THE END
With her head finally in a comfortable position, she felt the exhaustion of the hard day’s work overtaking her. She closed her eyes and yawned deeply. She fell asleep almost immediately, the luxorious warmth of her bed melting into a sea of dreams.
She drifted into the dreamworld, faint visions and emotions flashing past her without much shape or form. It was a chaotic mix of unrelated memories and thoughts as dreams often are, a patchwork dream conjured up by the sleeping brain, not to be remembered in the morning.
As Rarity moved deeper into the world of dreams, however, the visions changed. They became more organized, more vivid and less random. They moved slowly through her subconscious, gradually arranging themselves into something more coherent.
As the dream became clearer and clearer, Rarity found herself in a desolate, grey landscape. An iron grey sky extended above a land of rocky hills, scarce black grass and dead, stunted trees. Cold wind whined eerily between the rocks, and the grass swayed in the breeze like long, thin grasping claws.
An old, barely visible footpath cut through the land. Confused and curious, Rarity followed it. The path went steadily downhill through several valleys, each more desolate than the last. After walking the path for a long time, she finally reached the shore of a vast dark sea. Ominous black waves noisily battered the rocks on the beach, and a sickening smell of sulphur and rotting fish hung in the air.
On a rock near the water was a strange cross-like object, and Rarity climbed over the slippery boulders to it. When she reached it, she realized it was an old, worn sword stuck into the solid rock. She tried it with her magic, and much to her surprise she pulled it out easily, like the rock was made of butter.
A split second later, the earth shook violently and she remembered.
The dead rocky land was a place she returned to every night and forgot about every morning, for the madness that lurked here was not for her waking self to know. It was a dark place, the deepest pit of her soul where the most personal demons lurked, the demons whose existence she hid even from herself. Only through the veil of sleep could she face them.
The earth shook again, and the ocean began to boil like some hellish soup in a witch’s cauldron.
“Face me then, fiend!” Rarity hissed through gritted teeth, her voice dripping with a bitter hatred. She pointed the sword’s blade at the thrashing sea.
The waves parted, and from the black depths emerged a crab of monstrous proportions. It waved its giant, razor sharp pincers at Rarity, and with a deafening, guttural roar it charged at her.
“COME ON, YOU CRUSTACEAN SCUM!” Rarity shrieked and steeled herself for battle.
i don’t even know
