This book is a collection of scientific studies across Equestria and it's neighboring lands by the Royal Canterlot Science Foundation on a singular topic and it's implications for ponykind. I wish this reaches the right hooves of fellow colleagues and spur additional research into the hidden kind within our lands. I am, of course, referring to the species that has grown in secret over the last 5 years.
The Human.
Pennaprose looked up at his traveling companions. Bulk was explaining how he came out of the air; he asked Pinkie to launch him and his cart, as he was running late. Raindrops and Spike was engrossed in it, so he fell behind the others and continued to read, the tingling in his neck reaching his fur, causing it to stand on end. He flipped through it until he found a random passage that caught his eye.
Despite the project's current efforts, only one theoretical link to the fantastical creature known to ponykind as "Human" is posited to be the enchanted mirror currently stored in Canterlot Castle. We can ascertain that it only works for a brief window of time, and only every 30 moons, but Princess Celestia has forbade research into the mirror itself and how it functions.
He recalled Twilight speaking of a mirror in Canterlot being his only magical hope back. He shook the thought out and re-glued his eyes to the page.
With this setback, we have turned to cataloging known events in Equestrian history where claims by individual ponies having been human before. We have managed to come into contact with a few of these individuals; some no longer claim to be originally human, while others are far too insane to coherently answer questions. We have detained one such pony, with permission by Princess Luna, to conduct a thorough psychological survey on him. With luck, we may be able to reveal the reason or reasons as to why this human phenomena has exploded in secret within the last 5 years. Least of all that there does not exist any photographical evidence of this race, this phenomena is either a legitimate race yet unknown to Equestria or a collective myth that seems to hold the sway of the occult.
We have recorded such "Pomans", as I will term them for the purpose of this short dissertation, to have existed in multiple places across Equestria; Manehattan, Las Pegasus, Cloudsdale, Canterlot, the Crystal Empire, even the relatively recent western settlement of Appleloosa. In more densely populated areas such as Manehattan, examples of reported Pomans were more likely to deny their claims while smaller areas tended to treat them as social outcasts. The positive correlation was measured to be +0.7. In addition, the portion that were treated as social outcasts were +0.98 correlated with preliminary variables of schizophrenia, manic depressive disorder, or carried symptoms that fell somewhere on the autism spectrum. Yet in all cases, one singular fact arose; they all are seemingly convinced of some sort of conspiracy was at hoof and insisted on calling themselves a "Brony" or "Pegasister". The detained pony we are conducting the psych evaluation is one such example.
Of special note is Ponyville. There have been a higher average number of such "ponified" humans reportedly turning up there; resident registered psychopath Lyra Heartstrings has been kept on watch since the rise was recorded. Remarkably, she has not been known to be in contact with any of them despite her known human obsession. In fact, we have assessed that knowledge of Pomans and their existence is largely unknown to the public eye, save Ponyville; there, however, Lyra's insistence and it's typical comedic panning has undoubtedly contributed to the public's denial of the existence of Pomans.
But the most erroneous fact of this phenomena is that those who claim to be human are no different biologically from the average pony. It may very well be that the "human" is nothing more than a psychological disease perpetrated by myth, causing the afflicted to recall a false identity of a race that doesn't exist. It may be that the high correlation with schizophrenia merely is a related disease to multiple personalities, only that the new identity dominates the original instead of co-existing with it. There is nothing credible to support either theory, so I leave it to my colleagues to pursue further study into either possibility.
This investigation is ongoing and funded by Princess Luna behind Celestia's back. We hope she continues to be gracious for our cause.Head researcher of R.C.S.F, Dr. A. P. Amberaim et al.
He stared at the last paragraph, it words ringing as a church bell in winter inside his mind. …Nothing more that a psychological disease… …Recall a false identity… The day may have been warm, but his dirt beneath his hooves may have well been frozen. He nervously placed the book back on the pile before anypony else could notice. He continued walking behind the book mountain, absorbed in hurried thoughts, until he ran face first into the back of it.
He rubbed his muzzle and peered around the corner; they had stopped at the town center, a veritable crowd of ponies gathered around a stage and one, grey-maned pony standing in front of them all. He spotted Bon Bon milling around the edge. She spotted the group and trotted over.
"Hey! Do you have time to spare?" she asked Spike. "Apparently, Lyra isn't the only pony that's gone missing! There's talk of a search party!"
Pennaprose's head felt hot, his thoughts beginning to ram into overdrive.
"Sorry, Bon Bon, I've got to escort this library back home, but maybe afterwords–"
"I'll help."
Bon Bon glanced over to him. His racing thoughts did not pause for rationality; the words simply came to him. Something in the way she looked at him bothered him. "…Well, Spike? Aren't you responsible for him…?" she asked.
Spike appeared to think about it. "…I can get this back to the library on my own. After your done, though, mind helping me unload it? I can bet I won't be done before you."
"Sure," he said. Again, the words merely came. "Tell Twilight where I am, of course."
He waved in acknowledgement, gesturing to Bulk to continue onwards. They trundled out of sight; he turned to Bon Bon.
"You said that Lyra wasn't the only one that disappeared… who else?"
"Aside from Lyra…" she began. "…there's also Sea Swirl, Pinkie Pie, Colgate, Vinyl, Fluttershy, and Derpy. The general consensus is that every missing pony was seen by somepony else yesterday, at the very least."
Something bothered him. "Pinkie's missing…? That can't be right, Bulk said he just saw her. Launched him out of a cannon, in fact."
"There have already been a few two-pony groups sent out to check each ponies' homes. The fact that nopony saw Pinkie—except Bulk, I guess—since yesterday is disturbing in and of itself…" mused Bon Bon.
"Not to mention," Pennaprose realized. "That if Pinkie wasn't missing, she'd have noticed a crowd like this immediately. Something is up…"
She creased her eyebrows in worry, looking down in deep thought. "…I'll tell the mayor. Stay right here."
She darted off towards the stage. The pony Bon Bon addressed of whom he assumed was the mayor bent her head down to hear her, and a look of mild panic appeared on her face. She leaned into the mike.
"Citizens of Ponyville, form search parties immediately! I am halting normal business for the rest of the day and upgrading this situation to a full-blown emergency! At least one pegasus per search party, please!"
The crowd was filled with a quick hustling of movement as ponies of all colors stumbled around into groups. Bon Bon trotted over, followed by a starkly grey pegasus stallion and a white-coated pegasus mare with a violently pink-and-lime green mane.
"Alright, here's our group. Thunderlane, try to find Bulk and ask him about Pinkie, he's the one who last saw her… or so we think. Meanwhile, we need to figure out a place to start. Any ideas, Blossomforth…?"
Bon Bon and Blossomforth began chatting animatedly, leaving Pennaprose out of it. He felt a stab of annoyance, but at the same time, knew and accepted that he barely knew Ponyville well enough, let alone Lyra. How much can I really contribute…? he thought.
He sat down, staring out over the horizon, tuning out the din of the slowly dispersing crowd. He watch a multitude of pegasai soar over his head, flying in all directions; feathers fell overhead as his thoughts drifted to Lyra. He reached into his laptop bag, pulled out Lyra's note, and re-read it wistfully.
But I was thinking… if a human can come here, do you think a pony can do the same? A pony like me…?
…Resident registered psychopath Lyra Heartstrings has been kept on watch…
It seemed so morbid now. Her fascination with humans, belittled to a disease; in some ways, he felt angry that this world could seem so happy and still be so cruel, yet a tired sorrow pooled in his throat for Lyra and even more guilty that he was like anypony else to her in the end. He realized that his rejection of her must have meant more than personal coldness.
She saw him as her dream before her realized, a walking, breathing realization that the pain she endured had borne fruit. The scene replayed in his head, her face of horror burned into his memory. It haunted him; he realized that his actions did more than offend her, it crushed her hope.
The feathers stopped falling. He picked one up that had fallen in a puddle, twirling it through the air as he contemplated. Bon Bon and Blossomforth were still talking; he decided then and there that he owed more than an apology now. He'd apologize to Twilight later, but he felt that he wouldn't come back home tonight if he could help it. He turned to Bon Bon.
"Bon Bon? Has Lyra's house been checked yet?"
She looked confused. "No… not yet. I'm the only one besides the mayor that knows where she even lives. But I was going to do that on my own? She prefers nopony else knows…"
"I think we should make an exception." Pennaprose said. "As I said, this could be more serious than originally thought. If her life is in danger?"
She stared at the ground, frowning. Eventually, she looked back up, an unreadable look on her face. "…Alright. But whenever we do find her, whatever you see, whatever you find, I didn't show you. Follow me."
She galloped off, somewhere towards the Everfree Forest. Blossomforth followed without comment, and Pennaprose hurried after them. He couldn't stifle a sarcastic though, I'm doing something right for once...
She stopped by the edge of the forest. Pennaprose looked around impatiently; there was nothing but a slight hill that led into the forest. "Well? Why've we stopped?"
She ignored him, head lowered to the ground intently. He started again, but Bon Bon kicked a patch of dirt in his face without looking to silence him. He looked on quizzically, but decided to shut up for the moment.
"…Aha! There's the bastard…"
She dug a hoof into the ground, at least a foot deep, and dug out a small pit. There was a bronze knocker buried inside that she grabbed with her teeth, pulling it taut. There were sounds of gears and muted clicks; sizable mounds of earth rose up, revealing glass windows and a path down wide enough for two. He peered down the staircase, the lamps along the walls lighting themselves as he watched. Bon Bon dropped the knocker and trotted down. Pennaprose followed, eyes locked ahead of him.
The fires gave off the scent of rosemary and lavender. For the first time since he woke up, he could feel himself beginning to relax. The walls may have been pure dirt, roots sticking out in odd places, but it seemed… clean; the walls seemed to shine slightly, in fact.
Then, as quickly as they began, the walls ended and a room opened out before him.
It was spacious, numerous fires burning alongside the ovular room. But what struck him most was neither the immaculate blue glass chandelier or the grand, gargoyle-bound fire place. Not even the walls made from polished stone and embedded gems.
Lined across the gothic height of the chamber was shelves to match, bounded with marble decorations. He walked up to one; merely looking up gave him vertigo. Then he read the titles upon them: Murder Most Foul, Eratos Regalia, End of Everything, Nevermore, Moste Potente Paradoxae… They were all collections of poetry. Some macabre, some Victorian, some epic, but all in perfect condition. He silently marveled at it.
He looked across the room, noting the numerous hallways that led out—one had a mine cart parked at the entrance—and something caused him to gag a little. The gargoyles flanking the fireplace were hideously disturbing, as gargoyles are meant to be. But instead of a recognizable head or wings, it was entirely hands. Large hands for wings, a fist where there should have been a face. Hands for feet, and oddly, each had differing numbers of fingers. 7 on the wings, 3 for the 'head', 4 and 6 for the actual hands and feel.
He felt nauseated. There was also a pair of marble hands protruding out of the top of the fireplace, but they were at least accurate. Except the left one; it was missing the pinkie. They opened outwards, as if releasing something to the sky.
He quickly checked around the room. Bon Bon was inspecting one of the hallways while Blossomforth was hovering overhead, checking the around the arches that lined the very top of the room. He looked back at the hands, getting up on his hind legs to inspect it. The pinkie wasn't missing; it lie next to the effigy, cut clean with a key sticking out of it. He looked closer at the left hand; sure enough, there was a keyhole where it should go. He inserted and turned it on a hunch.
His stomach seemed to swoop as the ground beneath him gave way, sending him rump first into a pit. His glasses flew off his face when he hit the bottom. He came close to cursing the darkness when a single source of light burst forth in front of him, revealing his glasses. He put them back on.
"Pennaprose? You all right down there?" came Bon Bon's voice from the top.
He looked around the pit, noting a single desk with a black-and-mint green velvet colored book with quill upon it. His stomach seemed to fall again, but this time in anticipation. "…I'm fine!" he answered.
"What's down there? Anything that could help us get out of here?" she asked. "Blast stutters fell over all the exits!"
He glanced around the small room again. There was literally nothing else but the desk, book, and quill. "…No. You two work on finding a way out, I've got something to check."
She made a sound of acknowledgment, then retreated from the hole. Only the sound of the flickering flames echoed now as her hoofsteps faded. He walked over to the book, inspecting it closer. It seemed nondescript enough, aside from the astoundingly soft cover. He noted that unlike the books outside, this one was handmade and haphazardly cared for; the twine for the binding was poking out of both ends and he could see places where the pages were yellowing.
He opened it tenderly, reading the first few lines scribbled on the back of the front cover.
This secret crests my very self, ensouled,
In these pages these inks of Dark are told:
My hist'rous heart bare, yet forged in cold
Set in motion my silent lament of gold.
It was Lyra's diary.