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Original Description:
Bad Mane Day.
Spooktober is rolling in, So let’s get Spooky.
And what could be spookier than gasp A Bad Mane Day!
(note: First picture im releasing where I’ve made use of edditing software for someting other then background. Counting liberate use of brushes to make something resembling the effect of steam – and the Smudge tool was really useful when making the ‘wet surface’ distortions in the mirror.)
A picture says more the an thousand words: whats this story:
Original Description:
Bad Mane Day.
Spooktober is rolling in, So let’s get Spooky.
And what could be spookier than gasp A Bad Mane Day!
(note: First picture im releasing where I’ve made use of edditing software for someting other then background. Counting liberate use of brushes to make something resembling the effect of steam – and the Smudge tool was really useful when making the ‘wet surface’ distortions in the mirror.)
A picture says more the an thousand words: whats this story:
- The heat from the sike rose as Flurry turned the tap to full. Attempting to wash away the smudged mascara from her face.
The hummid steam filled the bathroom as she scrubbed her face, to no avail. The smudged eyeliner fell like drops of tar onto the sink, and still more inky darkness would flow from her eyes. The hot water and the humid temperature only causing the heavy eyeliner to become even more runny.
It truly was like she was crying tears blask as ink. Her Emo side might have appreciated the goth style of that, had it not been for how ugly she felt. And not the good kind of ugly. Not the I-dont-Give-A-Shit-What-you-Say-Mom kind of ugly.
She was a disaster brought on by fashion. A train wreck hours in the making. Hours, she had been standing there. On that podium. While the mane-stylists and dressmakers tore into her like rabbi wolves. Grabbing and pulling. Grooming, bruching, stroking. Stinging her with needles and Tugging her mane. Tugging like there were trying to yank weed from the lawn. Untill her scapl was sore from where she was sure those so called mane-stylists had tried to draw blood.
She had endured it all. The humiliation, the endless glares and neers and silent judgement.
All for the sake of her mother. That pompous prestigious, petty, princess HORSE of a Queen that reigned over this Frozen north. That Tyrant of live that constantly tried to shipp her off with every stallion under her aunt Celestias yellow sun!
She had endured it all just to make her mother finally shut up.
Flurry sucked in another breath.
Perhaps it was just in her nature. Her mother was the Alicorn of love after all. And to that end, she would stop at nothing untill she had made her daughter the prettiest princess in all the land.
Neigh – The world.
She had just wanted to shut her mother up. And so she had finally given in to her mothers constant nagging.
And while the dress had turned ot ok. Frilly whip-cream frills and all. Her mane had not. Mother had taken this opertunity to turn her daughter into the very model of beauty. An as such would not be satisfied with simple styles. Every time flurry thought they might be done there was a new adittion to be made, someting thet could be improved, someting that could be even better.
And so they tore her mane apart, and stiched it back together again. Trying to achieve some kind of magnum opus that Her mother envisioned from her youth. So advenced was aparently this mane style, that the smalest hair out of place wild spill disaster.
And disaster hed been spilled. When flurry finally demanded to see a mirror, and to se that this was what hours of work haw wrought, she had finally lost it. She stormed of the podium, using her massive wings to cover herself as she ran away crying.
She had just wanted her mother to shut up … And this was all she had to show for it.
That she Dared - That she even Dared to call Flurry out for ruining her mane – And then this was how Flurry was rewarded when she let mom and her fashion goons have their way with her.
Starburst Was gonna have a field day …
No. She could not show herself, even to her best friend. Not like this.
Flurry looked up. And saw the steam from the sink had caused the mirror to become heavy with vapor.
Flurry turned down the tap. And as she steam from the sink disipitated she looked upp to find the words, written in the vapor.
Just Three little Words.
Beside her. The writer was leering down at her. The demon had emerged from the steam like a villian from the night. She was stanging on the other side of the mirror immage. Her boney claws continuing to write on the glass as she leaned over Flurrys mirror immage.
Flurry felt the weight of the madalion around her neck. The piece of gothic jewelry she had insisted on wearing beneath her dress. One of the conditions for alowing her mother to turn her into a showcase. (the others being her eyeliner – just to give those snobby make up artists someting to cry about.)
To others, it was merely a piece of tacky jewlery. To her, it was conection with forces beyond. The piece she had used to establish a connection with the demon.
Though the Sermon circle they had first used was long ago whiped away. A thin conection remained. Thin enough it could only manifest itself in the mirror.
Thin enough it had wo write words in the mist like a ghost. For the power of sound of speech was beyond it.
Flurry did not bother to whipe the words from the mirror. She was sure they weren’t really there. Just like the demon, they only existed in her eyes. In her mind.
Flurry pulled out the neclasse from her dress and looked at it. Eyes darting between it and the demon in the mirror. She knew that if she threw it away. The conection would be broken. She could rid herself of one nagging nuisance.
But doing so would do nothing about the other bigger nuisance.
The demon had offered flurry things. Opertunities for revenge. Offered her an escape from this hell. Offered her power and other things. …
And Flurry knew that the best, safest course of action was to throw the necklace away and never speak of this again.
But it was fun. Fun to have a demon in her mirror. It was like having an imaginary friend. Somewhere to vent all her frustration when starburst was not avaiable. And it was HERS! Someting dangerous. Rebellious. Someting that mother did not know of, or would never aprove of.
Her mother … She might have left Flurry alone for now. But she would be back. She had crossed a line today. A line that made Flurry seriously weight the demons words. No matter the dangers she knew it posed. Her rebellious teenage heart demanded vengence. And her fury and sorrow was only feeding the demons desires.
And the worst of it all – she knew this wasn’t the end… that ice queen of a mother would only come again. And again … Flurry knew it. And the demon knew it.
Flurry sucked in another breath as one more black, inky tear fell and landed with a sploch on theemerald encrusted basin.
”I tried mom…. I really tried.”
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