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// Cantamen Primum - Bibliotheca Hieme (VII Pars - Respirare) 
// Story: The Witch 
// by DavidReinold 
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At some point in between my gastric purging and my spasm of paranoia, it occurs to me that the day is Monday, and that the time is well after eight in the morning. But why is this important to me? I have absolutely no clue. Twilight Sparkle, my only concern is Twilight Sparkle. Her past, her present, her future. And what of me? My present is falling to ruins and my past is revealing itself to hold unfamiliar memories. When I close my eyes I see equine Twilight. When I open them I see clawed, monstrous Heath Kenbroth. My future is as murky as the eyes of a blind man. 

And then it occurs to me. My job! Of course, this is the significance of the time and date. My mind may be in pieces but my reality is still intact. I still have an occupation. Or had, perhaps. I am already several hours late. My supervisor will not take kindly to my latent arrival, no.

I down a large cup of green tea to clear my thoughts and clean my stomach before pulling on my faithful windbreaker and stepping out into the street, my heavy winter boots clomping loudly on the stairs leading down from my loft.

I glance down once more. I see only claws. Blink. Still, the claws remain. I blink twice more and they return to being ordinary hands, albeit rather pale and stiff. I breathe a quick sigh of relief before opening the door to my Volkswagen Microbus and seating myself comfortably behind the steering wheel.

I turn the key, and the heart of my old reliable transport hums for a moment before letting out a light revving from its engine. I check my mirrors, and with a tap of the gas I am off.

The road is completely empty. Am I that late? The dashboard clock says ten to noon. I suppose, then, I am. I push the motor slightly, fearing more for my job than for a ticket, and suddenly find myself rocketing down the street.

A red light at an intersection rears its ugly head just a few blocks up. I mutter a fowl word under my breath and grudgingly press my foot upon the brakes. My minibus slows to a halt before the light.

Muttering rather unhappily to myself, I take note of my surroundings and discover that I am idling just outside Twilight's library. 

Of all the places to get a red light.

Still, it is a beautiful morning. Trees sway in the breeze and rid themselves of their sticky ice-powder coating. Even though the flurry has died down, a heavy layer of snow still covers the ground outside. Rather involuntarily, I find my eyes wandering to the pallid stone building. Its construction is nearly immaculate, and yet intricate beyond belief. Never before had it crossed my mind all the effort that went into this building. 

Hesitantly, I glance at one of the stained glass windows, and would swear I saw that brilliant lavender eye poking through. A moment later, I see the door open. Twilight Sparkle is there. Human, just how I left her. But she is acting rather odd. In her left hand she holds what appears to be a paper airplane. Clipped to the plane's grip is a small manila envelope. It is already an odd enough sight.

And then she decides to make it even more odd.

She throws the paper airplane in the direction of my van. Despite the weight on its back end, it flies halfway across the lawn. The thing is though, it doesn't drop. It disappears. Flash of violet light once again, just like the night before last.

I stare at her for the longest time. When she closes the door and retreats inside, I continue staring in awe at her library, wondering what has just happened. I have very little time to think though, as a car horn from behind me informs me that the light has turned green. I set my eyes forward, gazing over the dashboard.

My foot never reaches the gas pedal, however. Because sitting atop the dashboard is the paper airplane and its manila envelope.