There are nightmares, and there are night terrors.
The difference between the two was complicated by Night Terrors having more physical symptoms and reactions than those having nightmares. Screaming, kicking, confusion upon waking, and sleepwalking were typical of Night terrors. And Twilight Velvet almost always had night terrors when her mind decided to frighten her in her slumbers. And it was always the same one.
Children usually don’t remember night terrors, and adults usually remember a fragment at best. But every time she’d had that night terror, it had been the same one over and over again, enough that she could remember it by now in near entirety. She didn’t like having this recurring night terror over and over, but at least she knew why she was having it, and could therefore address that in a way that prevented it happening for a while. She may have the night terror a few days in a row, but it would stop a while, and then come back. It was the only consistent dream she’d ever had. And more so, it was mostly comprised of her worst memories parading before her shut eyes.
It always started out the same.
Herself in the hospital, mere hours after she’d given birth to her son. Shining Armor had been several weeks premature in reality, and had been covered in tubes to feed him and get him enough oxygen. Those were some of the worst weeks of her life, so it wasn’t any wonder she’d dream of them. She’d wake in the hospital, and go to see her baby. Her legs would bang together like knockers on a door because she was so weak, but she’d always manage.
She’d get to the incubator. In that little fishbowl-like bed, the same thought would come over and over. You weren’t strong enough to carry him to term, and he’s suffering for it.
Her son kicked, sometimes cried, and her arms always ached to hold him, but she wasn’t allowed to touch him. She couldn’t even nurse him. He was fed through a tube- a gastronomy tube, as the doctors said- that was inserted directly into his stomach to feed him. She loathed that accursed tube, the way it stuck out of her baby, because it was doing her job. She’d had to pump her breastmilk and the doctors would put it in through the tube. There was a terrible disconnect between her and her son, there. She couldn’t feed him, couldn’t hold him, couldn’t even touch him in those first weeks of life. It always started there.
And then, it would switch to a year or so later. Her son would be asleep in his crib, and she’d sit up, waiting for her husband to come home, but he’d been working long hours. Long enough to plant the seeds of suspicion in her heart- the thought that he may have defiled their marriage with relations with another mare. He’d be gone days, if not weeks at a stretch for work, and when he was home, there was a disconnect. He never looked at his son too deeply. And in those moments of horrific doubt, the memories of her first pregnancy, that ended in miscarriage, would haunt her. With her husband there, she could forget. But alone, with a baby in the home, her mind would always go to what might have been.
She’d have a brief montage of Shining Armor’s early years play out before her, and she’d remember thinking to herself that she was a single parent all that time. Night Light was so busy at work that she felt as though she were raising her son alone. And then, A brief flash of the night that caused Twilight’s conception, before the montage ended, with her son at the age of five, and herself eight months pregnant.
She’d been playing with him in the yard that day, playing catch, and he’d been chasing after the ball a while, but was slowing down in his play. She caught a glimpse of his profile as he reached down for the ball, and thought he was wearing his thinking expression. The one he only wore when concerning serious questions. She never quite knew what he was going to ask her. There was always a mystery there. But she steeled herself for it.
Unfortunately, there was no way to steel herself for his question.
“Mommy, why don’t I have a Daddy?”
Her world had stood still at that question. Somehow, she managed to recover herself enough to choke out the words, “What do you mean, Shiny?"
“Why don’t I have a Daddy?” He asked again.
“You do, Shiny.”
“I don’t. My friends have Daddies that play with them and teach them and I don’t.”
Her heart shattered at the simple phrase. How she’d managed to make it through the rest of that game of catch, she’d had no idea. But when he ran off to play, She’d went to her bathroom and rummaged through her vanity to get some waterproof mascara to apply to her lashes to be sure her son wouldn’t ever see her cry.
That moment, that one singular moment, defined her perspective on her feelings as a mother for good. She would never feel good enough after that. She realized in that moment that she could teach her son so many things, but as a mare, she couldn’t teach him things about being a stallion that he needed to know. That was Night Light’s job, and he was blowing it. She knew in her heart that she would never feel like she was enough after that.
When Twilight was born, some things changed.
Night Light was still working late, but Shining became an adoring and devoted brother almost overnight. He’d learned how to do it completely on his own. So Twilight, at least, had a good male role model to look to. But she always worried that he wasn’t getting everything he needed.
The same fear festered in her about her daughter about a few years later. She’d been cleaning the house, and Twilight had come home from school, nose in a book and a note pinned to her saddlebags. When she’d read the note, she found out that Twilight didn’t want to socialize with the other fillies in her class in Magic Kindergarten. She’d gone to her, knocking on the door, and poking her head in.
“Twily, I heard you are having trouble making friends at school.” She’d said.
“I don’t need friends. I have my books. You meet lots of friends in books!”
Velvet had had to take a moment to find her voice. “Sweetie, real friends are very different from book friends. I think you’ll really have a lot of fun if you try to make some.” She cajoled.
“No, I have everything I need.”
Again, that voice of not being good enough was aroused. If she couldn’t show her daughter the importance of friendships, how in Equestria would her daughter become a well rounded pony?! She’d gone to her room, applied her mascara, and wept for an hour.
The next memory guided to her in that dream was the night Shining Armor left to Train for the Royal Guard. Every fear and doubt and regret had come to her sitting on the couch that night, and she’d sobbed as horrific fantasies of what terrors could befall her son wretched at her heart. The feeling of not being good enough aroused her again. Because if she’d been good enough, she could have stopped him from pursuing such a dangerous career path. Faulty as that logic may have been considering his cutie mark, she couldn’t stop it from feeling right.
Many years were skipped, and then, Shining Armor’s wedding would come crashing upon her. Seeing him unable to think for himself, to see him being controlled, to see him angry with his little sister, it was horrific. It was so many of her worst fears realized. Looking backward, she thought she could recall the voice in her mind that continually whispered she wasn’t good enough lurking behind her, because she had been frozen with fear and hadn’t reacted.
And when Shining became a prince and Twilight was crowned a princess, the night terrors began.
She was happy for her children, truly, but the moments after those memories separated reality and dreams. After that, the true terror of the night terror would begin.
Shining and Twilight, together in a conference in Canterlot. She’d see them as one of them came down the hall, waving to her. And then, the stained glass windows above would shatter, and something would come in. This was the only portion of the night terror she didn’t always remember because who or what came in could change. Sometimes it was a rogue band of changelings obeying Chrysalis’ orders as they feasted on her children’s love. Other times, Tirek blasted them and stole their magic. Still yet, Sombra’s darkness would encapsulate them, turning them to slaves. But the end result was the same every time. Her babies would lie on the floor, dead. Sometimes emaciated, sometimes bleeding, sometimes without cutie marks. But their faces were unforgettable from it. That Pleading, fearful expression on their faces. The ones begging her to help them, or worse yet, accusation in their eyes. But it wasn’t in their eyes- it was in her head.
One phrase. One phrase over and over.
You didn’t protect them. You didn’t protect them, you didn’t stop them, and you didn’t help them. You didn’t do enough. You failed them, and now they’re dead. Dead, dead, dead.
Her husband would leave after that, blaming her for their children dying. It wasn’t a stretch, really. He already seemed to have two hooves out the door. And she would live in solitude, a recluse, forever saying that she wasn’t enough.
And just before she could pass on and find peace with her babies, she’d wake up.
Waking up after those night terrors was strange. Sometimes she’d wake in another part of her home. Other times she’d find herself tangled in a mass of sheets from thrashing so harshly. Still yet, sometimes she’d wake and have to swallow a scream, or wake up with a tear stained pillow. Her dreams felt more real than life itself. Because of that, she had trouble knowing if she was asleep or awake. In that strange place between reality and dreaming, she’d cry. She’d weep for her babies and clutch a pillow to try and feel like she was holding one of them. For however fleeting a moment, she could pretend they were there.
When she awakened fully, the routine was always the same. She’d go into the bathroom, cast a soundproofing spell, and scream as loud and long as she needed to. Usually by that point the crying would be done, although there were a few instances where she’d broken down again in the bathroom. Then, she’d wash her face with cold water. If Shining and Twilight were not at home, she’d reread the last letters they sent her, went into their rooms to lay there and smell them, or looked at photo albums with them together. If they were, though, a different route of action was taken.
She’d go into their rooms while they were asleep, and just watch the rising and falling of their chests. She’d listen to them breathing, and she would finally be able to convince herself that it wasn’t real. And then, she could take appropriate action to stop the night terrors themselves. She’d go to counseling to discuss the issues in her life at that point and why the night terror might have returned. She’d get on Prazosin again to hopefully stop it from happening. And she’d tell her children how much she loved them and was proud of them, each and every day.
Yes, Twilight Velvet often found herself stuck in night terrors. But she found that in one way, it was a good thing, because reality always ended up being better than her dreams.