Thus far, this page has served as a starting point, a genesis if you will, for the tale of Duskfall. However, as you may recall, the lands of Equestria are vast, and the tales within equally numerous.
Each Monday, I shall offer one such story, crafted to suit both our modern tempo and the brief flickers of attention we can spare. After all, what good is horror if nopony reads it? I call this experiment "Microfic Monday". You are most welcome to join, should you wish. I am most eager to see your work.
Good evening.
Tonight, I invite you to Sweet Apple Acresâthat bastion of wholesome family values and honest work. You know the place, I'm sure. Rolling apple orchards, creaking barns, and the steady comfort of routine.
But I wonder... when was the last time you *really* looked at your reflection? Not the cursory glance we give ourselves each morning, but a proper examination. The eyes, you see, are windows to the soulâand sometimes, dear reader, they reveal far more than we bargained for.
Our tale concerns itself with such revelations. With family bonds that perhaps... bind a little too tightly. With the curious ways that love can transform into something altogether more primitive. More *infectious*, if you will.
So settle in, won't you? The barn door is closing behind us now, and I'm afraid there's nowhere else to go.
---
Title: "Family Ties"
Applejack stumbled into the bathroom, sleep clinging to her hide like orchard dust.
She hadnât meant to look. Sheâd been avoiding her reflection for days.
The mirror didn't care. It never did.
A glint of pink shimmered in her eye as she passed. She froze. Turned back. Squinted.
A faint ringâpink, maybe magentaâencircled her iris, a stark contrast to the green surrounding.
It didnât go away. She swallowed hard, blinking at the sight. She gazed at herself from different angles, tilting her head every which way. Still there.
âStill me,â she muttered. But the voice that came out was breathier. Huskier. Wrong. She shook her head, as if to clear the doubts buzzing around her mind.
Applejack drifted to the kitchen, flashing a polite smile at her familyâthey grinned back, too-wide smiles accented by the same pink hue. She'd seen it weeks ago. She'd ignored it. They were family. Now, their gazes lingered a beat too long, especially Big Macintosh's. She couldn't quite meet his eyes, not anymore. He tracked her as she crossed the room.
She stepped out into the predawn stillness, hooves crunching faintly on gravel as she crossed the field. The air was thick with the scent of apples and something elseâsomething damp and sweet that clung to the leaves like dew.
She told herself she needed fresh air.
She told herself a lot of things lately.
The barn loomed ahead, cast in pale blue by the rising moon. She slipped inside and shut the door behind her, letting the silence settle like dust. Her breath came slower here. Measured.
Behind her, the door creaked again.
She didnât have to look.
His hoofsteps were quietâtoo quiet for somepony his size. She felt him before she heard him. A warmth at her flank. A shadow at her back.
When his side brushed against hers, she stiffened.
It wasnât much. Just a shift in step. Just enough to make contact.
But it lingered.
Her muscles tensed. She didnât move. Didnât speak.
Big Macintosh stopped beside her, close enough to share a heartbeat. His breath was steady. Slow.
He didnât say a word.
Neither did she.
Outside, a nightjar called. The barn creaked in reply.
She swallowed.
"Still me,â she whispered again, but it was quieter this time. She wasnât sure who she was trying to convince.
Thus far, this page has served as a starting point, a genesis if you will, for the tale of Duskfall. However, as you may recall, the lands of Equestria are vast, and the tales within equally numerous.
Each Monday, I shall offer one such story, crafted to suit both our modern tempo and the brief flickers of attention we can spare. After all, what good is horror if nopony reads it? I call this experiment "Microfic Monday". You are most welcome to join, should you wish. I am most eager to see your work.
Good evening.
Tonight, I invite you to Sweet Apple Acresâthat bastion of wholesome family values and honest work. You know the place, I'm sure. Rolling apple orchards, creaking barns, and the steady comfort of routine.
But I wonder... when was the last time you *really* looked at your reflection? Not the cursory glance we give ourselves each morning, but a proper examination. The eyes, you see, are windows to the soulâand sometimes, dear reader, they reveal far more than we bargained for.
Our tale concerns itself with such revelations. With family bonds that perhaps... bind a little too tightly. With the curious ways that love can transform into something altogether more primitive. More *infectious*, if you will.
So settle in, won't you? The barn door is closing behind us now, and I'm afraid there's nowhere else to go.
---
Title: "Family Ties"
Applejack stumbled into the bathroom, sleep clinging to her hide like orchard dust.
She hadnât meant to look. Sheâd been avoiding her reflection for days.
The mirror didn't care. It never did.
A glint of pink shimmered in her eye as she passed. She froze. Turned back. Squinted.
A faint ringâpink, maybe magentaâencircled her iris, a stark contrast to the green surrounding.
It didnât go away. She swallowed hard, blinking at the sight. She gazed at herself from different angles, tilting her head every which way. Still there.
âStill me,â she muttered. But the voice that came out was breathier. Huskier. Wrong. She shook her head, as if to clear the doubts buzzing around her mind.
Applejack drifted to the kitchen, flashing a polite smile at her familyâthey grinned back, too-wide smiles accented by the same pink hue. She'd seen it weeks ago. She'd ignored it. They were family. Now, their gazes lingered a beat too long, especially Big Macintosh's. She couldn't quite meet his eyes, not anymore. He tracked her as she crossed the room.
She stepped out into the predawn stillness, hooves crunching faintly on gravel as she crossed the field. The air was thick with the scent of apples and something elseâsomething damp and sweet that clung to the leaves like dew.
She told herself she needed fresh air.
She told herself a lot of things lately.
The barn loomed ahead, cast in pale blue by the rising moon. She slipped inside and shut the door behind her, letting the silence settle like dust. Her breath came slower here. Measured.
Behind her, the door creaked again.
She didnât have to look.
His hoofsteps were quietâtoo quiet for somepony his size. She felt him before she heard him. A warmth at her flank. A shadow at her back.
When his side brushed against hers, she stiffened.
It wasnât much. Just a shift in step. Just enough to make contact.
But it lingered.
Her muscles tensed. She didnât move. Didnât speak.
Big Macintosh stopped beside her, close enough to share a heartbeat. His breath was steady. Slow.
He didnât say a word.
Neither did she.
Outside, a nightjar called. The barn creaked in reply.
She swallowed.
"Still me,â she whispered again, but it was quieter this time. She wasnât sure who she was trying to convince.
dusk fall! i'm intrigued by how you learned to be so good at crystallomancy to the point where it is your special talent; who was your mentor? is there a school for such a thing? in the crystal empire, perhaps?
âI was born in Garnet Deepâa major gem-mining settlement in northern Equestria.â
Duskfall taps a nearby map, levitated into view.
âNot exactly a place that screams âmagic!â, unfortunately.â
He trots over to a bookshelf, laden with tomes and scrollsâsome dusty, some well-wornâand gestures to it.
âI'm mostly self-taught. Hollow Glen Orphanage didnât have much in the way of bits, so I learned to make do with what I had⊠and acquire the rest. Even if the methods were, at times, regrettable.â
The periwinkle unicorn sighs, offering a tired smirk before continuing.
âI did a brief stint at the School of Friendship, before returning to the orphanage. Chancellor Neighsay didnât take kindly to my more... innovative methods of spellcraft.â
A pause.
âFrequent trips to the restricted sections may have also had something to do with it.â
âAfter the Two Sistersâ Tournament, I was invited to be a student-fellow at the School for Gifted Unicorns. More refinement than learning, admittedly.â
Duskfall, what is the meaning behind your cutiemark?
Duskfall pauses in his work, tilting his head thoughtfully before craning his neck to gaze at the mark on his flank.
âItâs two crystalsâone indigo, one amethystâarranged in a star formation, with swirling contrails in the same colors behind them. It looks like a falling, crystal star.â
He turns to look at you, amethyst eyes glimmering with something close to pride.
âIt represents my skill in crystallomancy, the union of light and dark into something stable. Andâat least in my viewâthe kind of brilliance that leaves an undeniable impact. Like a meteor strike.â
Duskfall lifts the banana, suspending it midair with a swirl of indigo energy. He furrows his brow, inspects it like a cursed artifact, and floats it over to a dull gray bin, labeled 'Biological Oddities, Class II.'
Welcome to the page of Duskfall â unicorn, artificer, and walker of the threshold between the known and the unknown.
As Carl Jung once wrote: âOne does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.â
So let us step into that darkness, and pray the light of dawn still finds us.
Within these pages lie tales that tantalize, horrors that ache in the soul, and themes that linger long after the final sentence.
I trust everypony will find the experience worthwhile. But a word of caution: the subject matter explored here is not for the faint of heart. You may come face to face â flank to flank, if you will â with stories, depictions, and lore that skirt the edge of the taboo.
Consider yourselves informed.
To begin, here is a visual reference of Duskfall â to sate any curiosity about the stallion behind the name. This particular piece was drawn by mycandybun on Furaffinity.
