I don’t think it’s going to work. If you insist, though. Guess I can try whatever you suggest…
Look. I’m not agreeing with your idea. Just so you understand. This dream thing is not really a problem. I’m only doing what you tell me because it’s interesting. That’s it.
Really. No joke. That’s the only reason.
Yes. I get it. It’s intense. That’s part of the fun. I can handle it.
Onward.
Hey, cool music by the way. Is that…? Aw yeah. “Totally Lost Cause” by the Royal Canterlot Orchestra. The high-pitched violin and cello instrumental touches my heartstrings every time. And that murmuring Ancient Pegasine choir? Divine, but subtle. Not bombastic like most pop tunes you get. You have sublime taste.
OK, I’m picturing it. The orchestral's speaking to my muse. Feel the act of creation…
I stand under a blood-red sky. Sun on the horizon, partly hidden by the crimson smudge of dust clouds. I feel the cool wind like an autumn evening, calming and icy. Quiet rustling of my killer opera cape, too. That hits the sweet spot.
Now there’s the bones crunching under my hooves. Nothing moves on the bleached pile of death.
Oh, if you find that a bit much, they’re fake ones made of china. Don’t ask me how they don’t break. Dreams defy reality.
Yeah, I’m feeling great. But I don’t feel like shouting or anything. I just wanna relax and look good. No harm in that.
The ponies. Right.
They’re not doing anything really. They’re just marching. I see them curving round my pile, closer to me than any of the buildings. Which, by the way, are like cottages and Canterlot mansions, but coloured black. I got that off a vinyl disc cover. Not my own collection. I was at a night club once.
If I look closer? Some of them look familiar. That one coming round now looks a bit like Moondancer. I recognize the glasses and the red mane. Those two just disappearing round are definitely Mother and Father. No, I’m not worried. They’re not real. It’s just a random dream. Miss Thistlecroup’s the one behind the stallion. Still got her tight bun even here, huh.
What do you mean, what happens next? The usual scene changes. Fighting armies, collecting cropland and mines, expanding my empire. But that’s what the generals do. I just look over their shoulders in the map room. Looks a bit like it was carved out of obsidian, but the maps have this wicked glowing aura. Pale as the moon. Mystical that way. Cool.
Next, I hover over a wall of Royal Guard ponies on the red clay plains of dusk. The white and gold ones are the enemy. Mine are the bat ponies. They’re just following my orders. No one, you know, dies. They just get grabbed and dragged into chains like the others. Then the rest fall back. Sweet, sweet victory.
It doesn’t mean anything. What’s with this obsession with meaning? It’s fun to play the bad guy. Just not too bad.
Oh. Yeah? Uh huh.
No, I get that. Since all this stuff is dream stuff, I can change it to whatever I want. That is totally OK. I get what you mean.
A good ending? I doubt it. Villainy is super-bad, and I’ve got slaves. How do you make that good?
Now you mention it, I could change a few things. Like the china bones. You want me to change the sky?
No, the sky’s OK. Not cosmetic stuff. Eh. If you say so.
I could imagine the ponies are in chains of their own free will. Weirder things have happened. And I guess we’re just taking turns, and I’ll hand over to someone else. Like a gigantic game. The chains are paper painted with metallic hoof varnish. Looks convincing at a distance. There are unicorn guards on the frontline. Have their horns make brief shield bubbles so no one really takes a hit. All part of the game.
Wait. I’ve just thought of something. I could have Mother and Father come up and watch. After they break their chains and climb up, duh. Make it a big art project. Performance art. They’d love that. They used to go to the theatre.
They’re smiling. I could have them smiling.
I have no idea what you’re talking about. I told you; this is simply a game. Dreams can be anything. Anything means nothing.
I know. Deep, isn’t it? No, I’m not distracting you. Only asking. I picked up a bit of non-Equestrian philosophy here and there. Not an expert, though…
Look, I like playing the evil overlord. That proves nothing. Sometimes ponies do things for fun. And nothing else.
Will you stop saying that? It’s got nothing to do with power. Why would I want power? I’m not deluded. Or crazy. Or dangerous. All I know is, it feels good when I dream that dream.
Hey! That is not cool!
You sound just like my parents. I’m not hurting anyone. It’s my head. I’ll do what I want with it.
That’s unfair. My tarantula never hurt anyone, but my parents took him away. Spidey was nothing but a toy. They still took him away. What sense does that make? What right did they have?
Ha. Looking out for me… I know that’s a lie. They didn’t like it because it didn’t fit their idea of what a perfect daughter should be. I have my own identity. I keep to myself. Why does everyone try to take that away from me?
I like dark things. I like cool things. Best day of my life was getting my own house. Nice gothic mansion with gargoyles sticking out of the guttering. I got a bed shaped like a coffin. Opera cape with red velvet trimming. Fake vampire fangs if I want to try them. Even put a shed on the conservatory roof so I could keep my telescope there. I can watch the silent night. No one else bothers watching the stars unless it’s shooting stars. Or a job.
Nightmare Night stuff, I know. Stuff that scares ponies is cool! Thunder. High buildings. Needles and surgeries. Dentists. Doesn’t mean they’re all that dangerous. My dentist was no different from any old stallion. I met him outside the practitioner’s once. I hate it when ponies say stuff like that. He didn’t deserve it!
Everyone was afraid of the dark back at the academy! Sometimes shadows are just shadows! I wish ponies would at least think about that! I wish they'd just figure it out and leave me alone!
OK?
OK. Calming down. Calming down. And relax…
Sorry you had to see that. Told you I have the soul of an artist. And everything that comes with it. You did that on purpose, though. Getting me to talk about my feelings. It doesn’t change anything.
Does it?
Well… I suppose that would explain why I don’t do anything but make war. In the dream. Filling out tax forms is totally not romantic. Or epic. Or awesome. I wouldn't be in control, anyway. Not really. Not with bits of paper. Not big enough.
I… never thought about it. Not that way. It’s not as bad now as it was back then. At least this time, I did go out on the night. With Sassy and the other girls. And yeah: I suppose maybe I should say something more often. But to be honest, I doubt it. They only talk about mundane stuff. Shopping, eating out, who they met, who’s done what to whom.
Me? Deep things. I like thinking about the nature of reality, I suppose. Why illusions could be everywhere. Why social rules are any different from hard facts. Philosophy, that’s it. And there’s this book I read once, about Machiavellian politics in an alternative history. One where the princesses never appeared. The story’s about the three tribes starting out equal, but their leaders and their followers are trying to be the one tribe to rule them all.
Oh, you’ve read it. Good, huh? A bit grisly at times, especially the middle. But the characters pluck my heartstrings on every reading. Read it five or six times now.
Look, if I wanted to talk to ponies with common interests, I’d join a club. I already am in a club. They’re not friends. They’re ponies I know. We talk about the books and that’s it.
Oh. You mean after that. No, I don't go out with them. I’ve never been the outdoors type. I’d rather sit at home and read.
What’s that?
No way. I can’t do that. That’s… that’s… ugh. Can’t I try something else?
No deal, huh. You sure? It’s just… just thinking about it… ugh.
I didn’t mind turning that dream into a big game everyone was in on. That was a dream. This is reality. I’d never get that many ponies involved. Don’t even know that many. I'm not that close to anyone. Definitely not telling them about my feelings. Ugh. Can't I just write poetry instead?
Oh. You mean the creepy stuff. The dream. So you’re saying if I tone the act down when I talk to them, they’ll like me.
No chance. Forget it. The raven take my soul before I wear a mask for a fake life. I’m not desperate. And why should I play pretend? They’re the ones with the problem.
Oh. Sorry. Misunderstood you. I thought it sounded strange. Seriously, though. Can’t I do anything else? I’ll grin and bear it. I’ll weather the silent gale. I can stay indoors and let them get on with it. Besides, I like that dream. I’m not giving it up.
Oh.
You mean, I don’t have to lie? I doubt that. No way it’s that simple. They’ll take one look, and it’ll be the last look. It’s like showing Mother my Spidey.
OK. You caught me. Fair’s fair. I never showed Mother my Spidey. I don’t know. One day he was gone. I guess, when I wasn't around, Mother stumbled upon him. I can imagine the blood-curdling scream right now.
She never mentioned it, though. Probably scared of me too.
Me? I could've led her into it gently? I was a filly. How could I have said something like that? Didn’t even know what half those words meant back then. Yes, it would have been a shock if she’d stepped in and seen the thing. No explanation.
And I suppose it would be weird to just let it drop that I dream about enslaving everyone.
And that I live in a creepy mansion, yeah. They'd give me funny looks. But that’s my point. That's first impressions. They don’t think. You act like I haven’t tried to explain it to them.
Oh. So we’re doing this game the other way around now? How I'd like it to go down? OK. Last fantasy. And then you’ll let me go? Right?
I see myself. Like an out-of-body experience. I see myself walking down Canterlot. That road with all the restaurants. It’s sunset, so the sky looks like one big rainbow but the streets are a bit dark. The other ponies are standing there. They’re waiting for someone. Maybe me. I dunno.
I’m wearing that midnight dress. Over the Moon, it’s called. Crescent moon broach on the front. Glittery stars on translucent skirt. Serene and stellar and sombrous.
Cool, huh? Not many ponies know what that last word means.
Anyway, I go up to them – the me wearing the dress – and I say I want to talk to them. Sunshine’s OK. Minuette might be too. Don’t know about the others, so ignoring them. I’m not that hopeful. Crossing the sky one star at a time.
No. That won't work. Just like that? No secret tricks, no smart words, nothing I gotta remember? Nothing? That seems a bit risky. I can't do it.
Well yeah, I trust them. A little. But that doesn’t make us friends. Whatever. Anyway, I’m opening my mouth. I’m telling them what I think. No, that won’t work. That’s just dumping it on them.
I… suppose I… could ask them if they’d like to try literature club? This feels weird. I don’t even know if they like reading.
OK, no. Better idea. We sit down somewhere quiet. My place? No, too spooky. Maybe Sunshine’s? And then I just ask her if I can have a talk. A serious one. Not some filly’s schoolyard whisper session.
Whoa. I can feel every beat of my heart. That is not nice.
And then I just say it. That looks a bit better. They know it’s serious, and it’s quiet, and it’s peaceful, and I don’t have to do it in front of all of them. One of them’s good enough for me. But what if I do that, and she still thinks I’m weird?
Yes. They know about the poetry. Yes. They know about the dress. Yes. They know I love Nightmare Night. And dressing up in dark clothes like a vampire. And “boring” astronomy. Yes, they still asked me if I wanted to join them for the night out with Sassy.
Ah. I see what you mean.
You really think it’ll work?
That line was from Toil and Crusader, wasn’t it? “Things won are done; joy’s soul lies in the doing.” But that means finished stuff isn’t as fun as stuff you’re continuously doing. Like writing poetry. I don’t get it. What’s that got to do with… this?
You mean, it doesn’t rest on what happens once? I think I get it. It's like what they say in literature club. It doesn't stop at one piece of writing. Every night, every day, the music of the heavens plays on for the straining soul. Joy's soul.
Speaking of which, that background music’s becoming a drag. You’ll ruin it for me.
I think taking Sunshine aside could work. I dunno. I'd have to see her face before I try it.
Will I remember this? When I get up in the morning? Good. It’s been… helpful. I’ll tell myself that every night. “Joy’s soul”. Got a nice ring to it. I can see a sonnet with that title.
You know, I feel totally safe knowing you’re around. Law of the Heart, perhaps?
One more thing. Before I wake up. Society demeans sleep as dead time; for me, it’s the best time. I’ve always thought that. Sleep is life. Poetry, without the distractions of blue light. I could send you the poems I wrote about it, if you like. Don’t worry. One of them won first place in the Lunatown Heartsong Competition. Archaic language, yet modern sensibilities. I think it’d speak to your soul.
OK. I'm waking up now. For good, this time. I go on to the over-discovered country. Conquer life one more time.
Thanks. Thanks a lot. I mean every word. Sorry for all the stupid drama I put you through. But I… I feel like I'm not dead yet. There's still some hope left. Still alive.
OK, I'm going this time.
By the way… did I mention you’re my favourite princess?