“What is it?” asked Rarity.

“It’s a new mixture. All I know about it is that it is extracted from the liver of a rare animal,” answered Red Cell. He pumped the brown liquid into the syringe, pricked one leg of Sweetie Belle and slowly injected the fluid. “The tests demonstrate that it works very well against corticonephrite,” he added.

“When are we supposed to find out if it’s really that effective,” inquired Rarity, antsy. She contemplated the body of her sister, lying motionless on that hospital bed; she seemed lost amidst those large white sheets, so immaculate that her mane appeared almost dull in comparison.

“Come back tomorrow morning,” advised the doctor. “If she reacts positively to the mixture, she might even be able to regain consciousness by then.”

Rarity nodded. “I suppose she’s not aware of my presence, is she?”

“No. There is nothing you can do for her right now. Better go home, have a solid rest and turn back tomorrow.”

Rarity sighed, thanked the practitioner and left.



The next morning, Rarity was welcomed to the cold, impersonal room by the glee of her sister. The doctor was there, too.

“Hi sister! Glad to see you,” cheered Sweetie Belle, her voice still frail and tremulous.

“Sweetie Belle!” said Rarity joyfully. “I am so happy! How do you feel?”

“Pooped, but the pain has departed,” answered Sweetie Belle. “I suppose I just need rest.”

“Didn’t I tell you it was miraculous,” bragged the doctor.

“I can hardly believe it,” said Rarity. “Who manufactures this panacea?”

“Cartea Inc.,” replied the medic.

“Cartea!?” exclaimed Rarity. “Its CEO, Blue Pill, is one of my friends and best clients. I am going to thank him personally.”



“The doctor said it was miraculous, and I totally agree,” said Rarity, enjoying a sip of tea.

“Yes, we consider it one of the greatest breakthrough in modern pharmacology,” said Blue Pill. “I’m so pleased it helped your sister recover.”

“I understand this is a secret, but I would like to know how you synthesise it. In the hospital, they said it was extracted from the liver of an animal. Is that true?”

Blue Pill hesitated. “All right,” he finally said, “but swear you won’t tell anybody. We could face severe prosecution if all the details surfaced.”

“Why, of course, dear!” replied Rarity.

“You know,” began Blue Pill, opening a drawer and grabbing a ring of keys, “here in Canterlot we are subject to stricter rules than in the outer lands, where the authority of Celestia is less perceptible.” He rose, egressed from the office, inviting Rarity to follow him. “The animals we use to prepare this molecule are protected: the specimens are scant, and we have to buy them a fortune from bootleggers.”

Rarity did not answer; both descended through dingy stairs and corridors; at last they stopped in front of a heavy metallic door. Blue Pill picked up a key; the lock clanged, and the door hinged open.

“Please enter,” said Blue Pill.

Beyond the door was a gloomy, undecorated room. In its middle, a cage had been erected, in which three beds had been installed. Tied on each of them were rangy beings, of pink complexion with dark, short manes and four long legs terminated in strange appendages, much like five small tentacles; their bellies were swelling. From the ceiling hung flexible tubes whose ends were stuffed in their mouths. Their eyes were closed; maybe they were sleeping?

“The liver is a fascinating organ,” explained Blue Pill. “If you cut a small part of it, it regrows spontaneously. We feed those animals with a soup enriched in concentrated nutrients, so that they develop hepatomegaly: an oversized liver, that is. Then, every so often, we remove a gobbet, and it regenerates. Over and over…”

Rarity came closer to the cage, mesmerised. She examined one of the creatures. On the right side of its belly she saw a long, thin welt.

The eyes of the animal opened wearily. Their green irises roved around for a few seconds until they locked on Rarity. In that glance, the unicorn read infinite distress, grim resignation and unquenchable hatred.

She averted her gaze.