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Chapter OneThe day started like any other. Wake up too early, get chores done, wake up grandparents, fetch the paper. Cinnamon skims the headline and the leading story while walking back inside."MYSTERIOUS ILLNESS KILLS ENTIRE HOSPITAL WING”The short walk back to the house was interrupted by Cinnamon’s curiosity to read the rest of the story. Everything else is fading its importance, sacrificing it to copy the event. He kept reading.“Just a couple days ago, the entirety of the Emergency Wing in Ponyville Hospital saw the final moments of approximately fifty patients and staff. The cause of the sudden outbreak hasn’t been found, but our town’s Twilight Sparkle is researching potential answers. ‘We could be dealing with a virus, a new strand of something we already know or something completely new is something I plan to figure out and develop a cure for.’ Sparkle has said in an interview. MORE IN A3”A virus? Here in Ponyville? Sure they had a stomach bug float around or the sniffles being traded like playing cards, but Cinnamon doesn’t recall anything this serious.The world resumed itself as Cinnamon tore his eyes from the paper, refusing to rip the issue open and find out more. He tucked the paper under his wing and walked into the mid-size cabin’s carved wooden door.“What took ye so damn long?” Grandpa Buck spat. A scraggly reddish earth pony sagging with age and spite. Cinnamon tells himself the only reason he shouts is to be able to hear his partially deaf self, but he knows that’s barely half true. “Something in my hoof, sir.” He said with his full chest while brushing one of his back hooves on the welcome mat to give weight to his statement.“Yeah, yeah,” Grandpa scuffed. “Givit here.” Cinnamon opened his wing over the table dropping the newspaper in front of Grandpa, the headline almost glowing under the hanging light. Buck adjusted his small, round glasses to read and squint at the article. “BUTTERMILK!” He yelled. “WHAT?!” the mare shouted back, stubborn to not leave her seat. Grandpa groaned as he shoved the paper back to his grandson. Cinnamon dutifully takes the paper to the next room over in a dark parlor.The room is lit by lamps that were either older or the same age as Cinnamon’s grandparents. Bookshelves were lined with dusty books muffling the bold titles preventing any of them from being read or even being of any interest. In the corner of the room was a large antique armchair, one that could be found in historical buildings or museums. In it was a relatively frail but tall earth pony but not short in style or accessories. Her professionally curled mane was thrown into a careful ponytail to allow her to work on a cross-stitch project that was barely illuminated by the ancient lamp.“Well?” Grandma Buttermilk inquired impatiently. Cinnamon carefully dashed into the parlor and presented her the paper. Buttermilk takes her time as she readies her big, round, spectacles and sets her hoop to the end table holding the lamp and other miscellaneous everyday items. Chapstick, glasses wipes, a magazine. She took the newspaper from the boy, almost snatching it and peered over the paper. Her eyes narrowed in search of something to blame her grandson over. After dreadful minutes of her reading, Grandma lowered her glasses to hang in front of her chest and sighed.“You weren’t in the hospital, were you?” Her voice was a little higher than you would expect. A voice she would believe to hold immense weight in authority but only holds heavy with bad smoking habits. “No, ma’am.” Cinnamon’s own voice not rising much above a whisper. She brings her glasses up as she opens the paper and continues to read the above-the-fold story. Leaving Cinnamon’s hungry curiosity to starve while she was feasting. Cinnamon wants to peek over the top of the paper but that daydream quickly turns sour with memories of a previous attempt. A lesson learned.Grandma closes the paper as she exhales and pushes it back to the boy. “Give this back to your grandfather.” She demanded.“Yes, ma’am.” Cinnamon hushed as he took the week’s issue and exited the room in the same fashion he entered. The paintings and the miniature statues boring holes into his back almost begging to be released from the dusty, neglectful prison.Back in the breakfast nook, Grandpa held out a hoof for the paper expectantly, Cinnamon obliged. “What did your grandmother say?” Grandpa coughed.“Not happy, I know that.” One of many responses Cinnamon has in a vague bank that indirectly answers the question but gives just enough detail to make the asker satisfied. The asker himself scoffed as he opened the paper to discover the unpleasant pieces. “Don’t forget, boy.” He said before cutting himself off from the outside world as he dug himself into the newspaper. “Yes, sir.” Cinnamon replied, falling to deaf ears as he walked outside to make his way to the cellar.The pegasus walked around the back of the house to find two rickety cellar doors, almost looking as if they’ll cave in on themselves but haven’t given up just yet. Cinnamon bites onto the metal ring handles and throws open the aged doors. A waft of dank, cold mold blew up to the surface to greet the boy. To Cinnamon, it’s refreshing and the cold gust embraced him and was a welcoming feeling to his own space. Cinnamon made a start down the stairs, his pale yellow hooves tapping the groaning boards as he remembers where and not to step. When the rhythmic tap was interrupted with an echoed click on concrete, he knows he’s “home.”The only source of light was the open doors a story above but it was just enough to outline his room arrangements. In the corner is a stained spring mattress that’s probably older than him with a pillow stuffed with his own shed feathers to match. Next to the mattress is a nightstand in the same despair as the doors. The sight of it makes him feel sorry for making it hold a couple of books and a single flashlight. On the other side of the room is a shattered mirror, Grandma let him have it when she got a new one. Behind the mirror is exactly what he was looking for, a first aid kit.Cinnamon drew a long white wrap from the kit and carefully tied it around his torso, keeping his wings closed and near his body. He winced at the tightness as he finished wrapping and tucking in the ends before he looked into the broken mirror to check his work. As he gazed into the shattered reflection, a wash of shame and self pity dripped into his eyes but not enough to cause a flood.A deep breath blew the tears away and kept his cloudy thoughts at bay. He made his way up to the stairs, the same groaning complaints from the weight coming from the decaying wood. The sun was blinding at first but as Cinnamon adjusted, he was able to make out a large wicker basket filled to the brim with Grandma Buttermilk’s dirty attire. On top of the heap was a small note in what tried to be extravagant handwriting but looked more to be crack scratch. “DIRTY”. Cinnamon sighed as he saw the full chore and raised his head with an aggravated breath. When his face fell back down the way it rose, his eyes rested on the chopping block. Another note on the ax that wasn't legible from the distance but obviously was a sign to replenish the wood supply.Cinnamon scanned his surroundings before allowing himself to grunt, shout, and kick the dirt giving himself more work to do on the clothes. After his little tantrum, he sighed and started pushing the basket toward the northeast corner of the backyard, the well. Some days he just wanted to kick it over and let it wash itself in the mud. Today was definitely one of those days but he didn’t want the repercussions of his actions from his grandmother.When the basket finally hit the stone of the well, Cinnamon looked up and sighed in relief believing the water source was further away. Cinnamon trudged his way to the well and started hoisting the bucket deep from the water source. For some reason this haul was heavier than the others. There was no way that the soggy container could hold this much water. Cinnamon strained and struggled as he fought against the water weight.Just as he thought that rope would go on forever, the small piece of tape indicating an arriving bucket reached the surface but instead of the cheap metal bucket rising, a lump of what seems like a pile of dark green moss emerged from the stone well. In a fit of curiosity, Cinnamon pulled the final length of rope. Without opening his eyes, the mysterious mass leaped from the bucket and tackled Cinnamon. “Doin’ chores all by ya’self, handsome?” the monster almost sang once they landed on their friend.Her mane imitated the moss Cinnamon mistook it for; wet, stringy, dark, and covering her eyes. Her tail was in the same fashion though it clung to her hind leg and flank instead of her eyes. Her paler green fur was also soaked but instead of the slimy moss her mane took it resembled more of a shorter tree moss covering all three of her scarred hooves and the mane water moss being adorned on her underside. Hanging and dripping from hiding in the well.“BLOOM?!” Cinnamon shouted. “What are you doing here?! Hide your horn!” He rummaged through the dirty laundry and tossed a bonnet to Blooming Surprise. “Here take this, before Grandma sees you.”“Happy ta see you too, pal.” Bloom said in almost a melodramatic tone while putting the bonnet on her wet hair to hide half of her horn. “Whatcha doin’?”“Laundry,” Cinnamon sighed as he dumped the well water into the wicker basket. “The real question is what’re you doing?”“Uuuuhhhh,” Bloom struggled as she tried to reach for her socks on top of the well’s roof. “I dunno, just thought I’d visit ya. I missed you, man.”“I missed you too, Moss-head.” Cinnamon helped Bloom with a leg up while they reached for their socks and balancing on her one back leg. “Have you heard the news?”“Cin, I don’t get any mail.” Blooming deadpanned.“Haha, right.” Cinnamon chuckled nervously. “Anyway, there’s been a huge virus outbreak at the hospital. The entire emergency wing was killed!” The unicorn climbed off the pegasus and started drying her hooves with some random piece of dirty laundry.“Ha haaaa! Good thing I don’t go into town, huh?”“What about all those people? What if it gets out?” Cinnamon was washing the clothes as he talked, scrubbing more aggressively as he spiraled.“Oh you’re just a worry willy, I’m sure Twilight’s on the case, it’ll get figured out.”“She is, but…I dunno, I just have a bad feeling about it all.”“Listen man,” Blooming Surprise stood up, her pink and white striped socks somehow making her look taller. “I know you have anxiety and shit, but it’s chapter one. The most you’re gonna get is foreshadowing.”Cinnamon gave Bloom a blank stare that has been tainted by utter confusion. “Chapter? Foreshadowing?”Bloom gave a similar stare back but there wasn’t a single thought behind those red-tinted eyes. For a solid minute the ponies just stood like this, blank and confused before Cinnamon decided to shake it off and finish washing clothes.Cinnamon was hanging clothes to dry while Bloom was rambling about her random thoughts and incoherent sentences revolving around something called an “Ala-star”, something he’s never heard of but listens nonetheless. Apparently she asked a question but he didn’t notice until she was three inches from his face. “WELL?!” Bloom asked maybe a little too loud for the distance.“Uhhh, what was the question…again?” Cinnamon sheepishly replies.“Cin, how long have you been zoned out? Are you still thinking about a little bug running around?”“I mean- It’s not really a little bug, Bloom-”“It’s being contained, you don’t need to stress about it, buddy.” She cut him off.“But-” Cinnamon tried to justify his fear before getting cut off again.“But nothing. Is there anything you can do to help prevent this?” She asked, her hooves cupping his face.“No.” Cinnamon sighed and smushed by Bloom’s hooves.“Then it’s not your problem. C’mon, let’s finish this up.”Bloom trotted toward the chopping block as Cinnamon was hanging the last couple things. He looked toward the well, mentally dropping in his worries like a coin to make a wish. “Coming!” He called out then quickly wrapped up some final thoughts.In the dairy farm well, as the ponies trot over to the second task, small bubbles rise to the surface of the water. A closer look, tens of small little insect-like creatures pollute the depths of the water source.At the chopping block, things went per usual. Cinnamon finessing the ax and splitting logs while Bloom talked about the nonsense flowing into their brain. He started wrapping up the chore with some clean-up when the sun was at its highest peak of the day. Cinnamon was brushing up some bark chips in the sweating sun when a looming shadow towered over him. Quick to his hooves, he stood at attention for Grandma Buttermilk. “Yes, ma’am?” He asked in a more formal manner than he was not even five seconds ago. Grandma simply reached into her dress to deliver the boy a small piece of paper. “Yes, ma’am.” Cinnamon said, more as a way of showing he understood the task and immediately ran to the cellar to grab his pack.Bloom stared at the expired hag with disgust that couldn’t be taken seriously in the hag’s own bonnet covering the remaining half of her horn. Bloom opened her mouth to say something to the wicked being in their presence but was cut off by Cinnamon shutting the cellar doors, panting, and trying to finish tightening his pack. “Let’s go.” He said to Bloom, still partially out of breath. Grandma watched him with a leering, close eye as they left in tandem.As they were passing the well, Cinnamon nudged Bloom. “Just toss the bonnet in there.” He whispered.“Oh yeah,” Bloom muttered before doing as told and abandoning the bonnet. After the pair left the property, Grandma took the soiled hat out of the well, conjuring a discussion to be had with the boy.Both ponies walked toward town as Cinnamon read off the list of what was to be needed on today’s errands. “Two gallons of apple cider and a pound of apples.”“You’re telling me that your grandma expects you to make a full trip ON FOOT to Sweet Apple Acres and STILL be home in time for dinner?”“Yeah…” Cinnamon sighed.“Well, that’s homophobic.”Cinnamon wasn’t entirely sure of what that meant but he’s heard weirder things come out of Bloom’s mouth.As they walked through town, Cinnamon was polite. He made small talk, waved hi, gave out compliments like he’d never run out. Bloom was quiet but stuck by his side, listening to the meaningless conversations, and trying to keep him on track.“CIN!!” Bloom shouted.“AAAAAAA!!” Cinnamon screamed, his chest pounding from the sudden outburst.“CAN WE STOP IN SUGARCUBE CORNER?” She asked, almost doing a little tappy dance that would look like she needed to go pee if Cinnamon didn’t know any better.“Eeeehhh…” He hesitated as he tried to gauge how much time they had to spare.“Just for a second, please?” Bloom pleaded.“Let’s be quick, deal?” He caved, almost never saying ‘no’ to whatever made his friend happy.“DEAL!”