>Context: Someone Posted a SpodeRarity snuggling Anon's face and I couldn't resist dropping a snippet.
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>She leaves you little gifts, sometimes, when you're sleeping.
>Small things, wrapped up in silk and topped with some bow she must have dug up out of your old holiday bin.
>A single sock, a handkerchief, a pair of delightfully well-fitting gloves, another sock to match the first.
>Little things.
>At first, you thought your little gift-giver was a shy breezie. Fluttershy had told you about those: nervous fairy ponies that liked to hide. She was a nervous little thing as well, and knew their plight.
>So you'd left out a small scarf, set your battered old phone to record, and went to bed eagerly.
>She was clever, or she knew how cameras worked, or something, because the next morning the only thing revealed was a scarf magically lifting out of sight, but without the glow you'd come to expect of unicorns.
>The next morning you woke to find a small thank you note, in tiny script.
>It made you all the more determined.
>The next few days were a blur of attempted (and failed) plans and plots and traps.
>You had to meet her!
>Twilight tried to use your... Well, it wasn't an obsession... as an excuse to drag you over to the library and learn proper self-care habits (something about her being sexist against stallions, you weren't really paying attention).
>You would not be dissuaded, however.
>Finally, one night you caught sight of her, dropping down from that big hole in the ceiling you'd never gotten around to patching.
>Down, down on a silky line to the table which you'd become accustomed to exchanging gifts.
>She wasn't a breezie.
>She was a massive white spider.
>Now, you're a nature man.
>You liked the outdoors.
>You liked bugs.
>Hell, you've never really been afraid of spiders; you'd catch them in your hands and see them safely outside whenever they crawled into your house back on Earth.
>Much to your shrieking sister's chagrin, of course.
>But still, the size of this one gave you pause.
>And then she reached out to where you'd left the bait (it was less bait and more a gift of fondness, now; the hunt having turned into a game over time), a small bolt of cloth cut into a blanket and clumsily sewn onto a soft lining.
>In its place was left a small box, glimmering in a silken wrapping.
>She turned in place on the table, watching you for a moment, and freezing when she saw your eyes open and looking back.
>She began to climb back up, but you sat up, and words left your lips unbidden.
"Wait! Please don't go!"
>She hung there, for a moment, and slowly, slowly, dropped back to the table.
>And you, Anon, eased down onto your knees in front of her, careful not to make any sudden motions.
"I wanted to meet you. And. Thank you for all the gifts."
>The alabaster spider shivers in place, and at the edge of your hearing you make out a light titter.
>"You must think me so rude, stalking about like a thief in the night! I'm terribly sorry, darling. I wanted to pay you back for letting me use your attic, but I was nervous."
>You have an attic?
"I have an attic?"
>The little big spider bobs in an approximation of a curtsy, long legs extending.
>"Of course! I've been trying to keep the mice out of your things, but there are so dreadfully many."
>Huh.
>The previous owners must have left their stuff behind.
>"Oh, but you must forgive me for not introducing myself! I... My name is Rarity. I'm a star spider."
>Her pure white carapace catches the moonlight streaming in through your window, hilighting a trio of bright blue spots on her abdomen.
>You can appreciate how Mother Ntaure makes her engines so enchanting, and you're struck for a moment.
"...You're beautiful. Sorry! Uh, I'm Anon. I mean, it's nice to meet you, Rarity."
>In your defense, being nice to the talking spider living in your attic that is less than two feet away is probably a good idea.
>Against you is the fact that you do find her voice, quiet as it is, stunning.
>She is a beautiful spider.