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// Another brief chapter that doesn't seem to build upon the narrative causality of the story 
// Story: Roseluck Shrugged, and other facetious drivel 
// by RoxyTheMagus 
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Roseluck, the human one, wakes up again. It is morning, as would be expected for a species that sleeps during the night. Which humans are.

She goes through her intentionally nondescript morning routine, acquires food, then leaves for school. Suddenly, a wave of whimsy overcomes the author, and they have a devious scheme. Roseluck is nonetheless unaware of the author's plans, and continues on her way to school, along a nondescript route, though something itches in the back of our hero's mind, that reality shouldn't be entirely without defining features.

She shakes it off as she arrives of school, with only the slightest of mental nudges from the author. Our alpha protagonist enters the foyer of the building, and gazes around at the students, whose only descriptive trait appears to be their presence. Once again, the feeling of false reality comes to the front of her mind, but is just as swiftly banished by the vigilant fingers of the author on the keyboard.

After a brief moment to reply to a stupid comment on a previous chapter of the story, as well as to discuss some stuff with others, the author returns to her writing. The morning passes by as a literal blur, time flashing forward before our main character's eyes to leave her in the cafeteria, thoroughly bewildered. The author swiftly deletes the intruding thoughts in her construct's mind, and directs the puppet to go and order some food and take a seat.

Each day passes like this, a series of forced and awkwardly strung together narrative events, with the author repeatedly wiping the minds and memories of her constructs, so as to prevent them from disrupting her hastily thrown-together plans and schemes, ad infinitum.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

After a few moments of the author scheming, and an ugly linebreak thing, the narrative shifts to focus on the other protagonist, the beta villain. He's been busy.

Without the author's direct attention, he's been able to exploit the holes and vague points in the implied narrative, and gradually risen to power in a far darker timeline, as predicted.

Over the centuries, he has led a revolution against the Equestrian Diarchy, reformed the government with himself at its head, fought a long war of attrition with the changelings, eventually losing the southern provinces in a poorly-worded peace deal, and commissioned a nice cloak. It's a light cream, with a crown and rose, to match the insignia of his royal house.

It has been six hundred and twelve years since his arrival here. The villain's old life is but a distant memory. Equestria has grown into a heavily industrialized state, seemingly in a constant state of war with this state or that power. Revolutions seem to spring up every month or so, only to be brutally crushed by the guards of the empire. Centuries of social conditioning have forged Equestrian culture into a vicious system of ruthlessness and determination. The engine of war has been running nonstop for a very long time now.

Beta suspects it is time to reclaim the southern provinces, in a war that shall last a great deal more than five hundred words, though they may not be recorded. The author stops writing.