A friendly community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and strange lights pass overhead as we all pretend to sleep. Welcome to Ponyville.
First up, the Council has asked me to announce the opening of the Ponyville Children's History Museum, at the south end of Main Street. The Council would like to remind you that foals are not allowed in the History Museum. Adults are not allowed in the history museum. It is possible that you will see amber lights in the windows of the History Museum. Do not approach the amber lights. Do not approach the History Museum. There is no way into the History Museum. Do not look at the History Museum, and especially, do not look for any length of time at the amber lights.
The History Museum cannot harm you.
And now, time for the news.
Lady Rarity, out by the roundhouse, says that the crystal ponies arrived on a beam of a golden light from out of the night sky, and that they are cold and beautiful and one of them was a zebra. She says that they helped with various chores around her property. One of them killed a rat, which had been a bother in her kitchen for weeks. She is offering for sale the dead rat, which has been touched by the hoof of crystal pony. The rat's fur is still covered in frost, if that sweetens the pot. If you're interested, talk to Lady Rarity. She's out near the roundhouse.
Some new ponies came to town today, led by a unicorn. They say that they know magic. Well, we have all known magic, at some point in our lives, haven't we, Ponyville? Magic in the infinite night, and in the depths of a loved one's eyes. Why come all the way to Ponyville to find more? And this unicorn who leads them—why her perfect mane? Why her perfect robe? And what does she—do they—plan to do with all the crackling runic chanter's harnesses and muttering tomes that they have moved into the building by Pinkie Pie's Bakery and Arcade Fun Complex, finest purveyor of baked goods in all of Ponyville? No one does cupcakes like Pinkie Pie—no one.
A reminder to all the parents out there for when you take your foals out to play in the afternoon sun: do NOT take your foals out to play in the afternoon sun. Even if the Weather-wings have already secured the cloud cover, afternoon light—even the harmless-seeming, grey light that shines through the clouds—is not safe for your children. It is not safe for anyone. If someone you know is caught outside after lunchtime, ring your home's Fear Alarm, hide under your bed, and wait for the Weather-wings to drop a brick-red feather through your mail slot, letting you know that the situation has been resolved. Do NOT come out from under your bed if the feather is blood-red, which indicates the Fear Alarm is still in effect. If you cannot see the color of the feather from under your bed, then your home is in breach of Ponyville building codes, and you may face severe fines.
An express train traveling west and south, towards the bright lands, disappeared today, only to reappear in a classroom of Ponyville Elementary. This caused some confusion, as Ponyville Elementary consists of a single classroom, with a single teacher, Ms. Cheerilee. And her classroom is far too small for an entire express steam train to fit inside, even if the students were diligent in cleaning their desks (which they are not, being, after all, only foals). It is reported that the train, while seeming no smaller than the multi-ton, roaring engine of fire and ash that it was, was strangely compressed in space and time, the cars seeming to overlap one another while the passengers inside aged and died and withered and were born again before the eyes of Cheerilee and her students, all the while staring out the train's windows with fixed, sightless eyes and mouths agape.
Then train then vanished, leaving all occupants of the school unharmed in body, but forever altered in mind and spirit. No word yet on how the train came to undergo such an alteration, nor on how the education our foals receive will be altered or delayed by this sudden, phantom, engine and coaches. No word either on if this is the work of our rival city, Trottingham, which is always trying to show us up with a fancier main street, and an Armistice Festival held between the hours of noon and dusk, and now—possibly—contorting an express train through space and time until it occupied a classroom only for an instant, but will occupy our childrens' memories for the rest of their lives. For shame, Trottingham. For shame.
The new magician, who we now know is called Twilight, called a town meeting. She has a deep purple coat, an elegant horn, and eyes as deep and dark as oceans. Her mane is perfect, and all we hate and despair and love that perfect mane in equal measure. Lady Rarity brought cupcakes, which were good, but lacked salt. She said the crystal ponies had taken her salt on an urgent mission, back to the cold times, and that she hadn't been to the store to buy more—or to buy cupcakes from Pinkie Pie. Twilight told us that we are the most magically interesting community in Equestria, and that she and her team had come to study just what goes on around here. She smiled, and everything about her was perfect, and I fell in love instantly. Inquisitors of either the night or the day, or some yet undiscovered time and light, were watching the meeting. I worry for Twilight. I worry for our town. I worry for anyone caught between times, and lights, and the mysteries of both.
Listeners, we received a press release this morning from the Ponyville Friends of the Sky. They would like to announce the opening of the new Ponyville Observatory and Planetarium. I was given a tour of the facilities at their invitation, and I have to say, it is a really awesome place. A beautiful two-hundred-pony dome theater, the largest telescope in this part of Equestria, and enchanted lenses to chart the movement of the stars and select best view of them on any given night. Now, there is some concern that there are no stars anymore, which limits the usefulness of this new feature of our town. And that is a downside, I admit. Currently, looking into the telescope only results in being blinded by brilliant light, without even any indication whether it comes from the sun or the moon. So maybe, wait for an eclipse, or another golden beam of light like the one the crystal ponies arrived on, and then head down to the observatory for the full nocturnal experience.
Twilight and her team of magicians report that one of the engines in the roundhouse doesn't exist. The engine, a venerable machine of black iron and brass fixtures, appears to be entirely solid, and it sits in its bay alongside many other engines, each identical, except for the brass numbers. But, Twilight says, this engine—number six—does not exist. It seems like it does, when you look at it, but it is a lie, or a trick of the light. Twilight says they have cast a great many spells and chanted a great many things, and the engine does not exist. At time of this report, the magicians had surrounded the engine and were daring one another to give it a good thump.
Ponyville's Council of Truth would like to remind you, at this time, of the ancient crystal ponies, and the nature of the deep times. The reminder is that you should not know anything about any of these things. Crystal ponies, they would like to remind us all, are not real, nor is the past, from which they supposedly hail. They encourage you to ignore any crystal ponies you might see in the marketplace or at Pinkie Pie's Bakery and Arcade Fun Complex, as they do not exist, and are, of course, terrible liars.
Speaking of the Bakery and Arcade Fun Complex, Pinkie herself would like to announce a special promotion. Anyone who achieves a high score on a specially selected arcade machine there will receive a complementary cake, prepared immediately. The machine in question is the grey one, right at the front, whose name and instructions are in a language which does not yet exist. Pinkie says she never bought the machine, and that it refuses to leave until someone allows it to sleep once more.
And now, time for a brief public service announcement. Diamond dogs: can they eat your foals?
Yes.
Near the train station, the ground shakes. Not the vibration of the trains, as thye rumble and rush out of the light, and into darkness. Something deeper. Something older. The past is here, Ponyville. And it's north of the train station, past the water towers, and at least a hundred feet down.
Ponyville's mailmare disappeared today. While delivering to Fluttershy, out on the edge of town, she let out a great shriek and vanished into thin air. Or, at least, air that had formerly been thin, and full of pegasus, before both air and pegasus were replaced by a pulsing grey void, from which came both clouds of butterflies, and what sounded like a guitar being smashed over a rock. Her disappearance is being investigated by the Zebra Shaman—that is, the guy who calls himself a zebra shaman, but has a blonde coat, an apple cutie mark, and a bright lands accent you could cut with a cake knife. He claims that he will uncover the truth and retrieve our mailmare from wherever it was that she was taken. No one responded, because it's really hard to take him seriously in that cartoonishly offensive, plastic shaman mask that he wears all the time.
Twilight, beautiful and perfect, came by our studio early. She wore a harness covered in copper knobs, which sparked and glittered under the lights. She said she was testing for ley lines, and I didn't ask what she meant. I didn't ask her to stay for an interview, either. I didn't ask her anything, because, as long as she was in the room, I couldn't say anything.
And, how lame is that, really, because talking is pretty much my entire job, and what's wrong with me if I can't even do that while she's around? What am I supposed to do?
…
Anyway, Twilight got kinda nervous after the harness made a sound like the scream of a griffon. I've never seen anyone with eyes that deep look so nervous. She told me to evacuate the building and get everyone at least two hundred yards away. But if I did that, who would be left to be your voice in the night—especially now that I can speak again?
It looks like the Weather-wings have moved off the cloud cover, so it's going to be another beautiful night here in Ponyville. Here's hoping you all have someone you love to spend it with—or, if not, at least memories of someone.
Good night, Ponyville. Good night.
Proverb: A bird in the hoof is not worth getting your eyes pecked out.