It’s been some time since enthusiasm wore off. I glance back. I start to despise the long and narrow corridors that have so far led me nowhere.
Navigating through the ‘labyrinth’ proved itself easier than I though. Most doors led to empty rooms, making it a mostly straightforward journey. Numbingly dull, yes, but it was hard to get lost. You could only go forward or backwards along the main path, everything else was a dead end.
Yet, I didn’t find trace of the odd one I had found before. I had no way to ask him for his motives to fear me. He might have known the way out, or he could possibly be a stray that was as clueless as I. Either way, I’ll never know.
I suppose if I’m navigating a fabricated reality, there is no guarantee of continuity and logic. I am still considering other possibilities. That only because I’m frequently amazed by the detail and congruency of the place.
I found myself keeping a mental map having both general arrangement and small random details I came across. If my memory were to be trusted right now, I could affirm there were no inconsistencies. I checked. Twice.
Doors, halls, stairs, pebbles, tiles, wall cracks, ceiling imperfections, anything I could remember, was in place the moment I checked again.
The murmurs weren’t that predictable, though. I think that was the reason maps came to my mind in the first place. They would sound from different directions each time they happened, and they wouldn’t last long. Frustrating. It was eerie too. I had no reason to believe it, but it felt like I was the subject of discussion.
I have to admit. Part of me couldn’t avoid to beam of joy with that prospect. It was something I missed from the time I had spent with pony society: recognition.
Of course we were rewarded for outstanding work here in the hive, from time to time. But it wasn't the heartwarming appreciation I had found outside. It was intoxicating. That so, I discovered it poisonous to our society. At least for those who are vulnerable, like me.
I only will say I had a small incident with authority. I spent years without fulfilling my so called ‘purpose’ as an information gatherer as ‘precautionary’ measure. I can say being a janitor in changeling society is not rewarding, but it let me reappraise my kind. It is said you won’t truly know home until you go outside and back again. I found it true.
Something I can’t conceive is how changelings could work incessantly with so few rewarding and punishment. When I was young, I took it for granted, like if it was something that always had to be. To my surprise, it wasn’t a law of nature.
Ponies, and many other species I was able to met, seem to need consistently some kind of social glue to work properly, despite their inherent ability to bond. It’s a conundrum. I think I will never understand that.
To be fair, I’m finding this little adventure boring. Chasing some voice through countless empty rooms and passages has been of little value. I have no idea why I'm doing this anymore. Fate?
Just as I question destiny, a questionably fortunate event happens.
“Well, it is settled then. I’m glad we reached an agreement,” I hear a mere three rooms ahead. It is a female voice I don’t recognize. She speaks loud enough, firm but not condescending. “Even if it is impossible for things to end well for everyone.”
I hear no reply afterwards. Why all of all things, no answer? That’s one of the things that drives me mad, incomplete information.
I’m here debating internally. I know I should not care. But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to walk ahead. I want to know, but not. No. I want to not know my ignorance. Yet, I’m desperate to hear the whole story. Even if it is only morbid curiosity.
I mean, I can walk upon and say, “Good day, I was just passing by, and happened to overhear something about tragic consequences, may I know the details?” I doubt it will be well received, but since this might be some figments of imagination, I may get a complete different response. I suppose-
“You may come in,” she says. “Yes, you little one, just outside the door.”
I obliged. I had no choice as she had discovered me and I really wanted to know. I cannot shake a small feeling of fear. She might have been seeing me ever since stepping out the damned door. I think I hate doors now. And while I’m disliking its particularities as an object, what annoys me the most it’s that you cannot know what lies beyond without entangling yourself with whatever lies beyond.
The entrance is guarded by one of those miserable planks of wood. This one, though, seems to be in a much better condition than any other I had seen before. It has its white paint in pristine condition. It makes me wonder what color had been the other doors, if they had been painted at some point in time anyways.
“You have been looking forward to reach this place, isn’t it?” she reminds me. “If you allow me give a word of advice, I think it’s better to not postpone further, you never know when one longs for time lost.”
I just realize I had stood outside of the room lost in my thoughts far longer than I intended.
I push it open, feeling little resistance, to reveal a tall room I can only describe as a bedroom, sans the bed. It was like an small office, mixed with apparently personal objects.
I see a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Almost below the chandelier there is a huge red couch lying in front of an unlit chimney. From other side of the room a showcase displays several artifacts I’m unsure of their nature. There are lots of papers and books distributed along some furniture.
What surprises me the most is that there are windows. They are open and their stained glass lets in cold air from an apparently moonless night.
“Welcome,” she says from a corner hidden by a humongous cupboard. “I’m sorry to ask you, but could you clean your hooves in the doormat? It’s been raining as of lately.”
I’m confused, but nonetheless I stare down my hooves. To my surprise, they covered with somewhat dry mud. I see back towards the door. The labyrinth hallways are gone, replaced by a nighttime prairie. This has to be a dream.
I use the doormat and close the door. “Please take a seat, I’ll be there soon,” she says.
I notice there is an small purple couch just next to me. I took seat and wait for the mysterious voice. I hear the sound of glass clattering. I turn towards the corner and see a golden aura holding some tableware.
I think I died a bit when I saw the color of the levitation spell. It could not be one of us. Such colored magic was almost exclusive to ponies. What was a pony doing here?
My face remains calm while a small table is pulled to the middle of the room. I smell cinnamon. A tall white figure finally cames from behind the furniture. She holds a teapot and two cups within her magical grasp. Expectedly, she is a pony. Surprisingly, she has both horn and wings.
“Excuse my lateness, I had a visitor just before you. I didn’t expect you to come this early.”