“Have you ever thought about suicide?”
Immediately you tense under me.
“I mean—I don’t want to die. I don’t want to leave Ponyville and the princesses and my family and you. But sometimes I feel like I’m… overstaying my welcome. I wasn’t supposed to be here; I’ve gone too far. Me? A princess? Wasn’t there somepony more qualified who was supposed to take up that mantle instead of me? I know it’s silly. And I’m not going to kill myself. But the river has me reeling through all of these thoughts, and I wonder if it’s… calling me on. To whatever’s next. And I’m so curious about that too—if I die then maybe I’ll finally be able to learn everything I can’t get my head around. Maybe I’ll get to see what magic and math actually are, not obstructed by the systems we’ve fabricated to try and understand it all. Pi is an infinite number but a circle can exist in a finite space. We still have no idea how magnets or gravity work. And why can only some applications of spells actually create or destroy matter—Seventh Circle’s theory of malbalancing is accepted but it’s filled with holes.
“I feel so out of place with where I am, but it’s not like I can just walk away from all of this. And I’m so frustrated that whoever made the universe didn’t bother telling us how it works. Sometimes it makes me think about death, and, well, it’s not unpleasant. I don’t want to die, to make everyone sad, to leave you behind, but I don’t want to not die. It scares me, what if I’m immortal now that I’m an alicorn? What if I never get out of this, never learn everything I could, never get to return to who I was before I became a part of the monarchy? I used to be afraid of death, when I was a little filly. But I’m… I’m kind of excited for it now. And one of my biggest fears is that I’m here forever. That I won’t die. So if suicide is the only way, if I have to really work at it, then one day I think I’ll have to do it.
“I’m not going to kill myself. But I want to die one day. I want that inevitability back.” I nuzzle the base of your head, brushing up your mowhawk with the side of my nose. The stiff of crisp keratin enters one nostril, and the slightly musty pillow enters the other. Your soap is light in the scent of you, a tickle of myrrh with every breath I draw. “Please don’t be afraid.”
“Twilight, I am not afraid.” You’ve relaxed, I realize, as your limber and breathing body pressed against mine juxtaposes the stiffness in my legs and wings. From the depths of my lungs comes the reminder to breathe. You continue, “It does not scare me that you think of the world beyond. I know you are anxious, and stressed. You are right about death. It is the one universal experience. To be denied that would be disheartening at the least. And your curiosity does not surprise me, Twilight. Your drive to learn is part of what makes you beautiful.”
That comment stirs up feathers in my stomach.
“I want you to find happiness here in Equestria. But I know you will always be curious. If you live forever, perhaps you will see ponykind unravel all the mysteries of the universe. And if you feel you must leave, after millions of years on this planet, then I am sure your friends will understand.”
“Really? You’d be okay with that?”
“I do not want you to kill yourself Twilight. It would make me depressed beyond measure. And I do not think the other side of the river will take you to the same place as death. But I understand what you are saying.”
“Have you ever thought about that yourself?”
“Not in much seriousness. In passing I have imagined it, but even in my darkest time I did not believe it was the only way out.”
“I’m glad. I’m glad that you didn’t. I don’t think that either. I’m just… worried about it.” You roll over, folding your forelegs to your chest and gently pushing my wing up so you don’t ruffle the feathers so much. I open my eyes and see you looking calmly into me.
“You are very anxious, Twilight Sparkle. This has always been a part of you. If there is anything I can do to alleviate your nerves, please tell me.”
I have to make a conscious effort to not reach my mouth to your soft, worry-pursed lips. “Talking to you, training to get across this river, cuddling in your bed… this is helping very much.”
You smile at me. “I am glad. I will always be here for you.”
A moment passes in quiet. After wresting with my tongue I manage to say, “Zecora, thank you so much. For everything. In one of your letters a while ago you mentioned you were lonely sometimes. Do you want to talk about it?”
We keep talking for what feels like twenty minutes, but ends up being two hours. And I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to train today, I just want to talk to you until my throat runs dry. And then I want to sleep until it feels better.
But by five o’clock we get up and start training.
“We can start the walking, if you’re ready.”
“Let’s do it.”
So you take me back outside to the little pond again, and say, “Remember your faith in me, Twilight, how I would always catch you easily?”
“Yes.”
“Remember that here as you step out. Know that the water will be solid,” you put one hoof down there, then another, and stand fully supported, “and it will hold. You must clear your mind to all but this faith; all but this confidence in what will happen. At the same time, focus your energy to your hooves and into that idea. Let the universe use your magic to make your truth a reality.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath, connect eyes with you, then look down and put one hoof on the water as confidently as possible. It sinks right through, and I’m annoyed with myself that I’m not more surprised. “Damnit.”
You move out completely on the water, and face me, “Try closing your eyes. Imagine you are stepping onto more solid ground, not the water all around. And remember your focus and your energy.”
“Okay.” I put a hoof down again, flowing my chi through my foreleg like we’ve practised with punches and front kicks. I don’t know if it’s because I want it so bad, or if I’m actually making progress, but the water seems ever so slightly thicker as my hoof sinks straight through.
We try more, until we can feel the sun breaking on our backs. After that comparatively light day of training, I head home. I’m still thinking of you as I slip into the bath. As I daydream I’m in the river again. As I comb my mind to try and think of any books on Zebrica at all that I know of. It’s got to have an entry in the encyclopedia. And I think I had an old cultural reference guide, at some point. It might be in my old library in Canterlot that I let Moondancer use.
I cast a goggle spell, just a simple spell that temporarily protects your eyes from weak attacks, and open them underwater. The underside of the suds are silver-black kaleidoscopes laced with dirt. There has to be something to this. To why I’m suddenly falling in love with you and being called by the river. Why I still miss Golden Oaks so much, why these wings still feel so foreign. What happened to me? Where am I going now? Why am I here? Why did Celestia make me a princess? Why does anything have to exist at all?
I need to get back into my study to sketch some of this out. And I need to make a list about you and me.
I close my eyes again and breathe out all my air. It feels like my lungs were empty in the first place.
When I rejoin the party in the common room, Spike is awake and reading a comic book. Everyone else is still asleep.
“Hey Spike. I got up early and went ahead and washed. You want to help me make breakfast?”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
We bake some muffins, and wait for Starlight, Maud, and Sunburst to wake up. Maud is curled around a rock she brought with her, some kind of igneous stone. Starlight is sleeping with her mouth open, sprawled half out of her sleeping bag, and Sunburst is pulled up into a log. He looks peaceful.
Before I can tell Spike to keep an eye on them while I go check the library, he tells me, “I’ll go shower real quick before they get up. If they do wake up, go ahead and start eating. I’ll be real fast.” He scampers down the hall and I’m stuck here.
It leaves me a moment to stare at the muffins. Why are they here? What could possibly lead to them being made at all; surely they’re not real. I know they are, though. Even if they just feel fake; like if I blink too hard the muffin tin will be back in the pantry and the flour jar refilled. I go ahead and eat one just to convince myself that their existence is not as delicate as it seems. It makes my teeth feel brittle.