The Storybook Collection

by Mr Extra


Silent Gestures

The only sound in the room was the rhythmic ticking of the clock. It echoed through the rows and rows of shelves, muted only by the reams of paper bound in the thousands of forgotten tomes that filled the library. Under watch of the moon’s silver eye, cast from a high window, nothing moved. Nothing stirred.

Except in a single corner where a lone alicorn sat with a single candle. Her table was packed high with scrolls and her eyes drooped for want of sleep. 

Twilight had opted for the library rather than her royal chambers because of the familiarity, having spent many hours there while a student at Celestia’s school. The books had been the subject of countless hours of studying but tonight they lacked the comfort they once held. Their watchful gaze deafening in its silence. 

Again Twilight shook her head in an attempt to blink away the sleep and focused on the scroll before her.

To Her Majesty Princess Twilight Sparkle,
From Ambassador Steady Hoof,

The Gryphons have again rejected your proposal for bilateral support in these trying times. They declare your overtures an insult to their people after the years of relations with Princess Celestia who…

The words dragged on but Twilight’s mind knew what her eyes lost in blurring lines. Why does their pride always get in the way? Celestia successfully negotiated with them so why can’t I?

She turned to the blank page before her. ‘To High Chancellor Bronzequill, How’s it going?’ She stared at the words, lingering on the absurdity of it, then smacked her head down on the desk.

“Uugh!” she groaned, wadding up the parchment with her magic but refusing to move from her position of surrender. 

After all these years you’d think a filly would learn how to talk to officials properly. 

It was probably the lack of sleep. For weeks now she had been attempting to provide relief for areas affected by severe crop blights. Hosting three committee meetings a day between four governments across two continents had begun to take its toll. Even lifting her pen had begun to seem a chore.

Would the world really end if I just took one night off? Probably, knowing my luck.

Even so it was tempting. She hadn’t even found time to talk with Spike, the last of her close friends still in Canterlot during the crisis. He had been tasked with organizing relief to the Zebrican nations from their own dwindling supply and had scarcely left the lower trade quarter.

She missed her friends, hated how duty drove them apart, but had long since resigned herself to the eventuality. It was a point of pride, but still…

With another sigh she slowly lifted her head, blinking with blearily determined eyes at the task before her, when something caught her attention.

Her nose twitched. Inhaling deeply she found her senses assaulted by a bitter yet creamy aroma. 

Instantly she was reminded of days long ago spent pouring over books in the library, her library. She could see the grain of the shelves, smell the musty tomes new and old, hear the rustle of Owlicious’ feathers as he stood at his perch. Memories so sharp that for a moment she was lost in them. Hours, weeks, years in the old library flashed before her half lidded eyes.

She shifted her gaze from the piled scrolls to find...

Coffee. Caramel’s special blend. Hazelnut cream with two sugars. Sitting next to four neat stacks of parchment and a copy of Abacus Abstract’s Almanac of Gryphon Teachings and Traditions.

She blinked at the new additions dumbly, trying to force her sleep-addled brain to explain the sudden apparitions. Teleportation? Summoning? Flutterponies? Her mind cast about for any possible explanation but before she could even properly formulate a hypothesis she caught a hint of movement out of the corner of her eye. The tip of a purple tail disappearing around one of the towering bookcases. 

She felt a slow smile spread across her face as she chided herself silently. Occolt’s Razor, silly filly. 

She took a sip and felt warmth spreading down to the tips of her hooves, a slight hum in her mind that buzzed along pleasantly.

Once again alone, but not so lonely, she opened Abstract’s Almanac to chapter three and began reading. A soft tune bubbled forth unbidden from her lips, lending a comforting beat to the quiet library.

“Each one of us has something special, 
That makes us different, 
That makes us rare…”