This is this fifth installment in the ‘Bonnie VS’ series. If you would like to start from the beginning, it is right here.
Art provided for this chapter was created by:
The absolutely astonishing @FluffyChimera
The beautifully brilliant @Julie
The confoundingly creative @TJfluffnsnuff
The devilishly delightful @lookabooboo
And me.
Bonnie awoke from a tiredness beyond death. Her body ached as if she had been pulled from the maw of entropy itself. She looked down and found her sore and aching hooves neatly washed and wrapped in medical bandages. She then looked around and found herself bewildered by the grey and old room that felt rather drafty. The building was ancient, it had smelled like many humans had called this place home. Large stone bricks made up the walls and a grey, cold floor was what they enclosed.
Bonnie turned and found her foals, her five angels, comfortably rested beside her. The runaway’s head laid back against the cheap fabric and let go. She was safe, her foals were safe, that was all that mattered.
CLACK
CLACK
CLACK
The sound of shoes drew closer from down the hall. They reminded Bonnie of her owner, Claire: the woman who’s family she ran from. For a moment she dared to think that a recompense was due, that the Armitage clan had found her and were gathering outside to strike her with belt buckle, fist, whip, and blade. She prayed to be wrong, she silently begged to be mistaken, and her prayer was answered.
The old oaken door slowly creaked open and from the hall stepped a young lady: soft of features, blue eyes and rounded at the face. Strands of curly blonde hair escape from under her black and white hood.
Bonnie closed her eyes and emulated the deepest of slumbers. She had no means of escape, no way to fight back, nothing but a childish game of possum to defend both herself and her children with.
“Poor creature.” the young nun said as she kneeled down and began softly petting Bonnie’s mane, to which she instinctively trembled. “How far you must have ran.” the sister noted as she began replacing the bandages around Bonnie’s hooves, “What could possess you to run so far?” she thought aloud.
The door creaked again and a smell wafted in that took Bonnie’s attention, as smell and sound were the only senses at Bonnie’s disposal for the time being, and so she made good use of them. It was a fluffy, but also not. The smell felt wrong, off, uncanny.
“Hewwo sistah Mabew” the pseudo fluffy said.
“And a pleasant morning to you too, sister Jezebel.” Mabel replied in a tone most kind.
Bonnie was confused, how could a human and a fluffy be sisters? This was nonsense, at least, that’s what Bonnie thought. Her mind quickly snapped back to reality as soon as Jezebel moved forward and attempted to carefully snatch up one of her foals.
“NU TOUCHIES BON-NEH BEBBEHS!” the runaway ordered as her eyes shot open and she cocked her hind leg to kick whoever was stupid enough to take her infant. Then she saw her.
“Oh, sowwies.” Jezebel said as she stepped backwards. She was massive, huge even. If Bonnie were comparable to a house cat, Jezebel was more akin to a labrador retriever. This mare was tall, with natural colours of white and warm brown amidst her coat, in patches similar to that of a true equine. Her mane was like curls of brass and mostly hidden by a veil, Identical to the one that her human ‘sister’ wore.
“NEBAH EBAH TOUCHIES BON-NEH CHIWPIE BEBBEHS!” the designer mare --turned stray-- then barked at the two.
“Dear, oh dear!” the young lady replied with genuine concern, “It appears that we have gotten off on a rather bad foot!” she fretted and sighed. “Let us first begin with names, shall we? I am sister Mabel and this is sister Jezebel.” she added, pointing to herself and then towards the very large mare. She then motioned for the gargantuan faux-fluffy to back away, to which she obeyed; and in doing so, setting Bonnie’s guard just a tad lower.
“Did fwuffy mawe com hewe tu seekies bestest sanc-chew-wawy?” the massive creature asked.
The lady could see that Bonnie didn’t understand the question, with the word possibly being beyond her humble lexicon. “She means: did you come here, looking for somewhere safe?” she explained.
“Y-yus…” was her reply, “Bon-neh hab fwend dat saysie dat thingie obew dewe meansie dat Bon-neh am pwotec’d fwom bad thingies.” she said, pointing to the crucifix upon the wall, mistaking it for a humble medical red cross. “Bon-neh wun way fwom wowstest munstah hoomin. Bad hoomin du su mush bad thingies an gib wowstest heawt huwties. Himb… Himb tayk Bon-neh bebbehs an… a-an..” she struggled, croaking as the image of her newborn’s snapped neck, her violated daughter and underfoot crushed son laid themselves bare and refreshed within her thoughts.
“Shhhh, it’s alright. You are under the care of this sisterhood, little one. Sanctuary has been granted for both you and your children, as you have claimed it.” Mabel assured softly.
“O-otay… dat gud… Bon-neh bebbehs am most speshew thingie in da wowwd… Nee keepies sayf, dat am wat Bon-neh wun way fow.” she explain, before slumping back down, still exhausted, still aching.
“Oh no, no-no-no, dear, you need to rest. You’ve only rested for a day. You need your strength. Jezebel will bring you food, water and clean your foals.” Mabel explained before excusing herself.
“Jezebew am gun wook afta yew, otay? Jus git sum sweepies… bestest sweepies.” The giant faux fluffy coo’d before stroking the designer mare’s bleach blonde mane.
Two more days went by and Bonnie could feel her legs and body strengthening again. Life was steadily returning, her hooves had begun scabbing over and she felt as if she had narrowly escaped the Armitage household. She looked to the corner of the room and found the large mare, bottle feeding one of her foals.
“Dis widdwe fewwa am such an cutie!” Jezebel giggled, “Wat am bebbeh namsies?” she asked.
Bonnie was dumbfounded. In all her fear and running, in all her anxiety and trauma, she had utterly neglected to name her young.
“uhhh… Bon-neh nu gib dem yet.” she admitted bashfully.
“weww, dat nu am gun du. Dey am gun nee namsies… Du mawe nee hewp wid dat?” she asked.
“nu, Bon-neh can du, jus… eeeEEE… gib Bon-neh an widdwe timsies tu git uppies ou ob bedsie.” she said, groaning as she sat up and took her first true steps as a free mare.
She tentatively and delicately laid her foals out, side by side in the basket and examined them.
Laid out before her were the five most important things in the entire universe. Each one was living proof that there is some goodness left in the miserable world of Bonnie Armitage, she gave a head count and lovingly checked each of them with a gentleness that only a mother could manage.
The first of her litter that stood out: The one that unfortunately reminded her so much of the stud that fathered the lot of them.
Like his patriarch, he too had a wavy mane of white, although more of a silver than the bleached platinum of Orian. Like the dreaded stallion, he also had a horn of shimmering silver and hooves to match. He seemed so timid, so fearful, so quiet. In many ways, Bonnie saw just as much of herself in his actions, as she saw his father in the colours.
Bonnie was lothed to admit, but this child gave her a sense of conniption. But she knew that these feelings were not the makings of a mother, as regardless of his similarities to the rapist that contributed to his inception, he was still but a child, he was not his father, and neither were his siblings.
Bonnie thought long and hard about happy names, happy words, happy memories. She recalled that when her mother used to come home in a state of absolute elated bliss, it was normally due to the fact that she had gone on what she called a ‘shopping spree’. Claire would come home with large bags full of vibrant and beautiful clothing, and as she showed them off for the young mare, she would proudly state that they had special names that made them so wonderful, names that always seemed to bring her joy, because they were ‘designer’. Bonnie distinctly remembered hearing that she was also ‘designer’, as was Orian, and so, possibly, her children deserved names just as fitting to their status.
“Yew am Awmani.” she whispered lovingly to the little colt, before giving him a soft lick on the cheek.
The next of her litter to get a name was the filly with an adorable rosé mane, short and choppy. She rested peacefully on her side, snoring lightly as a small trail of saliva dribbled down her cheek.
“Yew am gun be Chanew.” Bonnie coo’d before applying another little kiss.
Next to receive a name was another filly. Wide awake and already attempting to explore the basket, despite being a mere chirpy. Her mane was a beautiful and light brass-orange, curly as if two little puffballs had been glued to her head and rear.
The child was excitable, noted further as the miniscule knobs on her back fluttered with joy at all the unique smells, noises and physical sensations about her. She groped out with her golden hooves, a differential betwixt herself and the previously named lot.
“Hehehe. Yew am Gucci.” Bonnie giggled.
She then turned her attention to the plumpest of the quintet. A chubbier but optimistic little bundle of joy. He had a notable little pot belly, even for a foal, he happily suckled at his hoof and grinned as he rolled to his side with a wiggle of his fat little legs.
As he faced his mother, she noticed that his plump little cheeks were peppered lightly in golden freckles, not dissimilar in hue to the auralian colouration of his horn.
To Bonnie’s bewilderment his hooves were not uniform, as they carried with them the inheritance of both parents. The upper left hoof and bottom right were the guilded shade as seen on Bonnie’s very own legs, and the upper right and bottom left both bore the chromatic finish of the colt’s father. Truly, of the lot, he was the most unique, but in spite of such aesthetics, he was loved all the same, as he was Bonnie’s child, and Bonnie knew of no other method to distribute her love, than in equal shares.
“Hmmmm, Hugo!” she clapped softly before nuzzling into his belly.
Before she even had a moment to think, her last unnamed foal crawled forward and aggressively chirped in her direction. With the exception of his sex and wings, he was almost a perfect Bonnie in miniature: Golden mane, golden hooves, shimmering black coat; and yet, his attitude filled her with dread. his aggressive and demanding behavior reminded her far too much of his father.
“CHEEEP! CHI-CHI-CHI! PIPIPIPIPIPI! CHIRP!” exploded from his tiny mouth, like a wordless demand for milk and warmth, and potentially a name. It may have been that even in his extremely young state, the little colt had deduced what was taking place; although, that was more a theory on Bonnie’s behalf than anything.
“Shhhh, bebbeh, pweas stawp! Nu be wouwd.” Bonnie hushed, but the child was without care. He howled and roared with all the ferocity that a toothless, fuzzy, blind jellybean could muster.
“Oh, dat wun gun be a pwobwem.” Jezebel giggled, “Dat bebbeh gut da Deviw in himb.” she sighed.
“Nu am pwobwem!” Bonnie hissed, “Bebbeh jus nee mummah… Dat aww.” she concluded confidently, and then the crying came, but not from the unnamed screamer, but his silver maned brother.
The tantrum throwing foal put a hoof to his timid brother’s delicate side and another atop his pink haired sister’s face, and then pushed himself upwards. Not exactly standing, put with his siblings serving as a designated ramp, he appeared confident enough to continue his chirping tirade.
Armani peeped fearfully as the pressure on his side forced a fart, and Chanel simply continued to snore peacefully with nary a care.
“Huwwy an shud bebbeh uppies ow we gun aww git in twubew!” Jezebel warned.
Bonnie couldn’t help but notice the large mare shake slightly as her eyes darted to the old wooden door and to the hallways beyond it. She did not know as to why, but the fear was infectious.
“Tinkie, thinkie, thinkie…” Bonnie said as she rubbed the sides of her aching head. “Yew am… uh… Vewsachee?” she asked, begging the rowdy foal to accept the name.
He looked up, his cheeks puffed. Bonnie scrunched her snout in apprehension, attempting to emotionally prepare herself for the next oncoming outburst, and then, suddenly, his cheeks deflated with a loud burp. And with that, he immediately slumped over and began snoring.
“See!” Bonnie huffed at the giant mare, “Vewsachee am gud bebbeh. Himb jus nee mayk buwpies.” Bonnie declared; a statement to which Jezebel simply rolled her eyes.
“hmpf, Jezebew am tewwin yew naow, dat bebbeh gut da beast in himb. Shud ob cawwed id ‘Wucifew’.” she snickered back.
With Bonnie’s litter all perfectly named, she found herself with nothing more to do. She began wandering the ancient room: worn tapestries, old cloth, a dusty rug in the center and a small bench by the stainglass window.
The sun pierced the crystalline vale and broke in beams of gold, amber, ruby, and beige.
The image was that of a peaceful mother; a pale garb clung to her delicate form, and in her grasp, held tightly, was the form a child. The infant bore a face of unparalleled contentment, as if all the evils of the world should slide across him like water off a duck’s back.
The image was oddly serene, and Bonnie herself wished all so terribly that her own young could know such bliss.
“Wat dat hoomin namsie?” she inquired.
“Dat? Dat am da viwgin Mawy an bebbeh Jeebus.” The large mare beamed proudly.
“Oh, nu kno wat dat am, bu dey soundies weaw speshew.” Bonnie sighed.
“Jeebus am da bebbeh ob sky-daddeh, an sky-daddeh wub evewywun.” Jezebel giggled. “Jeebus am mowe speshew wen himb gwow uppies big an stwong, wike dis.” she added, pointing towards the carved crucifix upon the wall. “Jus wook at dat. Himb aww big, an stwong, an muscwy… Hehehe.” she began to pant at the idol. She stared at the visage of her lord for a good while, drinking in every curvature, every toned muscle, the face of pained contentment upon his depiction; and from the display she began to moan as she lightly scooted back and forth upon the ground.
Bonnie felt rather disturbed. The expression on the larger mare’s face was one that she had not seen before, and the noises too were as foreign as they were off putting.
Just then, a terrible clack of steel from the lock and creak of the oaken door came as it opened, and from the hall, backed by the eerie noise of the neglected hinges stepped a new figure.
She was a large woman, older than sister Mabel. Her skin was more akin to a light tan than the paleness of the younger human from before, and her hair was mostly grey, save for a few flecks of auburn, although Bonnie herself could not tell, as unlike both of the previous sisters, this matriarchal figure wore her hood neatly.
Bonnie sat and locked sight with the mysterious figure. The mare’s fear was palpable, yet slowly she breathed a sigh of relief as the sounds of Jezebel grinding against the floor with the occasional “enf… enf…” drew the matriarch’s ire.
“Sister Jezebel!” she barked, “This whorish display of vulgarity is beyond disappointment, it is sacrilege; but of course, you already knew this, didn’t you?” she sneered in an accent unlike anything that Bonnie had ever heard before, but of course, the socially isolated mare would have no reference for Italian, save for a few of the designer brands that her ex-owner loved so dearly.
“Disgustosa puttana di satana! Ho una mezza idea di portare una candela calda contro il tuo disgustoso buco e sigillarla come un timbro di ceralacca!” the tanned woman continued on in a verbal haze.
The sheer aggression of her tirade sent a tremor through both Bonnie and even more so in Jezebel as the enraged woman’s furious glare burned through her being.
“Pweas mummah sup-ee-wee-ah, nu be angwies wid Jezebew.” the fuckffie begged as she shrank at the foreign tongue, compacting her form until she nearly matched Bonnie in height. “Id nu am Jezebew fawt!” she squeaked, “Nu am sinnew, nu am, NU AM!” she added as she slowly backed away from the black garbed figure.
“Abominable creature. You are excused. I want you gone from my sight. No food until tomorrow noon, and I expect fifty hail Mary’s until that time. Now go, confess to sister Mabel of your perversions and she will keep count. Now!” the woman ordered with a harsh pointing of her gnarled, wrinkled finger.
“…bu-bye, nyew mawe…” Jezebel whispered as she passed Bonnie by,
Head hung low and shivering like a wet pup; she slinked by the mother superior and vanished down the halls.
The mother superior huffed, before fixing a single grey lock that had come loose from her cowl, a consequence of the heated moment.
“Well now…” she said in a tone much calmer than previous, “Let’s take a look at you, shall well, bambina?”
“Dat nu am namsie.” Bonnie interrupted.
“No, child, I am aware.” the mother superior sighed as she took a seat on the small bench beside her.
“There we are, molto meglio.”.
“Wat am yew namsie?” Bonnie inquired.
“I am sister Isabella DeSerafina. But, you shall call me the mother superior… just as the others do.” the woman explained. “Do you have any more questions?”
“Whewe am?” she questioned.
“Well, that is interesting. You claim sanctuary without knowing as to where you have rested or to whom you are talking to. Did you claim it, or was sister Mabel twisting the truth once more for another stray with children and a sob story?” the matriarch pondered out loud; her tone rather scathing for the calmness it paired itself with.
“Nu wie, Bon-neh nu wie an sistew Mabew nu wie. Wan sanc-chew-wawy.” Bonnie begged.
“Why? Why should the limited bread and board provided by this sisterhood be given up for your sake? What can you offer?” she interrogated.
“Cuz hab bebbehs, dey nee be sayf.” Bonnie declared.
“And? There are many fluffy mares on the street, and most, if not all of them, are utterly undeserving of any charity from God’s children.”
“Gowd?” Bonnie’s ear pricked.
“Sì, corretto. Although, your ‘kind’ refers to the all mighty as something as infantile as ‘sky daddy’. But regardless of that…
Humans are made in God’s image, his favoured children; secondary, his love extends to the rest of the animal kingdom.” she smiled proudly.
“Sky daddeh… wub Bon-neh an Bon-neh bebbehs?” the mare asked, a hopeful glimmer in her eye.
Suddenly, that shimmering beacon was snuffed out with a deluge of condescension as the mother superior cackled in disbelief at the sheer folly of such an insinuation.
“-Hahahahaha, ohohohoh! Oh no! no-no-no-no-no, Bambina… No…” she giggled as a tear was wiped from her lash.
Like the sudden crack of a bull whip, her tone shifted to one of disgust, her smile faded to a sneer and the burnt umber glow of her eyes pierced the mare’s heart.
“You, bambina, are an abomination on to the Lord. He has no love for you or your children, for you are the bastard spawn of man’s greed and hubris. You sicken the almighty with every breath you take.” she declared in a low and confident tone, looking down her nose at the trembling mare.
“B-B-Bon-neh am sowwies… Nu meansie tu mayk sky daddeh angwies.” she sniffled, “Nu wan mayk mummah sup-ee-wee-ah angwies tuu. Bon-neh jus wan wub, jus wan be gud, jus wan pwotec bebbehs… Pweas wet Bon-neh stay. Bon-neh du ANEH-TING!”
“Ah, and we finally get to the crux of the matter.” the mother superior said as the corner of her lined cheeks turned upwards. “Very well, Ti guadagnerai il tuo posto qui. You will work here and do as instructed:
You will wear the cloth of the sisterhood, and we expect you to live by the righteous path; you will behave yourself while within these hallowed grounds AND see to it that your children behave the same. You will be expected to attend prayer; and you will assist in any work that is asked of you, whenever it is asked of you, morning, noon, or night. And should you fail to do as instructed, you will be turned away, back onto the streets from which you came.”.
“O-otay…” Bonnie squaked back. As unaware to the mother superior, that was, in fact, much for a fluffy absorb, even a smarter one such as Bonnie.
“S-su… umm… Bon-neh be gud, nu be bad, bebbehs be gud, Bon-neh hewp cweanies an du wat ‘sistews’ saysie… an den can stay?” she tried with all her might to make a mental note of.
“…Corretto…” the woman nodded sagely.
“Bon-neh gun du wat-ebah mummah sup-ee-wee-ah wan, gun du id fow bebbehs.” she said with a shift in tone, from victim to stalwart.
“I will hold you to that, bambina.”.
Suddenly, her weight shifted as she lifted herself and headed for the door.
“G-gud nigh, mummah sup-”.
SLAM
“…sup-ee-wee-ah.”.
With nothing to be done and no other company to keep, Bonnie curled up with her foals and retired. So many new faces, so many new threats. But she’d rather be in this place than back with him, with Clive, in that terrible house.
That night, her first dream since escaping the Armitage mansion manifested itself in the witching hours:
She found herself bewildered, stood within the ballroom of the dreaded manner from whence she came.
The Ivory halls and gilded frames bordering the priceless artwork appeared dim and ragged, chipped of all auralian shimmer. The curtains were greyed within a coating of dust, as was the ground beneath her hooves. Specks of dim ashen mist floated about the air as if time refused to pass.
Bonnie wandered the familiar house and walked herself to what was once her safe room.
She then pressed her muzzle against the crack in the neglected and chipped door, and peered within to find nothing familiar; as the room no longer resembled what any fluffy would call a safe room, but more akin to the bedroom of a very young child, an infant, even, but a child was not that which dwelled inside, although not far off.
“Hewwo?” Bonnie whispered, “Wady? Am yew otay?” she asked the softly sobbing figure upon the pink carpeted floor.
No reply came, as the young woman simply sat there, her back still kept against the approaching mare, staring out to the moonlight as she squeezed a black teddy bear, soothing the misery as she rocked herself to and frow.
From the back, Bonnie could see the girl’s golden locks in a short bob, exactly like her own, and dangling from the waif’s ears were golden hoops, much like those that hung from the mare’s. In fact, although noticeable younger, she reminded Bonnie greatly of her old owner.
“Am yew otay?” Bonnie inquired, “Am hoomin mawe wost?”.
“…I lost my baby…”. the girl responded in a dull tone.
“Can hewp, wan hewp. We find bebbeh togevah?” was the sincere suggestion.
“…Alright…”.
“Wat am bebbeh namsie?” the mare inquired.
“…Bonnie…” was the reply.
“Bu… Bon-neh am cawwed Bon-neh”. she explained with a cocking of her head.
“…I know…” the young woman replied as she turned around. Her eyes were closed, no, they were in fact, sewn shut. She turned and followed the sound of Bonnie’s rapid breath. The lunar beams in the window finally gave form to the young woman’s face, and although noticeably younger, far younger than Bonnie had ever seen her, it was her owner, it was Claire, without a doubt.
“M-mummah?” Bonnie trembled, yet her legs would not move; she felt an urge to scream, yet her vocal cords would not budge for anything but a whisper.
“…You broke my heart…” the facsimile of Claire whispered in a tone devoid of accusation or malice.
“Am sowwies, am su sowwies. Bon-neh nu wan’ed bebbehs gu fowevah sweepies. Hab tu, Bon-neh hab tu weave.” the mare replied.
“…I didn’t want to either…” Claire said in a tone of forlorn defeat.
Bonnie looked down: Claire’s stomach was deflated, as if something precious ought to be there that was now gone.
The mare then looked up and watched in terror as the golden threads that obscured mother’s eyes were tugged upon at the seems; pulled gently, until all that obstructed her vision was no more.
“…I see you now…” was the last thing she said as her lids slowly withdrew to reveal eyes, Bonnie’s very own, staring right back at her: two pink irises and bold, ruby red pupils in the visage of a heart.
“…I see you now…”.
And then, she awoke in a tremorous scream.
“Hey!” Jezebel warned as she threw a towel over the panicked mare’s face, “Nu be dat woud su eawwy in da bwite timsies, dummeh. Yew wan Jezebew an Bon-neh git in twubew?”.
“N-nu… Jus, Bon-neh hab bad dawkie time pictuws.” Bonnie admitted as she slowly stretched out of her basket.
“Wat am Bon-neh, an fiwwy? Gwow uppies, yew gut bebbehs. Nu hab timsies for dis bowwocks.” the larger mare scoffed with a flick of her hoof.
“gasp! Dat am bad wowdsies!” Bonnie said, covering her mouth with her hooves.
“Hehehe, pwetty coow, wite?” Jezebel said proudly, “Can saysie dat cuz am enfie-fwuffy.”.
“Enfie… Fwuffy?” Bonnie inquired with a crinkled muzzle.
“Yus. Jezebew am mayd fow fukin’.” Jezebel explained smugly, “An hoomins wike mawes wid diwty moufies.”.
“Nu dey du nut!” Bon-neh stomped towards the mare’s vulgarity.
“Dat am gwoss! Jezebew am gwoss!”.
“Wwong! Dey just nu wike id fwom yew.” she teased with a playful biting of her to tongue, “Bon-neh wus mayd fow tea timsies wid widdwe hoomins; Jezebew wus mayd tu git fuked by gwown uppies hoomins.” she explained.
“DAT AM WWONG!” Bonnie stomped, “Bon-neh gun mayk sickie wawas. Jezebew am nasty!”.
“We nu da samsie. Nu bewieve? Saysie wun bad wowdsie.” she dared back.
Bonnie looked to the ground and thought of a good word, a nasty word that’d cut the smug XXL to the core. Clive had called Bonnie so many terrible things, vile things, and when looking at the mare before her, she knew exactly what to say.
“Jezebew am diwty swut-EEEE!” she suddenly screamed, exploding into a fit of sharp pain that danced across her brain like the pulsating spasms of a stun gun. Bonnie was unaware but fluffies were not capable of using foul language; one of the pieces of Hasbio neuro-programming that never never been bred out, as it was most likely one of the first engrams to be developed.
When her vision returned, she felt nauseated, her head ached as if it had been held in a vise, and all the while, Jezebel sat there giggling to herself.
“Hehehehehe, dummeh mawe. Jezebew wike Bon-neh. Am funni.” she smiled.
“Bu, Bon-neh caww Jezebew a swu-… umm, an bad thingie.” Bon-neh said in a tone of confusion.
“Nu cawe. Jezebew AM bad thingie. Mummah sup-ee-wee-ah caww Jezebew an swut aww da timsies.” the nun shrugged.
“Oh, su Bon-neh git thinkie pwace huwties fow nuthin?” the designer mare huffed, partially in disappointment, mostly in confusion.
Bonnie watched as Jezebel began sorting fabrics in a basket, white in one, dark and coloured in the other.
“Yup.” Jezebel smiled.
“Weww dat am poopies. Meanie twick tu pway un Bon-neh.” the little mare sighed.
“Yew be fine, jus nu du it awot ow yew gun be wetawd. Nu am gud fow yew thinkie pwace.” the XXL warned with a twinge of genuinely concern.
“Otay…” Bonnie mulled over, “Bu, wy can Bon-neh nu du id?” she inquired with a raised brow.
“Dat am ‘Cen-sew-ship’.” Jezebel scoffed as she lifted up the light basket, visibly having something of a bone to pick with the word.
“Wat dat?” Bonnie pondered.
“Sistew Mabew towd id tu Jezebew. Dat am wen dummeh meanie hoomins teww yew wat am nu awoud tu saysie… ow awoud du.” Jezebel grumbled.
“Naow fowwow tu da waundwy woom.” she added while lowering the smaller basket onto a small cart, pulled by a string, and popped the bit between Bonnie’s teeth.
“Wat bout bebbehs?” Bonnie asked.
“Dey dwink yew miwkies wen was habin sweepies. Dey gun be otay fow widdwe bid.” the little nun replied as she led Bonnie into the hallways of the nunnery.
Bonnie looked around and found the interior of the halls to be equally as humble as her home in the prayer room:
Grey stone brick and morter, tapestries, the occasional brown rug, and simple oaken benches.
The only beauty to be found in such a dull place were the windows. Each one captured the heavenly glow of the sun and projected breaking beams of gold, amber, blue and white, as if a portal to a better place were radiating it’s splendour like a gift from on high.
After a short while, they entered a more modern room, and by ‘more modern’, it was more akin to being Victorian, rather than Elizabethan in architecture. Regardless of the construction, it felt more comfortable.
The little room had been retrofit with electrical outlets; outlets that were put to good use, as at least three industrial sized washing machines would be necessary to clean the garments of forty seven sexually repressed women.
Sister Mabel herself was sat on an aluminium folding chair, swigging in random intervals from a queerly shaped metal container. In her other hand was a smartphone, an object that Bonnie had great familiarity with, being that it always served as one deeply unwanted barrier between herself and the much sought after attention of her previous owner.
“Sistew Mabew!” Jezebel gasped, “Dems am con-twa-band!”.
“It’s not like that, Jezebel!” Mabel panicked as she slid the phone back up the black sleeve of her nunnery garb, “I just wanted to call my mum!” she explained further.
“Uh-huh… An da dizzy wawa? Jezebew thinkie dat Mabew am wyyyyyiiiiiiiinnnnn’~.” the fuckffie teased with a smug grin and raised brow.
“You aren’t one to judge, fornicator.” Mabel huffed, before turning to Bonnie.
“Hello sweetheart, how are you recovering?”.
“Bon-neh weggies huwties, backsie huwties, head huwties… Bu, am feewin happies. Bon-neh bebbehs aww hab namsies naow.” the designer mare smiled as Jezebel began stuffings black gowns in one machine, white fabrics in the other, and then took the greatest of pleasure in loading a small multicoloured mountain of feminine underwear into the third machine.
“You want me to push the button?” Mabel inquired as she popped her flask into the small satchel that hung from her inner garb’s belt.
“You always struggle to reach it.” she added while getting up.
“Jus wun sec, Jezebew jus nee du sumtin fiwst.” the fuckffie begged before shoving her face into the machine and snorting deeply, before letting out a sustained and terrible moan of ecstasy.
“I’m tacking another five hail Mary’s on for that.” Mabel sighed.
“…W-wowth id…” Jezebel whispered contently with a wagging tail, her upper half still buried inside of the washing machine.
“I’m half tempted to push you in, with any luck it might wash you of your sin.” Mabel giggled as she reached down and helped the perverse mare out of the circular hole.
“Yew am tawkies wike da mummah sup-ee-wee-ah~.” Jezebel teased.
“Well… broken clocks are right twice a day.” Mabel retorted quietly, almost scared to let the statement leave her lips.
“Yew gun spank Jezebew tuu?” the large mare winked.
“Not even if the Lord commanded it of me.”
Mabel assured.
Bonnie saw the way the two talked: how they said mean words and bullied each other, how they teased and mocked, even threatened, yet they were both smiling.
“Wy yew hayt Jezebew?” she inquired.
“What?” the young woman asked, “She’s my friend.”.
“Dat nu haow fwends tawkies.” Bonnie thought out loud, her face plastered in confusion.
“Maybe Jezebel and I just have a different kind of friendship.” Mabel explained. “Most in our sisterhood are quick to report infractions to the mother superior, so I must admit, it is rather nice to have the company of someone who’ll not tell on you for not reaching her ridiculous standards.” she smiled, before it turned dour at the mention of expectations.
“mhm… Mummah sup-ee-wee-ah sure am cu-.” the XXL went to add, only to find her muzzle gripped tight.
“So-.” Mabel interrupted with a clearing of her throat, “I’m fairly certain she gave you the talk?” she added, turning to Bonnie.
“Mummah sup-ee-wee-ah caww Bon-neh abomimbm-… abonim-… ‘ab-um-ee-nay-shun’.” the little mare confirmed with much effort.
“I see…” Mabel nodded sagely with a solemn visage, “The mother superior likes to leave a mark.” she added.
“mmf-fffm-ummmt!” Jezebel muffle from her confined position.
“Oh, sorry!” Mabel panicked as she let go.
“Yew… Neawy… Kiww… Jezebew…” the mare said between large inhalations.
“I’m sorr-.”
“Du… Id… gain!” she giggled as her lungs battled to fill themselves with life sustaining air.
“five more hail Mary’s.” was Mabel’s only answer.
Bonnie and the duo waited until all three machines chimed. Mabel loaded the majority onto the top shelves of the copious drying racks, Jezebel took the middle, and Bonnie took the third and lowest set of shelves.
“Bonnie, may I ask you a question?” Mabel warmly, yet carefully inquired.
“Suwe.” Bonnie replied as she threw a pair of pantaloons on the drying rack.
“What happened to you?”.
“B-B-Bon-neh nu wan saysie.” the mare replied.
“I see. Well, can I press you on the piercings?”.
“M-mummah gib dem, Bu Bon-neh nu wan’ed. Dey huwties Bon-neh.” the mare admitted, stopping in her clothes racking to wipe at her eye.
“Do you want me to take them out?” Mabel offered.
“Nu!.. Y-yus… Bon-neh nu kno.” she admitted, before looking to the tile flooring and biting her lip.
“It’s ok, it’s alright.” Mabel kindly assured, “I only ask because the mother superior will take them away and she won’t give them back.” the young sister sighed.
“Haow Mabew kno dat?” Bonnie asked as she began nervously rubbing her nose ring, thinking on all that it represented to her, good and bad.
“She takes away everything… Everything that isn’t how she wants it.” Mabel said solemnly.
She stared into the concrete wall and let her eyes glisten, if only for a moment, only to catch herself, clear her throat and look to her companion.
“Just look at Jezebel.” she added swiftly.
“Yeh…” the fuckffie said with an uncharacteristically upset and sincere tone.
Bonnie’s eyes traced across the mare’s face, looking for what the mother superior could have possibly stolen from such a bombastic personality.
She watched as Jezebel hopped onto her hind legs to throw on another pair of undergarments to the rack, and it was then she noticed the dull shimmer of the chastity belt that covered the XXL’s privates.
“Sistew Mabew, wy Jezebew weaw shiny thingie?” Bonnie inquired, pointing the faux-fluffy’s rear end.
“Dat am wat mummah sup-ee-wee-ah tayk way fwom Jezebew… Tayk speshew pwace way.” the mare interrupted as she scoffed at the memory, the day she was inducted into the sisterhood.
“Yes, and as for myself, she forbids me contact with my family… Like you, Bonnie, I too left my home to find myself somewhere safe.” Mabel lamented.
“Wan twade?” Jezebel japed towards Bonnie, “Yew weaw da nu-enfie undies, an Jezebew git yew eaw an nose shinies.”.
Bonnie stopped and actually thought on the offer. Her delicate and intimate areas were a subject of condemnation, a place of personal scorn, as far she was concerned.
With the exception of allowing her to create her beautiful children, that horrible place betwixt her hind legs had brought nothing to the designer mare’s existence but the twin specters of fear and misery.
Bonnie looked to the metal undergarment, her eyes transfixed on the sturdiness, the impenetrable nature of it. What she would not give to be unsexed, to be untouchable to all who’d think to defile her further.
“…Bon-neh wish…” she said in nought but a whisper.
When the clothing had finally been put up to dry on the old wooden racks, Mabel offered again to remove Bonnie’s piercings. After some time to think, Bonnie accepted. It was time to leave her old chains behind.
One by one, they came off. Bonnie closed her eyes as she awaited pain equal to that of when they were inserted, but none came. There was a sudden release of pressure in a few tender places, but they came out easy all the same.
“Here.” Mabel smiled as she held bonnie up to the mirror. “Natural beauty. You’re a pretty little thing, Bonnie. You know that?” the sister complimented with a motherly tone that warmed the recesses of Bonnie’s miniscule ego.
With the exception of noticeable scarring upon her nose and ears, Bonnie looked as if she had been transported back to a time before she knew such pain, and only the marring of her flesh served to punctuate the tale.
“There you go, you’re free now.” Mabel assured as she put the little mare to the ground.
“Wait a second…” Mabel said as she jangled the metallic little hoops and studs in her hand.
“Bonnie, I think these are solid gold.” Mabel said with wide eyed bewilderment.
“Wat dat?” Bonnie inquired as she innocently cocked her head to the side.
“You could get a lot of stuff with these, they are worth a lot of money.” Mabel explained with confidence in her appraisal.
“Hoaw yew kno?” Bonnie squinted up at the woman.
“Mabew daddeh am thingie cawwed ‘fence’, dat meansie dat himb twade thingies dat bad hoomins steaw.” Jezebel interrupted to explain, to the chagrin of her sister.
“Tell everyone, why don’t you?” Mabel snapped back.
“Nu gun teww ebewy-wun. Jezebew jus thinkie dat Mabew am cutie wen Mabew bwush.” she retorted, punctuating her statement with a playful biting of her tongue.
“Ten more hail Mary’s” was the rosie cheeked sister’s response.
“Anyway…” Mabel said with a clearing of her throat, “You have the rest of the day off. Jezebel and I can do the rest. You can turn in early, if you’d like?”.
Mabel placed the golden rings and beads into a tiny leather string purse and placed it into Bonnie’s mouth.
“I would hide that under your pillow if I were you.” she warned, before giving Bonnie a light stroke down her back.
Bonnie returned to her basket and did exactly as instructed with the purse. She didn’t know why it would matter if she kept the jewelry or not, and it didn’t even matter that it had value. After all, what could a fluffy possibly buy in this world? But nevertheless, Mabel seemed kind, she seemed sweet, and she seemed smart. Bonnie would heed her advice and heed it well.
She closed her eyes and rested, she snuggled into her basket with her children snoring at her belly, and just as she prepared for the deep rest, voices drove her to wake once more.
Some fifty-odd voices echoed through the archaic halls and filled it with an enraptured unity. Their voices carried in a collective oneness, their tune was one of peace.
“
Abide with me: fast falls the eventide;
the darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide:
when other helpers fail and comforts flee,
help of the helpless, O abide with me.
Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away;
change and decay in all around I see:
O thou who changest not, abide with me.
I need thy presence every passing hour;
what but thy grace can foil the tempter’s power?
Who, like thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.
I fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless;
ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death’s dark sting? where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if thou abide with me.”
Bonnie didn’t understand the words, nor the meaning, but the feeling ran through her like a storm. She cried to the hymn, she missed Cream dearly, she even missed Claire, and soon, when all sorrow was spent, she’d fade again into that place where pain and fear can not follow.
Shivering, formless mass that she was in the slumbering dark. She swam under the weight of an eternal night-sea, starless and without matter. In her nocturnal venture, the immaterial had become the material.
She swam with no need for air and groped upwards towards the surface. She knew this place, she had been here once, where she fell when the heart could take no more. Bonnie swam, inch by inch closer, the moonlight upon the water’s surface sang to her, she wanted-, no, she was duty bound to stay above, she was needed.
The second her muzzle broke the skin of the boundless ocean of black, her heart froze in terror as a familiar and dreaded hand gripped her hindleg and dragged her into the abyss once more.
She woke with a tremorous gasp.
The sun was still low, a new day dawned, but it was not yet time for work. She got up and fed her foals, rolling them, burping them, and carrying them to the litter box one at a time, just as Cream had showed her.
For the rest of the morn, Bonnie explored the halls until she found an entrance to a garden: poppies, irises and daffodils littered the sides of a cobbled path, and by a single grave was a stone bench.
Bonnie sat upon it and breathed in the fresh freedom that was her life, reborn anew.
Some time passed and Mabel had found Bonnie in her meditative state.
“There you are. An early bird, I see.” she smiled, “Well, you’ll be happy to know that it is a light workload today. And after we dust the library I thought that maybe we could-…” she went to continue but haltered as she looked down and realized that Bonnie had not absorbed a single word that had left her lips.
“Are you alright, dear?” Mabel asked softly.
“Bon-neh hab su muchies in Bon-neh thinkie pwace… Id am aww su scawy. Jus wan be happies, bu nu can. Bon-neh thinkies dat Bon-neh am gun hab bwoken heawt fowevah.” she admitted.
“Do you want to tell m-?” Mabel offered.
“NU!” Bonnie cried, “Id am bad! Su bad! Bon-neh am scawedies dat… Ib Mabew kno, den Mabew gun hayt Bon-neh.” she whimpered.
“I see… well then, although it may be unorthodox, I think the confessional may do you some good.” Mabel nodded sagely as she ran her fingers through the mare’s glistening mane.
“Wat am cunf-… confish-… ‘con-fesh-ee-naw’?” Bonnie pondered.
“You can think of it as… a magic room; a place where you can tell anything to the other person and they are not allowed to tell others about it.” Mabel assured.
“Would you be willing to try?” Mabel offered.
“…Otay…” the mare nodded softly, “Bon-neh twy, fow sistew Mabew.”.
“Wonderful~!” Mabel almost sang with delight. “Oh, I forgot!” she interrupted herself as she began digging through her messenger bag. “I hope you like it. I’m not much of a seamstress, I’m afraid, but I tried my best. Now cover your eyes, sweetheart.” she asked.
Bonnie closed her eyes shut, just as instructed. She felt something light and warm fly over her back and then clasp around her neck.
“Aaaand, open.” Mabel grinned with a celebratory little clapping of her hands.
Bonnie looked to the hand mirror that Mabel held up to her. Bonnie had been adorned in a cloth of the sisterhood. A black cloak, white lining, and sewn into the leather of a humble collar, and a small brassen cross was what hung from her neck, in place of a name tag.
Bonnie’s eyes welled with tears, she was without words to say. She could only mumble in disbelief as she looked up at the sister.
“Are you okay?” Mabel inquired.
“Wy am mabel bein su nice tu Bon-neh?.. Bon-neh nu kno wat can du backsies fow Mabew.” the mare softly cried and sniffled.
“Shhhh, it’s alright, I want nothing from you.” Mabel assured.
“Come, let’s get you some breakfast, and then we can look into setting up that confessional.” the young woman smiled.
Bonnie was brought to the cafeteria. She was lifted by her guiding sister onto one of the two long wooden benches that accompanied either long side of an equally lengthy table.
Rustic clay bowls and gnarled wooden spoons laid in uniformed rows, and upon the furthest dead end of the hall stood the mother superior, watching on with the authority of one righteous in their convictions, even of the serving of breakfast.
The sisters all sat in attention and whispered, chattered and gossiped, all until the sound of a steel ladel struck the rim of the tall pot behind her.
The gong-like chime bounced from stone wall to dark oaken beam, dancing across the acoustics in its horrid tone, forcing all in attendance to look upon the originator like a trained mutt, awaiting order, treat, or condemnation.
“Good morning, sisters. Today is another joyous day under the Lord’s blissful sun, and so we will fuel ourselves with this bounty, once more, so that we may do his glorious works.” the mother superior said with both authority and unwavering pride.
She handed the ladle to an unnamed sister, who walked with another, who carried the affirmationed pot.
The two of them travelled across the circumference of the table and one by one left equal shed dollops of milkless and unflavored porridge in each sister’s bowl.
Bonnie’s stomach growled fiercely as the pot got closer. Yes, the smell was bland, the smell was simple, the smell was hearty; and yet in some twisted sort of way, It was perfect for one who ran so far from the pain of her life of luxury tinted agony, the guilded cage.
The simple and rustic scent gave Bonnie an odd sense of comfort as her golden tail wagged giddily off of the bench.
Eventually, a dollop came before her with a sticky thud. She looked into the bowl and winced at the chunky mush.
As welcoming and humble the scent was, visually speaking: it beared a visage like wet sawdust.
Bonnie leaned forward to take a bite, only to feel the rough slap of the ladle as it struck her rump.
THWACK!
“EEE!” Bonnie jolted upwards, instinctively tucking her tail betwixt her thighs. Her rump had not been struck since him, since Clive, and the sensation brought back a deluge-, no, a tidalwave of memories that were better left buried under the dirt of her new life. "NU DU DAT! AM SOWWIES! AM GUD GIWW, AM GUD GI-.
THWACK!
“SILENCE!” the mother superior barked at Bonnie, her sharp tongue reverberating through the hallowed halls like the crack of a well used bull whip.
“No eating, Bonnie. Not until after prayer.” Mabel whispered as she tried so desperately to shield the mare’s tearful, frantic eyes, and smother her whimpers with a regretful gripping of the muzzle. And all the while, the purged memories of a vicious defiling had begun to play themselves in the little mare’s mind like a broken record.
“YOU, sister Mabel, ought to teach the new bambina to better follow the creeds, just as has been done with the vile puttana beside you!” the matriarch chastised further.
“Wat dat meansie?” Jezebel inquired in a whisper.
“She’s calling you a whore.” Mabel responded truthfully in a hushed tone.
“Oh. Hehehe.” Jezebel giggled, before waving giddily to the mother superior, who took great joy in refusing to acknowledge the faux-fluffy’s existence.
“Bonnie…” Mabel whispered as she turned her attention back to the trembling mare, “Please, shhhh, stop crying, you’re going to make her even madder.” she warned as her trembling hands gripped harder.
Bonnie bit her lip, she fought to catch her breath as she battled to fill her tiny lungs with precious air. She closed her eyes and shuddered, and with great effort, silenced her demons.
She looked up, her whimpers died, her eyes looked to that of the mother superior’s. The indomitable figure; she had not moved from where she stood. Bonnie had enraptured her attention, her fascination and ire. Their vision was locked like that of terror frozen prey against a jungle cat, sussing and studying its target.
Bonnie knew those eyes, she knew them well, she had hoped to have had never need to see them in another again; the eyes of a predator.
Deep within the recesses of her gut swam a sensation to consume all but the thinnest and most ethereal vestige of her most primal fears: disgust.
She could nary be sure as to why the sensation stood so strong, why it burned and boiled in the pit of her stomach, but the frosted stare of this woman’s auburn eyes, they triggered a fire in the mare that she would not let be extinguished.
The collective prayer before consumption began, and all in attendance put hoof in hoof and hand in hand as the communal chant filled the hall, for all but two.
While all other eyes looked down and minds turned to the heavens, one mare and one woman refused to bend to the other’s gaze.
“Pray.” the mother superior mouthed silently, to which Bonnie answered with a continuous and unreadable glare.
The locking of wills continued, until the mother superior reached under her garb and withdrew a rider’s crop. She held aloft the flexible leather instrument and brought it down with the fury of one steadfast in their convictions and righteous fury.
CRACK!
The implement of agony struck hard against the oaken long table. The noise shattered and danced across the room and ravaged itself upon the air.
Bonnie panicked and shuddered as the horrid noise ran through her memories like a blade through butter. Her eye contact broke and in the wider scope of her view, the mare noticed how none had broken from their chants, heads lowered, prayer unbroken.
Both human and fluffy in attendance wore their tells upon their sleeves, whether they wished it or not. All shuddered at the sound of leather striken against oak, and from the cacophony of prayer, an undertone of fear was tasted in the atmos.
The room reeked of it, the tone of the prayer had shifted, and upon a second strike to the table, Bonnie’s eyes drew themselves once more to that of her newfound nemesis.
“BAMBINA!” the mother superior roared with displeasure, causing many a sister to jolt. “PRAY!” she added.
“Nu kno haow.” Bonnie stated, dripping with both honesty and defiance.
“You, Mabel. You will show her!” the mother superior ordered.
Without missing a beat, Mabel lifted bonnie to her lap with trembling hands.
“Please… do as I do…” she begged in a murmur, as she placed Bonnie’s front hooves together and whispered her prayer into the mare’s flickering ear.
Bonnie followed along as instructed, she had to, the mother superior held a power of these women that dwarfed the dominion that Clive once held over Bonnie.
Where that tiny, loathsome little man had grip over one mare’s fear, this vicious dame gripped power with precision and terror like that of a seasoned dictator.
-One Hour Later-
“What was that all about!?” Mabel demanded to know as she returned Bonnie to her room.
“Mummah sup-ee-wee-ah am bad wady!” Bonnie snorted as she was placed to the ground. She spun and stomped a single leg to punctuate her disdain.
“She permitted you to stay!” Mabel retorted.
“Den wy am mummah sup-ee-wee-ah big meanie!?” Bonnie screamed in frustration.
“She-… she’s-…” Mabel tried to reply. She cought herself and took the heartiest of breaths, before passing by Jezebel and checking the hallway. It was clear.
“She’s a bitch, alright? Happy now? I agree, she’s awful, she’s cruel.” Mabel admitted before falling to her knees beside the mare.
“And she’s dangerous, Bonnie, so very dangerous.” the young nun fretted.
“Bon-neh nu am scawedies!” she declared, puffing her cheeks and chest.
“You should be!” Mabel exclaimed with a starkness in her eyes,
“You don’t know what she’s capable o-.” the attempted to add.
“Am mummah sup-ee-wee-ah gun huwt Bon-neh nu-nu pwace?” Bonnie asked with a sterness unbecoming of a fluffy.
“Wh-… what!?” Mabel asked, her jaw slacked in horror, “I should hope not!” she added.
“Den Bon-neh nu am scawedies ob mummah sup-ee-wee-ah.” she said, adamant in her position.
When Bonnie made her exodus from that dreaded manor, she swore to never be a victim again
Mabel looked down at the mare and winced. “Bonnie?” she asked, “What happened to you?”.
Almost instantly, the scowl cracked like glass, and beneath her visage was a look of wounded innocence.
In that moment, the mare had forgotten herself, forgotten her secrets. So wrapped up, tight as an unbloomed bud. So lost was she in the trembling disdain at the thought of this unwavering titan of a matriarch’s her ever looming aura of cruelty, that she had forgotten herself, and her fear and shame of being known.
“Id nu mattew, aww dat mattew am Bon-neh bebbehs!” she tearful growled through gritted teeth.
“Bonnie… Who was the ‘mean mister’ you were trying to tell me about when you first awoke?” Mabel asked.
“ID NU MATTEW! SHUDDUP! SHUDDUP! SHUDDUP!” Bonnie screamed, snarled and flailed. Her mind ran frantic with the memories of his painful insertions, the stink of his hot breath upon her neck, the oozing filth that ran through and poisoned her marehood. If Bonnie could muster it, she’d tear her own skin off to be rid of the memory of his touch.
In that next moment, Mabel did something no human had ever done to Bonnie before, something the designer mare had never expected of any homo-sapien: she reached forward, lifted the kicking and screaming mare, and held her close.
“Bonnie, you are with me.” Mabel said.
“PUT BON-NEH DOWNSIES! BON-NEH NU AM SCAWEDIES! NU AM-… s-scawedies.” the little mare gritted and snorted, looking around with frantic and wetted eyes as she began thumping her soft pseudo-hooves against the nun’s torso. She struggled to free herself. At the final verbalisation, the misery slipped.
“I will not let you go. With god as my witness, I will not.” Mabel assured.
“Nu bewieve! Bon-neh nu am dummeh! Nu bewieve!” she flailed, weaker than before. “Yew wie! Aww hoomins du am wie!”
“Come, I think you need somewhere to speak unabashed.” the young sister sighed.
Bonnie was carried as one would a babe. Into the main prayer hall where a large wooden booth sat in the corner. The mare was placed in one of the two cubby’s and told to wait, to which she begrudgingly obayed.
After a moment, the other end was entered and the window opened betwixt them. It was hard to make heads or tails of, but through the mesh came a silhouette that struck Bon-neh as familiar.
“Hewwo, Muh chiwd. Du yew hab sum-ting tu shawe?” the mare called softly.
“Jezebew?” Bonnie inquired.
“Shhh, dummeh. Nu am spose tu say namsies. Dis am secwet pwace.” she chastised lightly.
“Oh… Otay.” Bonnie submitted with a lowered head.
“Su, wy am yew angwies wid mummah sup-ee-wee-ah?”.
“Cuz am big meanies! Jus wike… udda bad hoomins.”
“wike whu?”
“…”
“Com un, chiwd. Sistew nu can hewp ib yew nu saysie.”
“…”
“Id nu am wike sistew can eben teww nu-wun.”
“…”
“…Otay den, guessie dat dis am waste ob ti-.”
“Wike… Cwive…” Bonnie forced out of her throat.
“Oh, whu am dat?”.
“Wus owd mummah big bebbeh. Hayt Cwive, hayt su muchies!”.
“Hayt am bad, nu am gud feewin.”
“Nu cawe! Bon-neh hayt!”.
“Buh mummah saysie dat fowgib-ness am ‘devine’.”.
“BON-NEH AM NEBAH GUN FOWGIB CWIVE!”
“Wy? Wat meanie Cwive du?”.
“…Bad thingies…”.
“Wike? Wat bad thingies.”
“Himb huwties Bon-neh… Puww Bon-neh mane and taiw, himb… Touchies Bon-neh nu-nu pwace.”
“Pweas… D-du teww m-mowe~.”.
“Huh? Wat am yew duin in dewe?”
“N-n-nuffin… Jezebew duin nuffin…”
“…Otay.”
“ahem…
So, wen saysie ‘nu-nu pwace’, yew meansie ‘speshew pwace’?”.
“…Yeh…”.
“Wy yew caww id dat?”.
“Id nu feew ‘speshew’ nu-mowe.”.
“…”
“…”
“…”
“Haow himb touchies id?”.
“Wid handsies… An udda pwaces.”.
“Hmmm~… Dat nu soundies dat bad~…”.
“Id wus… Id am.”.
“Nu id am n-.”.
“SHUDDUP!”.
“…Otay, Jezebew thinkies dat can tayk bweak.”.
“Otay.”
And with that, they both left the confessional with faces of bewilderment. They looked to each other as perfect strangers.
“Bonnie gun gu. Hab chowes tu du.” she lied.
The little black mare returned to her room, curled up into a ball, and sobbed in silence by her children.
Meanwhile, Mabel hummed to herself in soft and vibrant tones, sweeping and dusting at the gold and silver chalices upon the many stands and shelves, all until the sound of knuckle on wood rang out through the anti chamber hall.
“Yes?” she smiled as she opened the ancient, old oaken door. She found herself staring at a woman with a Blonde bobcut and a fire coloured filly by her side.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have time to talk, can you please distribute these at your next parish meeting, o-… or to the church on the other side of the street? I’d do it myself but I’m terribly short on time.” Claire asked and fretted, a look of deep concern painted across her visage
“Of course…?” Mabel agreed with a look of bewilderment, upon having a stack of identical papers shoved into her hands.
“Thank you, god bless!” Claire said as she rushed back to her car to seek out another location to pass the word along.
Mable looked down upon the flyer and her blood ran cold as ice water, her heart trembled in her breast, and worry sieged her gentle mind like a thunderstorm: It was a picture of the very woman she had just spoken to, although much more fancifully garbed, and held in her jewellery clad arms was the likeness of a very familiar mare.
She returned to her bed chamber and out of sheer curiosity, typed only six letters into her search engine of choice, and filtered by most recent.
‘B-o-n-n-i-e’.
News article after news article flooded her screen, censored footage of sexual perversions beyond understanding, an Innocent mare being defiled as she screamed and fought for her life and the lives of her children; and one phrase was on everyone’s lips, spoken on every twitter feed, gossiped on every YouTubers upload schedule:
#Bonniegate.
“Oh, oh no!” she gasped.
“Bonnie-… You poor thing…”
-To Be Continued-
