dark save for a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. It glowed dimly with grime and dust, colouring the room a dull shade of gray. It wasn’t the kind of room that one would find above ground, unless it was in the house of an extremely unkempt pony. It was more of a twelve-foot square basement, in all honesty. But a very dark and barren basement.
Inside the room was a slightly heavy cream-coloured pegasus with a pumpkin-coloured mane, pacing back and forth in front of a medium-sized plywood table. Each pass she glanced at the table.
She grinned devilishly, bloodstained knife in her hoof. The pony before her was not only tied to the plywood table through the middle and neck, but 8 individual nails were hammered into each leg at each joint. She didn’t want her prey to move. But she loved hearing their screams.
“Let’s see how you tick, my lovely.” the voice was smooth as silk; angelic but with demonic undertones. She placed her muzzle close to her prey’s own, the fear in the pony’s eyes elating her as she traced the blade of the bloody knife gently down the pony’s body. With a sudden twitch the blade entered her prey’s chest, sliding down lengthwise to where the pony’s stomach would lay. Her prey screamed in anguish as she cackled…
--
Angel Cake woke up in a cold sweat, flailing, until she fell off her bed and onto the floor with a dull thud. She’d met her floor before when she first moved in, but she was really getting to know it during the nights she had those dreams. Those… nightmares, she figured.
“They were only nightmares…” She reassured herself as she sighed shakily. But they felt real… the butterflies in her stomach could tell her that much. The pegasus in her dreams looked like her, sounded like her, even had the same cutie mark; half a heart with a stylized wing for the other half, a demon’s tail at the base of the heart and an angel’s halo at the top. She saw through the pegasus’ eyes, felt her thoughts…
She decided to head to the bathroom to splash her face with water.
The trek to the bathroom seemed like a long one, Angel Cake was in deep thought. She gazed upwards at the clock on the wall in her room; 3:30 AM. She had no one to talk to at a time like that. Sunny Skies and Rainy Day were in Canterlot and she never knew where Derpy was. Everypony else was asleep. Everypony but the chubby cream-coloured pegasus with a pumpkin-coloured mane.
After splashing her face with cold water to shake herself out of her reverie, Angel Cake stared at her reflection in the mirror. She had dark circles under her normally bright eyes, her coat duller than normal as well. She sighed again and turned the faucet off, heading back to her bedroom slowly. She was exhausted.
“Maybe… maybe a walk could help…”
--
The bare bulb was lit again; the cream-coloured pegasus was stained with the sweet red of her guests who perished on the table.
And in front of her was a new guest. She eyed the new pony above the table: a rope tied tightly enough on his muzzle that the skin beneath was raw and bleeding. A bit was clenched in his teeth and the reigns wrapped behind and tied, giving him an eerie grin with the corners of his mouth slowly tearing. His eyes did not show fear as much as pain and anger, moist and trailed tears on his face. Down his back were rusted hooks sharpened to a point, a taut chain pulling the hooks and keeping the pony still for if he even so attempted movement he would be in tremendous pain. The chains were fastened to the ceiling of the basement so all he could do was hang by the skin punctured by the hooks. Off his shoulder blades were jagged stumps he used to call wings, bloodied and irritated by large needles that were skewered into the exposed muscle around the stumps.
She licked her lips and attached a chained cement block to the pony’s forelegs, wrapping it tight up the left and down the right, contorting the limbs until a sickening crack was heard, and the hanging pony bit down hard on the bit in his mouth, breaking a tooth off and bringing a fresh shade of red to his already stained iron coat.
The room was dark save for a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. It glowed dimly with grime and dust, colouring the room a dull shade of gray. It wasn’t the kind of room that one would find above ground, unless it was in the house of an extremely unkempt pony. It was more of a twelve-foot square basement, in all honesty. But a very dark and barren basement.
Inside the room was a slightly heavy cream-coloured pegasus with a pumpkin-coloured mane, pacing back and forth in front of a medium-sized plywood table. Each pass she glanced at the table.
She grinned devilishly, bloodstained knife in her hoof. The pony before her was not only tied to the plywood table through the middle and neck, but 8 individual nails were hammered into each leg at each joint. She didn’t want her prey to move. But she loved hearing their screams.
“Let’s see how you tick, my lovely.” the voice was smooth as silk; angelic but with demonic undertones. She placed her muzzle close to her prey’s own, the fear in the pony’s eyes elating her as she traced the blade of the bloody knife gently down the pony’s body. With a sudden twitch the blade entered her prey’s chest, sliding down lengthwise to where the pony’s stomach would lay. Her prey screamed in anguish as she cackled…
--
Angel Cake woke up in a cold sweat, flailing, until she fell off her bed and onto the floor with a dull thud. She’d met her floor before when she first moved in, but she was really getting to know it during the nights she had those dreams. Those… nightmares, she figured.
“They were only nightmares…” She reassured herself as she sighed shakily. But they felt real… the butterflies in her stomach could tell her that much. The pegasus in her dreams looked like her, sounded like her, even had the same cutie mark; half a heart with a stylized wing for the other half, a demon’s tail at the base of the heart and an angel’s halo at the top. She saw through the pegasus’ eyes, felt her thoughts…
She decided to head to the bathroom to splash her face with water.
The trek to the bathroom seemed like a long one, Angel Cake was in deep thought. She gazed upwards at the clock on the wall in her room; 3:30 AM. She had no one to talk to at a time like that. Sunny Skies and Rainy Day were in Canterlot and she never knew where Derpy was. Everypony else was asleep. Everypony but the chubby cream-coloured pegasus with a pumpkin-coloured mane.
After splashing her face with cold water to shake herself out of her reverie, Angel Cake stared at her reflection in the mirror. She had dark circles under her normally bright eyes, her coat duller than normal as well. She sighed again and turned the faucet off, heading back to her bedroom slowly. She was exhausted.
“Maybe… maybe a walk could help…”
--
The bare bulb was lit again; the cream-coloured pegasus was stained with the sweet red of her guests who perished on the table.
And in front of her was a new guest. She eyed the new pony above the table: a rope tied tightly enough on his muzzle that the skin beneath was raw and bleeding. A bit was clenched in his teeth and the reigns wrapped behind and tied, giving him an eerie grin with the corners of his mouth slowly tearing. His eyes did not show fear as much as pain and anger, moist and trailed tears on his face. Down his back were rusted hooks sharpened to a point, a taut chain pulling the hooks and keeping the pony still for if he even so attempted movement he would be in tremendous pain. The chains were fastened to the ceiling of the basement so all he could do was hang by the skin punctured by the hooks. Off his shoulder blades were jagged stumps he used to call wings, bloodied and irritated by large needles that were skewered into the exposed muscle around the stumps.
She licked her lips and attached a chained cement block to the pony’s forelegs, wrapping it tight up the left and down the right, contorting the limbs until a sickening crack was heard, and the hanging pony bit down hard on the bit in his mouth, breaking a tooth off and bringing a fresh shade of red to his already stained iron coat.