Not All Scars are Seen
Chapter 1
Theme: Live to Tell - Madonna
Beneath the watchful gaze of Luna's Moon, shades of blue and violet were lovingly caressed by the strings of silver which lit them, forming songs within the garden of shadows which lulled the world to rest. A time of peace and serenity unequaled, given to Equestria in time immemorial, it was true that the Night lacked the overt brilliance of the Day; but what it lacked in opulence, it flaunted in mute splendor with a beauty all its own. While never unappreciated, too often, the Night was remembered not for its spender, but for its close proximity to Darkness.
Darkness accompanied the Night to be certain, but Darkness - True Darkness - existed solely as the antithesis of all that was good and right in the world; the great predator that sought only to return all that had been made to nothingness. In this, all creatures great and small seemed to possess and insinctive fear of Darkness and the dangers that dwelt within it; a fear that so often was placed incorrectly upon the Night.
But though they were seen as one and the same, Night and Darkness were similar in on the most superficial ways.
To combat such fears, the living tell stories of great heroes and legendary magics -- apocryphal tales to remind them that fear could be overcome and that darkness could be defeated. But Darkness is always the cleverest of foes, and such tales all to often forget that will exist no matter how bright the Day nor how dark the Night. Ever-seeking the infinitesimal slivers of doubt and worry, sheered from the two-edged blade of free well, Darkness may have fled before the courage of heroes, but would always return to attack even the bravest of souls where they could not fight back; turning their own demons into its most potent weapons.
It was for this reason, that only the most maddened, the most foolish and the most innocent ever truly slept peacefully; and while the return of Princess Luna had limited its machinations, the Steward of Dreams could not be everyone, and the knives of Darkness were as insidious and subtle as they were sharp.
In her fondest dreams, the world was little more shimmering leaves of gossamer which blew across a picturesque field; her fillies frolicking and playing across it, her hoof held in that of her stallion, her head nestled against the warmth of his shoulder as they watched. In other dreams, she once again felt the comfortable weight of golden armor across her back as she moved with the familiar cadence of those who were her brothers and sisters in every way but blood. In the rarest of the rare, she was a filly once more, unconcerned with where she came from or where she was going save to find the next thermal to carry her higher into the ocean of winds through which she soared.
In her dreams, she was whole once again, new and unbroken, her pains nothing but distant memories. Such moments were like a treasure crafted by the Goddess of Night herself, crafted in details that no artist could replicate; strong enough to restore the missing pieces of her soul and mind, yet so delicate that the slightest breath would shatter them. Perhaps, in her introspective moments, she would think that this fragility made her cherish such things all the more deeply, even as their siren song of serenity called her to remain within them forever.
Though her life was filled with both love and friendship, in her weakest moments, she longed to answer the call of such songs; to leave behind the familiarity of pain and loss to be born anew, and yet always the knowledge of what she risked abandoning kept her from listening to their call. It was this knowledge that her consciousness could never escape even as her subconscious longed for the release, and it was here that her demons found their perch-- the paradoxical duality dragging her mind into the void between the sanctuaries of dream and waking where she could no longer protect herself.
It was in such a moment of weakness that the void's maw swallowed her as the knife of Darkness slid home.
Her vision failed her first as the sting of sweet mixed with the acrid scents of wood smoke and charred flesh. Next came the sensation of pain rolling down her shoulders as weight - both familiar and alien - pressed into her saddle pad and pinned her wings beneath it. Beneath her, mud caked against her hooves and fetlocks as she trudged forward, muscles straining for every agonizing inch of progress. Above her the cries of airborne skirmishers echoed all around as they dove and weaved through the fire of artillery magics. Around her, the sound of steel against steel mingled with the cries for help from the wounded and silence of those already dead.
"... stop... stop it..."
The field, once picturesque and pristine now lay scared and blackened by flame and blade, the grass swaying above rivers of blood. The sky, once blue and pure now darkened to the color of burning pitch, the sun little more than a baleful eye staring downward. Her girls?! Where were her girls?!
"They… no... stop... they hadn't..."
Her right hind leg failed her, her right foreleg following soon after, bones cracking and the coppery taste of blood filling her mouth as she found herself pinned beneath the weight she carried. Fighting against the awkward position, she could barely make out the battle line only a scant few hundred yards away; and though she had flown from one side of Equestria to the other, never had such a short distance seemed so far away.
"...make it stop..."
Momentarily blinded a second time, but with effort born from sheer desperation, the weight atop her vanished, every fiber of her being screaming as her muscles tore like velcro from the herculean as her breath hitched in her throat and vision once again returned to her good eye. Wings spreading, charred feathers barely responding, she somehow found the strength to launch herself upwards, her equilibrium barely holding as she sought escape.
"...please stop..."
Survival and the completion of her mission should have been the only things on her mind in that moment, but she still broke every rule she had ever lived by to look over her shoulder one last time to look at the unmoving weight she had left behind. She would never have tolerated such a mistake from her cadets, and was rewarded for her transgression with the sensation of liquid fire pouring down her spine; her internal gyroscope shattering as her wings snapped shut reflexively from the agony. Far below, the battlefield stared up at her malevolently, the world turning sideways as the indescribable feeling of uncontrolled free fall carried her downward into oblivion.
The jolt of impact flared her wings to full extension, the sudden movement throwing her body upwards into a tangle of loose sheets, the room spinning wildly as she clamped her eyes shut. Phantom pains wracked her feathers, the right side of her body all but paralyzed as muscled locked into excruciating rigidity. The sour taste of bile rose in her throat, threatening to choke her even as it raced the scream which tried to tear free of her muzzle.
But before any sound could escape, her left foreleg found her mouth, her teeth sinking into its flesh in refusal to give her demons the satisfaction of a scream that would frighten her loved ones. Such nightmares where nothing if not familiar and it was not uncommon for them to jolt her from her sleep, though it had been a long time since one had made her want to scream upon waking. For a time, she had actually thought herself rid of them.
But while the warmth of the summer and familiar setting of friendly faces had eased the worst of her pains and buried the shattered memories of her former lifetime, so too had such things caused her to lower her defenses; if only minimally. The respite left her honestly happy and kept her from feeling the fear she constantly fought against, but that happiness had left her vulnerable in other ways. Logically, she wanted to berate herself for believing in some wicked force that targeted her specifically out of all the mares in Equestria, but it was difficult not to think as such after such a violent awakening.
"It's isn't real anymore," she whispered.
Squeezing both her empty and good eyes tightly closed, she took in slow, ragged breaths and released them with equal timidity, her teeth eventually loosening their grip on her foreleg, the limb pulling tight around her barrel as she shivered with feverish cold. Ears pinning backwards, she willed herself not to cry from the pain as she concentrated. It was true she couldn't fight or escape her nightmares, but she could out think and outlast them.
"It isn't real anymore," she said, forcing herself to speak more firmly.
Eyes closed, the worst of the vertigo was easier to ignore and the words helped her focus; memories of her girls, her stallion and the foals she had helped over the years coming to her mind as she did. In these things were a sense of duty so ingrained within her psyche that they were as much a part of her as her cutie mark; an anchor of reality in her storms of chaos. In them, the iron discipline so carefully cultivated in her youth returned to her, bolstering old confidence and banishing doubt.
"It. Is. Not. Real. Anymore!"
Little by little, she felt the tension in her wings and body loosening. Soon, the pounding of her heart settled as she felt her wings tuck into place, the grip of her foreleg relaxing. Finally, the simple act of regular breathing allowed her to roll onto her back as the conflicting sensations receded to tolerable levels, her eye easing open as her head rolled to the side.
According to her alarm clock, she had managed a full five hours of sleep and she sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Princesses for that small miracle. Despite this, her body begged for just a few more minutes of rest, but her mind knew that no matter how generous the Princesses may have been, temping fate was always a poor decision. Moreover, her girls would be waking soon and she refused to let her see them as she was at that moment.
Rolling over and planting her hooves upon the thickly carpeted floor, she made for her dresser to locate the small wooden box that contained her crystal eye, years of practice slipping it into place easily. Unfortunately, the eye had never fit properly and she immediately felt it starting to roll off-center into its usual position; something which gave her a unique and often commented on appearance. Worse still, the poor sizing always caused a dull, throbbing ache within her eye socket for as long as she wore the prosthetic. Those who knew her eye was false would sometimes ask why she didn't commission a properly fitting eye, or better still a magical one that would at least partially restore her sight and depth perceptions. She rarely acknowledged such suggestions though, for despite its shortcomings, she cherished the eye because of who made it.
Love always found a way of dealing with minor inconveniences, after all.
Flexing her wings as she took another deep breath, she craned her neck to begin preening, but stopped short at the odor which greeted her, the scent all but demanding a morning shower. First though, she trotted from her room and made from the doors behind which her fillies slept peacefully in their - at least marginal - ignorance of the evils of the world. Starting at her eldest's, she placed her ear to the simple wooden barrier and listened. Inside, she could already hear Sparkler beginning to stir, soft grumbles directed at her alarm clock reaching her sharp ears. She would not, of course, intrude upon the teenager's privacy without a reason and spoke through the door instead.
“Sweetie, I’ll be done with my shower in a few minutes, you can have it when I’m done,” she said.
An incoherent, but largely affirmative sound answered her words.
Tiphooving across the hall, she opened the well-oiled door of her youngest's room to peek inside, smiling at the scene before her. Atop the small bed, a faux tent of pillows and blankets had been erected to conceal the room’s occupant, soft snoring heard from within the trappings. However, if the last weeks were any indication, her little muffin already had something planned for the day and she would need to be ready for it.
Closing the door as quietly, she moved silently to the bathroom and began her morning routine.
As she let the water cleanse and relax her, her thoughts turned to her girls as they often did following a nightmare; wondering what they would say if she could find the courage to confide in them the way they confided in her. But as always, such thoughts were quickly pushed aside as she cursed herself for evening considering them. Deep down, she knew that they would understand - and could possibly even help in some ways - but she always felt she had no right to burden them with her troubles. Her girls were her life, and while she could not protect them forever, she would do so for as long as possible.
Turning off the water and shaking the excess from her body, she stepped from the shower to face the mirror, her familiar, cross-eyed expression staring back at her as she finished drying off.
"It isn't real anymore," she told herself, just as she did every morning without fail.
On her worst days, the simple mantra rebuilt her mental defenses and refocused her thoughts, letting her force herself to smile in the face of the coming day.
Sometimes, on her best days, she actually let herself believe it.