On the remnant of the table sits, for lack of a better word, a report; if one were so inclined, though, they could instead appropriately deem the papers as the scribblings of the insane. Given how the writing, at seemingly random variables, alternates between stoic, stately, and above all else scientific prose, and a frightening excitability constrained to parchment only through looping text that sees fit to crawl along the margins and alternates colors, and, far more worryingly, volatility, naysayers may have a point on this one.
What follows is not that report, as the lettering will spontaneously combust in perhaps twenty seconds and take the rest of the desk with it, and goodness knows twenty seconds is hardly enough time to read one page of a legendarily expository ‘Ms. Sparkles Scientific Analysis,’ much less the entire thesis. No, what follows is a re-drafting crafted primarily from memory, a sort of abstract that possesses enough chronological distance from the experiment itself to allow a sane retelling.
For the most part.
May the silent stars have mercy on us all.
***
Experimental Observations on Exotic Ecology and Enculturation
By Twilight Sparkle
What follows is a series of tests (and prospective Hypotheses) I, henceforth to be regarded as Twilight Sparkle, have performed upon the Unclassified Ontological Reversal Entity (henceforth regarded as Apostrophe, for reasons that shall not be elucidated upon later in this report).
I do solemnly swear I have acted with professionalism and considerable moral concern in the testing of my subject, and am unaware of any influences upon my subject that may have skewed resultant data.
Interview 1: The purpose of this query is to establish what upbringing the subject Apostrophe possesses, as well as determine if its thought processes possess considerable deviance with its own kind.
Unfortunately, this interview is shorter than was originally anticipated.
***
“I possess no kin and was brought to maturity within a super-void’s chilly womb. And in those lightless places is where I dwell until the siren song of sustenance rouses me from my self-induced stasis. I have heard a thousand potential cosmos perish before they were born, I have heard the stars grow dark and silent, and I have heard the great detonation and the cataclysmic eventuality of gnashing infinite mass and zeroth volume, yet never have I witnessed another as me. Others exist, perhaps, as well-traveled, or enduring, or simple in design and function, but none are of mine, or ever will be.”
“But surely-”
“None. I would have found them, if there were.”
***
Interview 2: Given how little information we have on the subject’s Apostrophe’s physiology, I sought to correct this gap in knowledge. Due to the potential overlap this topic may have had with ‘Capabilities’ (ie, the magic we associate with Unicorns via the mutation of a horn nub, and the flight Pegasi possess via the unsettlingly well researched wing mutation), such tangentially related topics were included in this interview.
This was a mistake.
Tangentially related, Apostrophe’s ability to communicate has since seen remarkable growth; no longer are others required to speak on its behalf. Rather, the air itself is distorted, replicating the same ripples a soundwave might produce.
***
“What do you mean, you ‘render yourself massless’? You can’t just do something like that!”
“Verily? What of my adjustable Volume?”
“That too!”
“We find ourselves in a conundrum, then. For that is how I must traverse the cosmos and reach my nourishment. That is how I have endured the end times as they happen, with flames intense enough to boil stars. And that is how I am here.”
“Look, I don’t want to call you a liar, but-”
“Then call me a spinner of falsehoods, then; it amounts to much the same as what you do now.”
“... Let’s just table that issue for now and move on to something else, okay?”
“Verily.”
“So… what’s with all this ‘star eating’ nonsense?”
“I imbibe the light for basic sustenance and devour stars as they breathe their last; one could liken me to one of you ‘carrion-eaters’, though, verily, it is a pointless phrase. Few beings on your world aspire to eat the living, as the platter Spike the dragon served ye’ prior to this interview serves to prove; t’was naught but decaying cells.”
“Just for the record, I ate a hay-burger, but that’s neither here nor there: my real question, really, is how you claim to eat stars and other celestial bodies.”
“...Be that a query?”
“Yes, it was a question.”
“Verily? It lacked the lilt of one. Be that as it may, my explanation is conjoined with my evidently impossible capacities.”
“Just answer the question, please.”
“Verily. I, my natural form, lacks sufficient plating to endure the terrible ravages of a detonated star, save for within my stomach; therefore, I must approach with little to no geometric volume and a significant mass. In this state, my own incalculable density compels decaying star matter to my presence and renders light itself incapable of escape.”
“That’s… somewhat… no, no ‘somewhat’, that’s just terrifying. Ahem. If that’s true.”
“Ye’ entrap grains from cradle to grave whilst feasting on their kin before them. Wheat witnesses the depravity of hunger before the guillotine of the mill.”
“I’m not going to apologize for eating!”
“Nor will I.”
“Son of a [redacted]! [Redacted]! [Redacted]! [Redacted]! Look, even if that is how you eat, I fail to see how that nourishes you, you [redacted].”
“What is a [redacted], and how would it go about fitting in my [redacted]? How would one go about acquiring a-”
“Just answer the question, please!”
“Verily, though I still possess queries. I subsist not on substance , but on the ontology of the star. What it was and what it could be. Matter reverts in my true presence, traversing backwards upon the usual chronological axis, leaving me naught but a belly full of stars alongside my true foodstuffs, aspirations of warmth and fulfillment.”
“Wait. Are you telling me you eat the thoughts of stars?!”
“Indeed! And when the burn within my gut becomes an agony, I await the end times before regurgitating the plasma into existence.”
“Yeah, no, we’re not just skipping over the fact you eat the dying wishes of SUNS! What, what about the planets that require the star’s heat to maintain a thriving ecosystem?!”
“One suspects that if a life-form were incapable of escaping the expansion radius of the typical star, life-forms on that planetoid should possess far graver concerns than my hunger snuffing out the cosmic candle baking them alive.”
“Urgh… I think I’m going to be sick…”
***
Of course it turns out that the first intelligent extraterrestrial life form we encounter has more in common with a Chrysalis-aligned changeling.
Interview 3, Experiment 1: [Redacted]
Ask not for the subject’s Apostrophe’s true name.
***
“What am I supposed to call you?”
“Ye’ seem partial enough to pet names deriving from ‘entity’, ‘thing’, ‘monster’, and ‘abomination’; one of those shall surely suffice?”
“My feelings on the topic of your ...diet... aside, I owe you at least that much of a common courtesy. You do have a name, right?”
“Always. But I shall not: names beckon, and your minds are ill-equipped to handle the unrelenting presence I, the-true-I, exude.”
“Really? I’ve established thirty-seven maximized ward ‘dulling’ spells contingent upon my mental well-being becoming at-risk; if you’re really so big and bad, they’ll activate, and I’ll be fine. So stop moping; what’s the worst that could happen?”
***
There is no proper way to truly explain what followed; the wards activated flawlessly, yes, but it was like using a thimble to scoop water out of a sinking ship. I understand this to be an uncouth practice, but I possess no method of encapsulating what happened at that point, besides the copying and transplantation of the fragmentary memories drifting in my brain; a vial of the memory potion will be included in the original copy of this report.
On the plus side, the sofa is no longer scorched; it seems Apostrophe doesn’t lie about the time-warping effect.
Interview 4 3: Once the effects of the prior experiment subsided, I inquired on the various effects I could still recall; unfortunately, this interview had to be cut short to prevent biological contamination.
***
“WHAT THE [Redacted] WAS THAT?!”
“Ye’ dribble life-fluid from mouth, eyes, and ears: surely that is of higher priority?”
“You! Science! Now!”
“If I were of the same caste as your kind, I would find your mania frightful. As it is, it is still quite disconcerting. With what should I even start?”
“How about with that weird distortion-thing?!”
“I assume with ‘weird distortion-thing’ you refer to my shadow’s shadow’s shadow?”
“...Explain.”
“Would a sixth-dimensional object possess a three-dimensional shadow? Nay. It would cast a fifth-dimensional shadow, which in turn would distort the fourth-dimension and so on.”
“And the cacophony? It, it stuttered, with emphasis on the wrong syllable.”
“Existence rarely comes silently to one such as me. Though, perhaps the noise you refer to was a fragment of my name?”
“You… talk a lot about how we’re not able to withstand your presence; well, how do explain me, eh? How do you like them-”
“You intermittently flickered betwixt consciousness and… not. Your functions utterly halted sixty-seven times over the course of my transient existence, and if not for diffusing the experienced terror through the subconscious, I suspect the end-state would have concluded on ‘halted’.”
“-apples…”
“Verily. I suspect there will be bad dreams for days.”
***
Apostrophe is dangerous. I don’t know how or why something like it was close enough to be captured and transmogrified by even the most powerful orbital mirroring spells, but it seems we should take Apostrophe at its word when it states to not pry into certain topics.
At least, not until we can get about a hundred thousand more wards set up.
For the moment, however, Apostrophe seems content to reside in the corner of the study; I have since learned that the irregular breathing pattern of the ‘stallion’ form is due to Apostrophe’s inability to consciously inhale or exhale, in much the same way that Apostrophe never learned to blink or see due to never having eyes before.
It seems, in many ways, we (The Scientific Community of Equestria) may need to redefine the nature of ‘life’ if entities like Apostrophe are existent.
***
Twilight sighs, even as she coils the incomplete abstract up and (with more than a little bribery to a certain assistant) sends it to Canterlot via owl; simply remembering the outcomes of her manic fits twists her guts into an uncomfortably complex tangle of knots and pride. ‘Want-it-need-it’, of course, muscles itself to the forefront of her mind as the brunt of her anguish, an unsettling reminder of directionless fear and pointless terror; and yet, those same fits of temporary madness have seen her through more than a few of her happiest achievements, a wellspring of (albeit occasionally misguided) intuition and and quick-wittedness.
What would it be like to be in that state, perpetually?
She shudders; agonizing, that’s how.
The last seven days, with one spent in a state of tired burn-out: a lack of caution and restraint around the subject had resulted in more than a few worried visits from friends.
“This obsession needs to stop,” Twilight muttered to herself even as she snuggles deeper into her bed, her body wreathed in an almost ethereal shroud of blankets even as she closes her eyes to rest.
Funny, she manages to think even in the depths of slumber, I’m not having bad dreams. Guess it doesn’t know everything...
And so the night passes, in horrors unshared and un-experienced.