Prompt:
>Sanguine Stagnation
>Likes to cut herself, lots of little scars across her forelegs
>Very skinny
>Tried to summon a succubus for sex but is an earth pony so it just made her apartment smell like sulfur for months
>Likes to order creepy and "haunted" dolls from mail order catalogs
>Believes in ghosts
>Believes in skinwalkers
>Schizoaffective, but not to the point where she's entirely dysfunctional, just mostly
>Has tried to kill herself before but some sort of entity stopped her from going through with it, stating that she was needed for a ritual involving the end of the world. She's still unsure if this was real or a hallucination

Story 1:
>The little men in the wall brought you some things today, it's the highlight of your week when it happens
>Your father says that your foodstuffs, toiletries [spoiler]and medication of course[/spoiler] are delivered by a grocer service, but you've seen them come out of the walls
>In any case, the basket has a note on it
>"Happy birthday my dearest Sanguine, I wish that I could share it with you but I'm afraid there has been a business emergency. Please enjoy this 12000 moon aged marelot, and please don't drink it alone"
>Not gonna happen, sorry dad
>Next time make it to your place for celebrations and you can discuss it
>Abbadon... how old even are you now?
>After it registers that this is a birthday package, your mood improves just a bit
>You dug through the assorted processed hay products, dried flowers, soaps, and shampoos; discarding them in a pile beside you
>Eventually, you reach the bottom where your prize awaits
>Well, two prizes
>There's the promised marelot, and an ornately packaged box
>You grab it with eager hooves and unwrap it with the care one might unwrap a bag that contains a pastry
>You recognize it immediately and look at it in wonder
>"A.. Dybbuk box?"
>Hm, so in essence the box was the present
>Surely your father doesn't know what this actually is and just knows it's expensive, which of course it is
>Nothing yiddish ever comes cheap, first lesson of business
>It'd be dangerous to have around for certain if you had a roommate
>Luckily you're well-educated in such things and know it isn't to be trifled with
>You carefully set it up on the shelf next to some of your more expensive dolls that were claimed to be haunted
>You keep the ones that can have interesting properties near you at night, all the ones on your shelves are little more than paperweights that guests find unsettling
>You wonder if your father even really had business to attend to this year, or if he simply didn't wish to see your domicile or appearance
>You were always expected to take over his business when he was gone
>Promising grades throughout school, decent social life
>Things turned for the...
>Things started down the intended path for you when you became marked.
>Acquired after a dare to spend the night in a haunted house was completed with zero fanfare
>Your father...
>You focus on the wine
>It's getting late, might as well
>It has calories in it after all, you've heard
>You know you're supposed to get a certain amount of those per day, you usually don't
>You uncork the wine with your teeth, you know with something fancy like this you're supposed to swish it around, sniff it, smell it, etc.
>You just tilt it upwards and let gravity do the rest
>You can only take a bit before coughing and sputtering a bit, you manage to avoid spilling too much of it on the carpet but what does avoid spillage from your mouth is deposited directly back into the bottle
>Well, out the window goes any pretense of sharing it you suppose
>You set it on the floor and go grab one of your softer dolls, the one with the plush skin over the porcelain
>You look at her as you wait for the buzz to kick in
"What's going to happen to me, Sunflower?"
>"I think you're going to die."
"That would be a happy birthday indeed."
>You let out a giggle and hug her, about as hard as you dare lest you crack her skeleton
>She's your favorite, after all
>You set her down on the table and take another swig, maybe tonight really is the night it's all going to be over
>It's almost poetic, a near perfect loop from birth to grave
>You hum a little tune and retrieve your blades while you're still sober enough to
>You set them out on the table before Sunflower and then take another generous swig
"What's it they say in school? 'Across the stream for repaired seam, down the river family quivers?'"
>"That'd be about right"
>She has the cutest voice, almost like a school age filly
"Alright, let me just finish this and then I'll start"
>You're feeling a bit queasy already, but the alcohol doesn't scare you
>You've never liked being alive much anyways, and considering your significant mental trauma as long as you give yourself a death in anguish there's a good chance you'll return as a vengeful spirit
>Though you don't particularly intend to avenge anything, just have a comfortable afterlife free of judgement and pain
>But...
>For that to work, a great deal of pain is ironically first in order
>You retrieve the serrated knife from your kit
>You've used it once, when you were doing wood-burning and needed to shave off a bit of a plank to work on
>Taking it in your mouth, you set down a forehoof on the dark red translucent table that Sunflower is sitting on
"I'm sorry my friend, but I'm afraid you're in the splash zone."
>You drive the leading edge of the serration in, dig in with as many teeth as you can muster, and pull directly along what you believe is a vein or artery
>The blood begins to immediately gush, soaking you and your surroundings with warmth
>You know you're going to be getting colder soon, something about thermodynamics...
>You stare at the fountain for what must be a good minute before you remember that you can get this over with quicker if you also drive it in the other forehoof
>So you take the knife between your teeth once more and split it open like a baked potato, all the way down to the bone almost
"That's the spice"
>Sunflower isn't there
>You look behind you to see that she's scaling your shelves
>You...
>You haven't seen her move before
>Could be the cut
>Could be the booze
>Could be the fact that you flush your meds down the toilet half the time
>She reaches the Dybbuk box
"Eh?"
>Well, worst it can do is give you a painful death
>You lay back and watch the two tumble to earth, Sunflower's fragile skeleton shattering on impact
>Oh...
>You liked her, you really did. Such a pretty white mane and dark blue eyes
>That sucks
>The box has been opened and is letting out a hissing sound
>"Sanguine."
"That's only half the name, you forgot the last bit"
>"That isn't your true name, only your birth name."
"Funny they named me that with such high hopes, huh?"
>"Your family matters little in this. It is only you and the great forces from beyond. You are not yet permitted to die."
>You laugh, the ridiculousness of the situation is catching up to you
"What are you going to do? Get me a blood transfusion and a team of medics? As a jewish ghost?"
>"I was trapped here by a conniving... the details are not important. I am not what you think I am, and am far more powerful."
"Prove it, then. I've seen a lot of spirits and you're mostly all full of it, the one that knew how to trip breakers was the last one that freaked me out a bit"
>"Very well. We will see each other again soon, Sanguine Stagnation. You will help me bring this world to its knees."
>You can't even put your hoof on what a knee is, maybe you should've paid more attention in biology
>You blink
>It's morning
>The wine bottle is full again, but your box is still unpacked
>You find Sunflower in her spot
>So it was all a dream, then.
>Lame.
>You start making some breakfast, eggs and a bowl of oats with brown sugar
>You don't think you can stomach another real attempt for a while, you'll do a few small cuts for release tonight before bed to make things feel a bit more bearable
>You carry your dishes into the living space and nearly drop them
>The Dybbuk box is on the floor in the same spot it was in the dream
>and its doors are wide open
Story 2:
>You've placed a bunch of wards around the apartment, hopefully it's enough
>You're still not sure if what you saw was real
>The box was closed immediately after you observed it open, even though you're well aware it would serve no purpose
>But it induces slightly less severe anxious feelings to look upon it resealed than otherwise
>You let out a deep sigh and put down one of your favorite blades, a little royal guard utility knife, its blade coated in fresh wet life
>You habitually produce a small bandage and apply it with a small amount of healing salve
>You always feel a little bit clearer after you cut, like you aren't an alien dropped on this plane with no home or connections
>You wipe the knife on your coat from edge to spine, leaving your coat essentially indistinguishable from before but cleaning the implement almost entirely of any sort of act
>You... need to go do something
>You pause and think on it
>Of course
>If you venture into the forests and collect some witchhazel, you'll be able to strengthen your wards and feel safer
>There's a pop-up tent in the closet, a relic from your university days out in Canterlot
>Back when you were trying so hard to be normal, though you're a mess it's still comfortable to not have to pretend
>It's already getting late, but that doesn't stop you from retrieving the pack and stuffing the tent, fly, and poles into it
>You pack raw hay, no sense in being fancy and you're already disgusting in the mirror
>Small pockets of fat hang off of your clean bones, you wish you could be perfect
>Skinny just like the mares in the magazines that model those pretty swimsuits
>You get out of breath quickly, after all it's been about a day since you've had a meal
>But you push on, you know a trail where you can find witchhazel
>The trail winds deep into the woods northwest of Ponyville, your "home"
>Large mountains poke out through the various clearings and meadows you're afforded views of as you go, you manage to just catch a glimpse of Celestia's grace peaking over a shear mountaintop before vanishing completely to Luna's excellence
>There's love and appreciation for both of them in you, your duotone mane and eyes both in part sunlit yellow, representing the sun
>and the other, more significant part of your mane in violet-
>There's a crunch behind you
>You stop and turn your head around
>There's a young bear behind you, watching you with dubious eyes
>You notice that one of its legs was caught in a trap, it somehow managed to pry it free but there's matted fur and plenty of gore there
>You laugh internally
>A unicorn could pick up a stick and swat it away
>A pegasus could fly out of its reach
>And a physically fit earth mare could easily outrun it
>But you...
>Don't want to be held down and eaten alive by a wounded scavenger
>You bolt, following the path of the trail
>Initially you make good progress, but your muscles are underdeveloped and you've eaten almost nothing today, so fairly soon you're relying on pure adrenaline to keep up the pace
>A quick glance back confirms your efforts are not misguided, the bear is chasing you, and its expression is now clear
>Hunger, somehow you didn't notice it before but it's almost as thin as you are
>The difference is that there are still coils of muscle over its bones
>You're indifferent to death of course, but this is such an unpleasant fate that you carry on, pushing yourself to your absolute limit
>Rivulets of sweat run down you even in the cold winter night air
>It's gaining on you
>Shit, this isn't going to work
>You clumsily fiddle with your pack, you brought a small pocket knife for cutting, as you always do when you're forced to go somewhere
>If it doesn't work, oh well
>You scream loudly and stop before charging the thing with the knife in your mouth
>It seems bewildered for a second, not expecting prey to run right at it
>What is prey, stupid?
>Maybe.
>You use the moment of shock to drive the knife into its eye
>It swats at you, cutting your side down to the pelvis but luckily avoiding anything important
>It's not that deep for you from skin to bone anyways
>You don't move due to shock
>It apparently takes this as an intimidation tactic, because it scampers off into the underbrush
>Fuck, that was your favorite knife...
>Oh, right, you're bleeding
>Hopefully he won't come back for you now
>You sit down to rest for a second and laugh aloud at the irony of the situation
>Right before you is a generous shrub of witchhazel
>You planned on having the knife to remove what you needed from it, you feel a bit bad just crunching off bits of it with your teeth but you do need this if you're to continue living with the spirit from that box
>You're feeling a bit light-headed, but you manage to get just enough
>Can you make it back to Ponyville?
>Guess it's time to find out
>You're careful now, checking your surroundings for predators as blood slowly drips down onto the ground as you go
>If you could walk on two legs this wouldn't be such a problem
>But you like being like this, if it kills you
>You were glad to be born a pony, even if it was terrible
>Your vision is getting spotty
>You feel like you're still so far
>You're fading in and out
>Meadow
>Trail
>Stream
>Meadow
>Rock outcropping
>Hunter's outpost
>Empty
>Trail
>Trailhead
>You can't physically will yourself to move anymore, this is where you die
>There can't be much blood left in you, you're so lightheaded but there's no sharp pain
>Just a heavy, dull throbbing in your side
>You almost sigh in relief
>This is the kind of death you can get behind
>No teeth, no mauling
>Just a pleasant view of nature bathed in moonlight while the soil beneath you slowly turns red
>Oh yeah, you should probably start putting some compression on that now just in case somepony comes
>You try, but you can't will your closest forehoof well enough to do so
>What a life
>Yeah, you know it now
>Why is it that you only don't have trouble sleeping
>When you're drunk or dying?
' ' '
>Muffled screams and words perforate your dreams
>A mare's voice, panicked and screaming
>Picked up
>Fresh air on your face
>Another mare, slightly more composed but still panicked
>Cold
' ' '
>"Can I stay here with her until she wakes up?"
"Are you family?"
>"No, but I'm not sure she has any"
>"After tonight you'll need to obey visitation hours. No exceptions"
"Thank you"
>The door closes, your head pounds like you've got one hell of a hangover
>You slowly open up your eyes
>A white pegasus is in front of you, reading a book
>Golden mane
>She's Heavenly, from that old book with the serpent and the bleeding rock
>The title is...
>Your eyes can't focus well enough to make it out, and then you're out again
>When you wake up, she's gone and it's just you alone
>Three full blood transfusion bags lie empty on the table before you
>You're hooked up, one forehoof to an IV drip and another to something else
>Probably a painkiller
>You hope the nutrient drip doesn't mess up your diet, cheat days are for losers
>A nurse walks in and is startled to see you awake
>You stare at her and just kind of nods
>"I'm supposed to brief you on what happened, you were saved by-"
"An angel."
>"No, her name is Shuttering Heights. She's very worried about you and she'll likely be back in a few hours as soon as visitations open"
>You look down at your hooves
>"You're Sanguine, aren't you? The daughter of Major?"
"Y-yeah..."
>"He's coming to see you later"
>Your stomach drops through the floor
>First the angel, and now something even less likely
>Your father