Twenty years. Twenty years now.
Twenty years unable to move or act as a thing of stone. Unable to feel or want. Only able to think and see. I… have not thought much during that time.
Am I even still sane? I feel that perhaps I am not. I sometimes wonder if I had ever lived. Or was I always a statue, and have only dreamed my time of life? I… I do not know anymore.
There are always ponies. Always passing by on their way to someplace, this place filled with their kind. Seeing them has staved off the madness from me, though I can still feel the creeping desire to simply… give up.
I suppose I am jealous of them. Able to live and act while I cannot.
I have taken to trying to track them, remember them. It helps to pass the endless days by trying to recall ponies in the groups that come and go.
I have grown very bored of noting differences, even with such variety before me. Many vibrant colors walk before me, and each pony seems to possess a unique mark on their flanks. Some have wings, some have horns, and some do not have either. I’ve yet to see any other the same size as the pair that have done this to me, nor any other with both wings and a horn. But I no longer care for the differences. I am currently trying to learn the language.
It seems impossible. I hear many voices, and might know some ‘words’ but I have no context to understand them with. A futile task, but the last lingering way for me to not… stop thinking.
The shadows have reached the lowest point once more. It is time for a pony to wipe me off again. It is the same time, every week or so, often with a new pony to do the job. At least whatever is blocking the vision in my right eye will be gone, and the knowledge that I am kept clean is at least somewhat comforting.
…My eyes deceive me. It cannot be…
This pony before me… the brown coat, the brown tail and mane… It is the colors of her… of… of Mirage, but it cannot be her…
Then I see the twin white circles on its flanks, and the face on the larger of the pair.
It stops and pauses before looking at me closely, as if trying to determine something. I see its… I see her eyes open a little wider, and she looks up at me with disbelief etched into her face and form.
She whispers but one sound: “…Kitty?”
In twenty years, I have never felt trapped. Unable to move or live, cursed to slowly go insane, but never trapped.
Now? Now I am trapped. I give all I have to do something, anything, but it is in vain. I am helpless.
The pony, Mirage, comes to me, and puts a hoof on my stony paw. I do not know how, but she remembers me.
“Mirage!” she yells, gesturing to herself, and making the nearby ponies glance at her. She speaks quickly and excitedly as she wipes me off, and… I feel happy, and yet, worse than I ever have.
She is right there, and I can do nothing.
She stops with a look of realization. What has she realized?
She leaves, and I am saddened. Maybe she will be back? Or was this just for this time? Just one last look to her, before my mind succumbs to madness and insanity. Well…
One last sight, seeing her well and healthy and happy is… enough. I feel… Ready to go on now. Ready to stop thinking and never think again. Better than the pain imparted by the two horses.
…I shall wait and see. Not yet will madness claim me… not quite yet…
Mirage is back. The very next day, with a place to sit and a few books. She sits where I can see her, and picks up a book before opening it so I may see.
It has markings within it, and images. A pony playing with a red orb.
She points to the red orb, and says “Ball.”, moving her hoof to a specific mark. Then she points to the pony, and says, “Pony”, repeating the motion to a different mark.
She is teaching me. Twenty years apart, and she not only recalls me, but wants me to understand her and her kind.
I shall not fail her lessons.
A year passes, and I no longer wonder if I have dreamed my time of life, and I no longer suffer in stillness. Not with Mirage near me.
I feel proficient at understanding ponies as well. Not that I can tell Mirage that, and she takes steps to ensure my understanding.
The first day of the week she returns with a foal’s book and reiterates the simple words within. Then, as the week progresses, she brings more complex books and words and slowly speaks to let me best understand, often with pictures she drew herself. It is very effective.
I do wish I could tell her that I was learning fast with her efforts, but I am made of stone.
Apparently, I am in front of a ‘library’. The caves so oddly shaped, wood and stone? ‘Houses’. The oddly smooth stones, patterned before me? ‘Cobbles’. The massive thing nearby is a ‘castle’, and this whole place is called a ‘city’. Canterlot, if I am understanding Mirage correctly.
And, of course, ‘Kitty’.
…
I know she named me in her youth, or her ‘fillyhood’, which, of course, influenced her choice of names. And I accept that name. Even if it is a gross misrepresentation of my appearance, and mildly degrading.
It is the name she gave me, and that makes it precious.
Mirage has a job. ‘Librarian’. Every free moment of hers is spent with me, and she has started to mix the language lessons with simply speaking to me. She speaks to me every day.
She loves her job and tells me about it, the oddities, her coworkers, how the library functions. She tells me she really likes somepony called Rustled Pages, and wants to know him better. She tells me about pony culture, their understandings, their expressions. Their royalty.
Princess Celestia, and Princess Luna. The pair who have cursed me to stone.
I hate them. Each day, that hate grows. They stole my life from me, took me from Mirage, and made me stay here, helpless. Unable to help or comfort Mirage when she is hurt or upset.
I rage when she is upset, and burn when she is sad, unable to comfort her. Something within me grows stronger with each impotent rush of anger and pain.
Celestia and her sister shall pay for this! I will make them suffer! For each tear she has shed, they will cry a thousand more, their blood to pay for her and my suffering! So I swear!
Time passes. For 50 years, Mirage has come to read to me. She has never stopped making certain I know her language.
After the first five, she brought her husband, Rustled Pages. A tan earth pony who also worked within the library. I don’t like him.
He thinks me a statue and I do not like him being near Mirage. I want to be in his place.
After two more, she brought her foal with her, and introduced me to her new daughter.
She has named her Mirage, in my tongue, rather than her own.
Other ponies found this strange apparently.
As soon as Mirage the second could read, she was with me, reading all she could get her tiny hooves upon.
After twenty years, Luna went mad, and tried to kill Celestia. I did not enjoy hearing about that. My hate still burns, and I want to kill both, but Celestia has apparently banished her sister to the moon somehow. I will have to be satisfied with the one.
After 50 years, Mirage the first is old, and her own daughter has married and has her own daughter, a pegasus.
Named Mirage.
Mirage is late this day. Oddly late, even considering her age and the rain that makes the ponies stay inside. I haven’t seen Mirage the second either.
Well, perhaps they are mourning Rustled Pages. He died only a year or so ago after all. I am sure it is nothing.
I see her now. Mirage the second, coming toward me, but… something is wrong.
As she reaches me, I see tears in her eyes despite the rain, her eyes red. I can see her sadness, and feel a growing fear in me.
Is… is she is sad because…
“Mom died.” she tells me without warning, and I see her tears worsen. “Just… Just a few hours ago. She… wanted me to… to come and tell you.”
…
Mirage the second touches my paw, as she has many times before. I see it shaking.
“It… hurts Kitty. It… It… I can’t stop crying…”
She leans against my stone to sob, and I cannot feel her. I can barely notice her.
Mirage is dead.
The tiny foal who saved me. The tiny foal who changed my life, and lead me to happiness all those years ago. The mare who taught me her language, who saved me from the coming madness, who was there for me each and every day.
The reason I have chosen. The pony I lived for, wanted to live for. The pony for whom I would happily die for.
She’s dead.
…
The anger I feel is… almost frightening. I imagine harming Celestia in ways… I want to make her suffer like I have, like nothing else ever has. Bloody, horrible things, a desire to make her live for a long time, and not in a good way.
That anger only quiets when a Mirage is near me, which is not always now, and merely most of the time. It grows worse when they are upset.
Much worse when Mirage the second passed away.
It almost consumes me, and even with Mirage the third and fourth near me, speaking to me, I have a hard time listening to them. My mind and heart seem to be filled with rage, and unable to hold much else; it’s been that way ever since… she died. I am not truly listening to them until Mirage the fourth wonders something aloud.
“Do you think he’s angry?” she asks, and catches my attention.
My angry thoughts hesitate, and I see Mirage the third look confused. “Whatever for?” she asks her daughter.
“Well… for being trapped in stone.”
Mirage the third hums faintly, thoughtful. “…I’m not sure. But we have to go; your father is waiting for us.”
“I’ll be right with you.” Mirage the fourth tells her mother.
She waits until her mother is gone, and then looks to me, wondering. She is a unicorn, the first in the family line, a brilliant yellow color. She is often intelligent, though soft spoken and prone to being quiet. I feel curious for the first time in some time, wondering what she might be thinking.
“…So… you alright in there?” she asks me, looking at me. Trying to see some indication of life in me I’d imagine.
“…Well… I’ll just assume a few things then.” she says, and smiles for a moment. “You’ve been here for… what, a hundred years now? More? Me, mom, grandmother… never mind. I’ll make this quick.”
“Anger isn’t a good thing. Neither’s revenge.”
She speaks of anger and vengeance? With her youth, and combined with ignorance, it means nothing. She does not know, nor understand. I know better, and though this anger burns so hot, it is right and good.
“It just makes us unhappy, and upset. It… It… it does something bad to us.”
She frowns, trying to think before snorting in frustration.
“I’ll be back tomorrow.” she promises, and hurries off.
She returned the next day, as she promised. I think I will always recall what she said.
“Alright. I think I got it now, and plus, I have time.” she had said, sitting near me, a notebook in her magic. I saw her open it, and read the writing inside:
“Anger diminishes our ability to be happy, and encourages increasing anger, even should said anger be soothed with vengeance or revenge.” she told me, quoting. Then she looked up at me. “I found a few books that said that delayed anger, and particularly grudges, are incredibly difficult to deal with as well. And that they commonly occur when the angry party is unable to do something about said anger, which… you’re kind of overqualified for.”
“So I’d like you to think for me Kitty. Remember when you were turned to stone? Think about that. Think about how it makes you feel.”
I did so, and felt anger, but curiosity kept me from perfect rage. Why was she doing this? What was her intent?
“Now, think about why it makes you feel that way.”
My very first thought was Mirage. Mirage the first, under me, screaming “Kitty!”, and I, unable to do anything. But I didn’t want to hurt or maim Celestia and Luna, I wanted to help her, calm her… save her.
My anger dimmed upon that realization.
Mirage the fourth waited for a time before continuing, as if to try to allow me time to respond. “Anger is often caused by some slight, most commonly something that shouldn’t really get us angry. However, there is such a thing as deserved anger Kitty. At the same time though, deserved anger soon turns evil if you let it fester. Like mold; leave it alone and it turns into the massive fuzzy thing that used to be your science experiment.”
“And… there is really only one way to make it go away too. And it’s not revenge. It’s forgiveness.”
She sighed, trying to think. Of what, I wasn’t sure. “Think of it like… Like… I know. Grandmother told me this story once.”
“Great grandmother used to hate the twin Princesses.”
I, already stunned, ceased truly thinking at that. I had never truly given thought to how Mirage might have felt. She never told me what upset her, unless said thing was truly distressing her. She never mentioned anything like that though…
Why not?
“Grandmother said she held onto hates and grudges for a… a long time. Because they stoned you, and took you away, and stuck you here, she hated them. But you know what she did?”
“She thought of you. And she thought to herself ‘Kitty is hurt by my pain’. ‘Even in stone, he must think and feel. I shouldn’t give him more to be upset about. I need to smile, so he might smile, even in stone.’ So she never told you, and did her best to smile and be happy for you.”
“But that wasn't really enough, so she went and made peace. She never actually spoke to Princess Celestia, but she forgave her. So she wouldn’t be upset anymore. For you, and only for you.”
“She left her anger behind, and she did it all for you. And she realized something really important too.”
“Anger only hurts us. It makes us less and it makes us unhappy. And the worst part; it hurts those who love us. Those we don’t want to see hurt suffer because of our anger.”
“So, Kitty… I know that you’re stuck in stone, and I’m not totally sure if you agree, but, if you can, please listen to me.”
“If you’re angry, forgive them. Because… Because we’re here for you. Mom and dad and I all care for you. Even as a big statue, but you should know that, right? And… if you’re angry… then I’m going to be really upset.”
With all my heart, I had wished to somehow speak to her, somehow tell her I understood. My anger was still there, but I hated it then. I hated it, but not for my sake.
For theirs. For my Mirage, and her oddly wise great granddaughter.
If only the pain of seeing her fail to see that understanding was so easily removed. I saw her sigh, and I knew.
She cannot know, and without that, she cannot find true peace. She helped me to fight anger, and now she suffers from being unable to truly know. She cannot know if I listened or learned; none of them could.
It is why they still teach me their language.
I still feel anger, but now, I fight it. She is not wrong.
Anger does nothing save harm us and the ponies we love.
Sadly, so does being petrified.
Over time, Canterlot changed. Sometimes by tiny things, a new color, a new sign. Sometimes by great things, new construction, new buildings, new ways and traditions.
Eventually, I saw Celestia once again, speaking to the city upon a balcony that I can just barely see. She does that every decade or so now.
She seems not a single day older than she has always been. Seeing her like that, whole and healthy, when my Mirage aged and died, when her children age and die…
The embers of my anger simmer. Only doused by Mirage the fourth’s tireless efforts in her lifetime, and the ongoing presence of the Mirages. I find some measure of peace and happiness with them, and bit by bit, I master my old rage.
And there is something within me. Some power, slowly growing. It beats like a heart, the one thing I can feel. Pressing on the stone, but not able to break it. It’s hot, and beats harder when I’m angry, and harder when I want to act. I am not sure what it is.
Centuries pass by, and Mirages come and go, sometimes faster, sometimes slower. A tradition to name the first daughter Mirage, and a duty to keep coming to read to me given to them.
I have noted that a fair few of them have treated that duty less like a friendly visit and more like a job. It is not… unexpected. Time passes, and the knowledge of me decreases with each successive generation. I do not fault them for feeling no strong connection to me.
I have discovered the power within me as well. It is the power that I use to stop things. Slowly growing stronger and stronger with each impotent rush of anger or attempt to act. It gives me a little hope:
Maybe one day it will be enough to shatter the stone and free me.