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>Nightmare Moon returns.
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>You quickly realise she's got the same sensibilities as a person living in Victorian England.
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>That is, a drop of blood is the foulest and most unholy scene.
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>A spider scurrying up the wall is enough to inflict the vapours.
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>A mare walking around with her tail dock uncovered is a scandalous harlot.
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>You take her on a date, or she takes you, it's hard to tell.
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>She's still trying to scare you and everyone nearby with the sorts of things that scared everyone back in her day.
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>Your soup arrives.
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>A novelty rubber eyeball is floating around in it.
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>She throws her head back and shrieks with laughter at your misfortune, even as you pluck the eyeball out and carry on eating your soup.
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>A waitress emerges with food for another table.
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>She lifts the silver platter to reveal what's underneath, but Nightmare Moon has replaced the tomato dip with... tomato dip, only she makes spooky noises at the other table and shouts "Tis a vase of crimson ichor! Of blood!" followed by further laughter.
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>You're on a hilltop watching the stars.
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>She shuffles next to you and passes you a wrapped box with a bow on it.
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>"A gift, for the gentlecolt."
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>Inside is a big plastic spider with googly eyes and a smile.
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>She takes flight, laughing maniacally at the confusion on your face as she rises into the air.
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>"Fool! To think you could entertain me with a paltry affair such as this?! Now you shall know polymer horror the likes of which you have never experienced!"
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"I dunno, I had a good time. Can we meet up next weekend?"
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>"Oh, we shall meet. We shall meet, and you shall meet your doom! Your terror shall hound you for the rest of your life once you see what I have in store for you!"
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"Movie good with you? I wanna watch the new Steven Magnet flick."
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>"Is it a -scary- film?"
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"Not really."
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>"Then I shall -make- it scary! Prepare your delicate feelings for when next we meet, knave!"
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"Aight, see you later, babe."
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>"It is -I- that shall see -you-!"
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>Your shirt dematerialises off your body and reappears draped around her neck.
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>"Let us see how you fare against the fell chill of night without your precious clothes! How the mares will titter at your immodesty! How the stallions will judge you!"
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>She unleashes her most deranged laughter yet, then soars off towards the palace with your shirt, her mirth echoing into the distance.
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>You sigh as she goes.
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"God, I love her."
by Archiver-Writefag
by Archiver-Writefag
by Archiver-Writefag
by Archiver-Writefag