Miss Dream
It had been her gift, her power, a death of a different kind. In the fall of the rain, she shifted her weight from foot to foot, worn out canvas shoes letting the damp in from the grass beneath her, the awning above heavy with the weight of water, dripping slowly onto her head. It would have taken little effort to move, but that would have been a choice, and every choice she made resulted in harm, if not for her then those around her.
The four new girls had seemed nice, she had wished them no ill, yet Zirconia had commanded her to tamper with their memories, and the older woman's will was absolute in this matter, being her guarantor, the only person who would have taken her in when she had been found amnesiac and useless.
It was a simple thing, a small gesture to reach into their heads, their hearts, to cloud those beautiful dreams that drove them in shadow, and wrap them away. This was for the good of their cause, she had been told; once Zirconia had harnessed the powers of the Pegasus, then all would be revealed, and perhaps she would know again who once she had been.
Maybe she had always been the rival of these four girls, and maybe she had always shared enmity with their friend also, the one that had accompanied them, carefree and smiling despite her lot, a girl whose talents lay not with the kind of acrobatics the circus specialised in.
Or maybe, she thought watching the fall of the rain, they were all simpletons.
In the absence of memory, she had taken to introducing herself as Miss Dream, for dreams were all Zirconia seemed to value, and she so, so wished to be valued, even if it was by someone such as the hunched crone who presided over the Dead Moon Circus.
In the distance, she saw the song and dance of Zirconia's stooges, the trio tasked with drawing in her audience, with hounding any who might possess dreams in which the Pegasus might dwell. Likewise, simpletons, she thought, watching their extravagant movements in the rain, careful to remain at a distance, out of sight, for fear that they might see her and be forced to visit cruelty upon her which she could not have defended against.
No, that wasn't right, she could have defended against them, whoever she truly was, she did not lack strength, but to do so would be to anger Zirconia, and to anger Zirconia would be to demonstrate disrespect for the one person who had showed her any sort of compassion, small as that was.
It had been her gift, her power, she thought once again, and at the back of her mind, there came the suggestion that perhaps if her strength lay only in such death-like gifts, she might not wish to know who once she had truly been.
The rain continued to fall, and about her, none now dreamt of the future—none but Zirconia.