"The HORROR! The HORROR!"

"Th—th—th—THE H-h-h-h-hugs! The unspeakable hugs!"

Ponies scattered like flocks of headless chickens. An unfortunate metaphor, given the current situation.

Barreling down Ponyville's normally sleepy Mane Street was a living, galloping catastrophe. It had no mask, no malice, no face to speak of, really. But what it lacked in cranial features, it made up for in pure, unrestrained bliss.

And trailing along—not exactly in sync—was Amber Gloom's head.

"EMBERRRR! NOOOOOOO!" Amber's indignant shriek pierced through the screams of panicked ponies. But alas, dangling from her body's back like a particularly vocal pumpkin at harvest, her cries for "reason," "dignity," or quite frankly "NOTHING THAT GETS US BANISHED IMMEDIATELY," all went unheard. Or worse, ignored.

Ember, carrying Amber's protesting noggin via a cringe-inducing contraption of vines and haphazard knots, was completely oblivious to the terror she inspired. She had zero intention of causing harm. Her only goal? HUGS.

Sweet, unspeakably tight hugs.

With hooves thundering across cobblestones, bouncing with the carefree abandon of someone who'd never had to worry about whiplash, she chased down anything warm or animate. Flower carts? Tipped. An entire gazebo? Not important. Ponies? PRIME CUDDLE TARGETS.

Of course, Ember couldn't see them. She didn’t rely on sight like others did. Instead, she felt the world in rhythm and pulse—the rumbling vibrations of hooves pounding in frantic flight, the quickening of breath, the hurried rush of bodies trying to escape (But why?).

"My BRILLIANCE! My COUNTLESS years studying the arcane arts, and THIS… THIS IS HOW WE RETURN TO THE WORLD?!" Amber seethed, trying to ignite the vine sling with desperate sparks of magic "First chance out of that rotten, damp crypt and you're USING IT TO CHASE CUDDLES FROM TURNIP TENDERS!"

It fell on deaf non-ears. Ember pressed onward, undeterred. To her, the streets were alive with signals of warmth. Heartbeats fading around corners, the delicate brush of life slipping into shadows: out of reach but never completely lost. The chase was ON.

"EMBER!" Amber barked. "Why, oh for the love of—STOP SNIFFING WITH YOUR NECK!"

Boing Boing Boing

Amber’s teeth clenched hard enough to crack stone. Each bounce sent rage rippling through her… well… skull. These days she was mostly jaw and spite.

"Ember!" she hissed. Low. Dangerous. That damned body—her once-proud body—bounced the glowing orb with the restraint of a sugar-rushed foal.

The priceless relic flickered with faint enchantment, now reduced to party trick status in the hooves of a beheaded imbecile.

"By Tartarus’ seventh circle… Bounce that once more, and I swear—"

Boing.

"You. Did. NOT."

###BOING.

It stopped. By Luna’s mercy, it finally stopped. The echoes hung in silence so sweet it brushed forgiveness.

Her idiot body tilted, headless yet somehow brimming with confusion like a dog that had peed on the carpet and couldn't figure out why the mood had shifted.

Amber deflated. A long exhale she didn’t even need. "Finally."

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"What did I just—"

Wait! That wasn’t the ball. And it wasn’t Ember.

Steps. Deliberate. Slow. Real.

Her nonexistent spine coiled. Impossible. No one had set hoof in this crypt in centuries.

"Ember," she barked, sharp and hurried. "Noise! Now!"

Oblivious to any urgency, Ember plopped down into a dramatic pout. Crossed forelegs, hips wiggling. Adorable. Useless. Adorably useless.

No noise. Too many noises earlier. Now no-noise was the better choice. Wasn’t it?

"Not now! Not now!! This isn’t a negotiation! JUST STOMP. DO. SOMETHING. YOU BRAINLESS SACK OF FUZZ!"

Grumbling through her pouts, Ember conceded with a thundering stomp. More. More. Heavy. Heavier.

##THUMP THUMP. SLAP SLAP. BOOM.

The stonework quaked.

Still… Steps. Louder now. Nearer. Nearer than they’d been in hundreds of years.

With the last tattered shred of her dignity trampled under panic, Amber’s mouth dropped open in desperation.

"HELP!" she screamed, high-pitched and frantic, a headful of regal wit reduced to pathetic shrieking. "DOWN HERE! IMPRISONED—GENIUS—ENDANGERED!"

She took a split-second to regroup. Tone, Amber. Make it regal again. Commanding.

"AHEM. RELEASE ME, MORTAL! I AM A GREAT NECRO—ER, ENCHANTRESS! RELEASE ME AND RICHES SHALL BE YOURS!"

The crypt should've stayed sealed forever.

Amber hadn't accounted for decay—rocks erode, hinges rust. So when the sound of crumbling stones rasped across centuries of silence, it took every ounce of her pride to stifle a scream of manic hope.

Her head (so her whole, really) buzzed with plans immediately: escape! Supplies! Minions! Maybe an army if they still honored old pacts!

Except one problem.

She couldn’t leave.

The "ingeniously" self-sustaining necromantic wards she’d crafted centuries ago included a binding circle, locking her head and consciousness into this rotting tomb. No soul-boosters, no body. No one-way trip outside for Amber.

Ember? Blissfully free… well, physically at least.

"Ember!" Her shout rattled the dimly lit chamber. With no legs to pace or hooves to stomp, she hovered inches above the shelf, just as far as the necromantic tethers allowed. "Ember, listen carefully. Our prison has a crack. The very first one. This might be our chance! You—yes, YOU sweet oblivious husk—need to go find somepony and bring them back. Got it?"

For a minute, only the echo of her own haughty tone bounced back at her.

Then, at last, Ember bounded into view. Headless as ever, her plush black body pranced toward her with the same oblivious joy Amber had grown to dread.

Was that a skip? Faust help her.

Without warning, Ember spun in a happy circle and then… nuzzle!

Amber's squashed head pressed into the crook where her own throat once was. JOY!

"NO! Focus! Gah!" She was going to lose her sanity at this rate. "Look, you need to leave—yes, through the crack in the door—and find ponies! Ones with real bodies and functioning heads. For Faust’s sake, FIND HELP! They’ll… they’ll work it out! They have to."

Ember hesitated. Then she skipped to the door like this was another game. A bounce of joy—Amber didn’t bother calling back; she needed Ember to want it, or this was sunk already.

That was two days ago. Emotions impossible to temper surged each time she felt Ember through their link. Instead of salvation?

Nibbles.

Bites.

Scratches and burns.

Apparently, Ember tried befriending local wildlife. Dumb enough to hug strays, durable enough to survive them.

"Oh for Luna's sake… she probably tried snuggling timberwolves…" Why her? Was playing with death and eternal life that bad a sin to warrant such torture? "COME ON! Just find a pony with half a functioning neuron! ANYPONY!"

"The HORROR! The HORROR!"

"Th—th—th—THE H-h-h-h-hugs! The unspeakable hugs!"

Ponies scattered like flocks of headless chickens. An unfortunate metaphor, given the current situation.

Barreling down Ponyville's normally sleepy Mane Street was a living, galloping catastrophe. It had no mask, no malice, no face to speak of, really. But what it lacked in cranial features, it made up for in pure, unrestrained bliss.

With hooves thundering across cobblestones, bouncing with the carefree abandon of someone who'd never had to worry about whiplash, Ember chased down anything warm or animate. Flower carts? Tipped. An entire gazebo? Not important. Ponies? PRIME CUDDLE TARGETS.

<!- The action centers on Ember in Ponyville, but feel free to briefly shift POV to Amber whenever she experiences significant physical sensations through her link with Ember. ->