Trotting beside and slightly behind the human, Cozy remained silent for the duration of their relatively short trek to the man’s home. Tired and hungry, she digested the information as she walked along. Caught up with her thoughts, she didn’t realize they’d reached their destination until her traveling companion slowed.
“Well...here we are,” Anon announced, drawing to a halt.
Looking up, Cozy found herself looking at a small cottage. Utterly pedestrian by any standards, the diminutive two-story building sat on a hillside overlooking a town. Peering at the city, situated a mile or so away, it took her a minute to recognize several landmarks.
“Is that Ponyville?” she asked, squinting at the settlement in consternation.
Though it had grown substantially, the hamlet was by no means a bustling metropolis. The town hall, School of Friendship, and Twilight’s castle were dead giveaways, as was the unmistakable circular framework of the Carousel Boutique. She wasn’t surprised, given that the academy likely drew in entrepreneurs from far and wide - still, it was a bit jarring.
“Yup, it is,” he responded, strolling over and unlocking his front door. “Come on in; she’s not the biggest place, but I’m happy to call her home.”
Knitting her brow, wondering just how much Ponyville had changed since her imprisonment, Cozy moved towards the little house. Creeping to the doorway, peeking inside, she found the interior to be wholly unremarkable. In truth, she hadn’t known what to expect, given her rescuer’s alien appearance, though the sight was a comforting one.
A couch sat before a fireplace, with an accompanying recliner and coffee table nearby. From her vantage, she could make out what appeared to be a kitchen in the back of the building, as well as a staircase which led to, she presumed, an upstairs with a bedroom or two. All told, it was surprisingly quaint and inviting, yet it had an odd aroma.
“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll get you something to eat,” the man remarked, striding past her. “Just shut the door when you come in.”
Nodding slowly, without taking her eyes off his retreating form, Cozy swung the door closed with a rear hoof. Despite the fact that Anon hadn’t given her any reasons not to trust him, she was still wary of his intentions - doubly so, now that she was in his abode. Inspecting the surrounding furniture, realizing it was slightly larger than typical pony fare, her insatiable lust for knowledge spurred her to speak.
“Are these custom made?” she inquired, steadily trotting to the oversized sofa.
“Not really,” Anon called out from the other room. “A place in Manehattan makes stuff for larger creatures - mostly yaks, hippogriffs, and dragons - so I had to order them. You want a bowl of oatmeal?”
Cozy’s stomach grumbled, at the prospect of a warm meal. “Yeah,” she evenly replied, raising her voice and attempting to mask her enthusiasm.
Scanning the living room's interior, noting several framed pictures, she stretched her wings and took to the air. Flitting closer to the nearest image, something caught her eye. There, resting on a table next to the recliner, sat a book. Drifting closer, wondering what sort of literature held the man’s attention, she found something all the more valuable.
Without a dust cover, nor title emblazoned on the spine, the little tome was bereft of any markings whatsoever; however, something telling rested beside it - a well worn and somewhat blunted pencil. Checking the doorway to the kitchen, ensuring she wasn’t being spied upon, she glided over and surreptitiously flipped the manuscript open. She was right, it wasn’t a book - no, it was a diary.
Glancing to the archway through which Anon had disappeared, she hastily turned the pages to find the most recent entry. Checking the date, she scrunched her snout in frustration; though the man had jotted down the day of his entry, it appeared to be in some odd format. Backtracking, moving towards the front of the notebook, she quickly got some clarification.
The journal appeared to document his time in Equestria, with each day - all two hundred and four of them - receiving some sort of entry. Reaching the first page, spying a signature on the back of the front board, she spotted a small note and signature. Squinting, trying to decipher the elegant writing, she grinned.
It may not be much, but I hope it helps.
Princess Flurry
Closing the book, making sure to leave it and the pencil exactly as they’d been laid, she hovered back towards the pictures hung on the wall. Pleased with her somewhat underhanded spying, she hummed triumphantly to herself. Though the diary’s lack of any sort of empirical dating was lamentable, it didn’t mean she hadn’t gleaned a bit of intelligence on the human.
Firstly, she was reassured that Flurry was the Flurry Heart, daughter of Princess Cadance, and that Anon had some connection with her - to say the least. Secondly, the fact that everything had been handwritten strongly suggested that everything wasn’t some sort of convoluted ruse. Thirdly and most prudently, it lent weight to the human’s testimony that he was indeed some fashion of alien.
“Cinnamon with brown sugar ok?” Anon loudly wondered, still out of view.
“And raisins too,” Cozy shot back, raising an eyebrow as she hovered in front of the closest image. “Say, what’re these supposed to be anyways?”
“What?” he blurted.
“These drawings on your wall. Did you make them?” she pressed, trying to make heads and tails of what she was looking at.
“They’re just doodles of stuff from home - well, my old home; cars, rockets, planes, just things that I can’t find here. They remind me of where I’m from, even if they aren’t very good,” Anon explained, his voice preceded the sound of his approaching footfalls.
Turning in place, watching the man approach, Cozy spotted the pair of bowls he was carrying. After setting one of the vessels on the couch, he eased himself into the recliner. Flitting over, drawn by the steaming contents, her mouth began to water.
“I don’t have any raisins, but I can pick some up tomorrow,” he commented, stirring his piping hot oatmeal.
While the lack of dried fruit was regrettable, Cozy wasn’t about to complain. With as long as it’d been since she’d had a hot meal - or any meal, for that matter - she could live without the accoutrement. Landing besides her bowl, she gripped the ceramic container and hauled it to the far end of the sofa and sat.
“So,” she began, eagerly shoveling a spoonful of the hot cereal into her maw and staring up at one of his drawings, “mphts a pophet?”
“A rocket?” Anon parroted, confusedly peaking one brow and following her gaze. “Oh, they’re huge machines that can bring us - er - people into outer space.”
Squinting, unsure if he was pulling her leg, Cozy swallowed her mouthful. “So to the moon and stuff?”
“Yup! Further than that even! We sent stuff to other planets and even out of our solar system! Not people or anything, but robots and…” he trailed off, noticing the look of disbelief on the runtish mare’s face. “What? We did! Humans don’t have magic, but we have technology and smarts,” he asserted, tapping a finger to his temple.
“You expect me to believe that your people can construct equipment that can do that? Give me a break,” she groused, grumpily continuing to eat her meal.
Ponies were capable of impressive technological feats, having gone so far as to construct titanic seafaring vessels, powerful locomotives, and even colossal airships, though the claim of technological marvels which could perform such things as traveling to other planets seemed doubtful at best. The closest thing she could think of to rival such a feat was Luna’s banishment to the moon - which had required the combined might of an alicorn’s fury channeled through the elements of harmony.
Leaving the subject be, possibly to be scrutinized later, another question presented itself - or rather, a deduction. If he chose to be surrounded by the world he’d supposedly lost, it meant he likely wished to return to it. She felt reasonably assured with the conclusion, since he’d mentioned being stuck in Equestria in the glade, yet she was inclined to ask…
“Why can’t you go back? If something transported you here, it should be able to send you back. It might be implausible, especially if you’re not sure what it was, but that means it’s not impossible,” she tutted.
“Maybe…” Anon muttered, a strange pang of melancholy in his voice.
Seizing onto the subtle shift in his tone, Cozy took a moment to study him. Some curious combination of regret and possibly spite tinged his words, yet she was hesitant to press the issue. Considering his hospitality, offering her shelter and a meal - not to mention liberating her from petrification - she was content to let it lie - for now. Glaring into her bowl, scraping free the final dregs of her oats, she set the dish aside.
Simple though the meal was, it was the first thing she’d eaten in untold ages and bordered on the divine. Licking her spoon clean, flicking it into the small emptied vessel, she looked to the man. If nothing else, he was certainly peculiarly amiable - especially since he was willingly played host to a ne'er-do-well like herself. Noticing her attention, he hitched a thumb over his shoulder.
“There’s more in there, if you want seconds,” Anon commented.
“I’m alright for now,” Cozy sighed, feeling the warmth within her belly. “Thanks…”
While she’d forced herself to give voice to her gratitude, it wasn’t wholly disingenuous. Though she could have carried the conversation, a tactical retreat was in order. She felt certain that between the jarring turn of events, the walk to Anon’s house, and the meal, fatigue would soon be settling on her - after all, adrenaline and curiosity can only fuel one for so long. Stretching her forelegs over her head and extending her wings, she feigned a yawn.
“If you’re tired, there’s a spare bedroom upstairs. It’s the first door on the left, just across from the bathroom,” the man stated, getting to his feet and plucking her bowl from the sofa. “Feel free to make yourself at home. I’ll be down here cleaning up for a bit, if you need me.”
Askance with just how congenially her host was treating, Cozy blinked. Alien or not, nobody should be that flippant about leaving a relatively unknown guest unsupervised. “You’re just going to trust me not to go rummaging around or anything?” she asked.
Anon faltered, stopping in place. With an almost somber look, he forced a smile. “Trust is earned, I know that, but what kind of world would it be if nobody was brave enough to extend an olive branch?”
The sagacity of his insightful remark was stunning. The wisdom of his words left little room for a rebuke or chiding comment, so she chose to let the matter be. Hopping to the floor, issuing a rebellious grunt, she proceeded towards the stairwell. “I’m going to wash up then find that bed, so don’t go barging in on me,” she petulantly huffed.
“I won’t. There are a few towels in a cabinet beside the sink,” Anon told her, heading back into the kitchen.
Nodding, Cozy reached the stairs, took to the air, and flew to the upper story. Something told her that, if she had chosen to do some snooping, she could do so without fear of the man spying on her - still, she wasn’t quite up for it. She had enough on her plate to dwell upon, and she didn’t wish to risk immediately souring her image with Anon, so she kept to her stated plan.
A short hallway greeted her at the top of the stairs, with two doors on her left and two doors on her right. Seeing herself into the guest room, she gave the area a brief inspection. Sparsely adorned, with a bed, dresser, rocking chair, and a single window, there wasn’t much too take in. Turning in place, she fluttered up and drifted into the bathroom.
The well used area was surprisingly spacious, housing a full sized tub, sink, mirror, and a small cupboard exactly where her host had described. Setting the shower to warm, she fetched a towel for herself and shut the door. Thankfully, the man had a bottle of shampoo, despite having so little hair, so she wouldn’t have to clean her locks with a bar of soap.
Jumping into the basin, the hot water streamed over her diminutive frame. Closing her eyes and processing the day’s events, her muscle memory took over and she began washing herself. There was just so much to think about, so many factors she’d yet to learn that it felt as though she’d be crushed by it all. Truthfully speaking, she couldn’t say how long she lingered in the shower, although a tapping on the door snapped her to the present.
“I’ll be in my room, if you need anything. There are extra blankets in the hallway closet, if you get cold. Good night,” Anon called through the door.
“G’night!” Cozy spontaneously replied, her saccharine voice rising over the sound of pattering water.
Slipping into her sweet and innocent alter ego was almost second nature, though she hadn’t intended to put on the all too brief act. Hearing his footfalls from outside, followed moments later by a door closing, she exhaled and climbed out of the basin. As she’d expected, the influx of unexpected developments had taken a toll - leaving her weary. Drying herself off and tossing the towel into a laundry hamper beside the toilet, she plodded out.
Crossing the hallway and entering her room, she closed the door behind herself. Though she doubted her host would intrude on her temporary sanctum, she still wasn’t completely comfortable in her strange environs. Without any way to lock her room, she dragged the rocking chair over and barred the door; if anyone attempted to gain entry, at least she’d be alerted by the noise.
Pleased with her makeshift barricade, she clambered onto the bed, flipped the blanket up, and settled in for the night. As she rested her head on the soft pillow, it felt as if her life immediately drained from her. Her eyelids grew heavy, she pulled the cover over her shoulder, and swiftly drifted off to a heavy sleep.
...
Though she slept like the dead, her night wasn’t all that restful. For the first time in hundreds of years, she dreamed. Visions of the past, of all the things she’d seen throughout her centuries of being confined in a stone prison, tormented her. Though most of it was a hazy mess, one illusion was particularly haunting.
Chrysalis and Tirek had been pleading - no, begging her to be freed. Tears streaked down their statued faces, dripping to the dais upon which they stood. Though they did not move, eternally petrified, the desperation in their voices was the stuff of nightmares. Regardless of how hard she beat upon the hellish rock of their confines, ignoring or heedless of her assurances that she would rescue them, their wails never ceased.
Whether or not Luna was enacting some form of penance upon her, she couldn’t say; all she knew was that a pounding abruptly roused her from her slumber. Bolting upright, her mind struggled to remember where she was. The rocking chair still sat against the door, neatly wedged in place, offering her some modicum of security.
“Cozy?” Anon’s voice rang out, followed by another series of knocks. “I’m going into town to pick up a few things. There are a few apples and oranges on the kitchen table, if you’re feeling hungry. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
With little desire to lie back down, lest she find herself facing more infernal dreams, she groggily rolled over and jumped down from the bed. Trotting to the exit and hauling the chair away, she flitted up, opened the door, and landed by the crack. She realized she probably looked awful, especially because her mane hadn’t been dealt with, but there was something she needed to address.
“Can you pick me up a brush?” she brazenly inquired, opening the door ever so slightly.
“I - uh,” the man fumbled, either caught off guard by the request, her rather shabby appearance, or both.
“Anon, I can’t try to reintegrate with society if I’m looking like a ragamuffin. Just a regular brush, that’s all I’m asking,” she dully explained, reaching up to wipe the crust from one eye.
Anon nodded down at her. “Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem. I’d ask if you’d like to join me, but -”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” Cozy groaned, scrunching her snout.
“Right. Well, just as a head’s up, don’t be surprised if there’s a knock at the door before I get back. Patches tends to make the rounds pretty early,” he chuckled, turning towards the stairs.
“Patches?” she repeated questioningly.
“Yeah, he’s the mailpony. Don’t worry; even if you don’t get the door, he’ll just leave any mail on the stoop. I’ll be back in a bit,” he intoned, tromping away.
Watching him descend the stairs, Cozy made a mental note to ask him about his attire. Much like the day before, concealing him from the neck down, virtually all of him was covered in fabric. Though it was a passing curiosity, likely having no real impact on how he functioned, it piqued her interest.
With the higher functioning portions of her brain still coming online, she strolled over to the window, fluttered up, and perched herself on the sill. Getting a daytime view of the area wasn’t a bad idea, but she also wanted to see which direction Anon was headed in. Fortunately, her vantage perfectly overlooked the front of the house.
Sure enough, after a minute or so, the man appeared and walked down a worn path. For the second time in less than twelve hours, he’d left her to her own devices. Stretching her wings, she leapt to the floor and sauntered out of her room. Considering she had some time to kill, she saw no harm in passively looking in and around the little home.
As fate would have it, Anon’s abode held little of interest. While she hadn’t seen it the night before, because of how dark it had been at the time, a small garden lay behind the building - not only that, but there were a fair number of herbs, fruit trees, and berry bushes on the property. Either the man had a green hoof or he liked having fresh produce on hoof.
She didn’t find much of anything particularly captivating inside, though she refrained from sneaking into his room. Besides his journal, there were a few books on a living room shelf - many of which centered around Equestrian history and politics. Helping herself to an apple from the kitchen and snatching up one of the texts on past events, she decided to brush up on circumstances she’d missed.
Making herself comfortable on the couch, lazily munching on the succulent and crisp fruit, she poured over the tome. Apparently, if the account was accurate, not too much had changed. The changeling, dragon, and yak Kingdoms were all aligned with Equestria, peace was maintained, and everything seemed largely the same; although there were a few things, almost footnotes which caught her eye.
First and foremost, instead of occupying the Canterlot palace, Twilight had chosen to reside in her castle near Ponyville. Supposedly, after spending a few years in the capital, she’d moved back to the home of her friends. It was an understandable decision, and Cozy wasn’t surprised by the information, yet more peculiarities slowly began to heap up.
Some century after Twilight was crowned as the Princess of Equestria, her fellow Elements of harmony passed away - not all at the same time in some cataclysmic accident, but slowly succumbing to old age over the span of a decade or two. That was expected, given how each was a normal pony of some fashion or other, although the Princess’ reaction to it drew her eye.
If the text was to be believed, Twilight had taken a year long sabbatical with Spike. There was no mention of where she went or what she did, only noting that she was in grieving, yet that wasn’t the interesting part. After the Princess returned, she returned alone. Hence forth, throughout the volume, she was touched on perilously little.
As intently as she’d studied her former nemesis, Cozy knew something was amiss. Before the disappearance, the Princess had been noted as attending festivities, holding balls, and brokering peace amongst their fellow sapient creatures; after her leave of absence, any such records were nonexistent.
When the subject had come up the night prior, just after her release, Anon had mentioned that things were, as he put it, complicated. Compound that with the fact that the other elements of harmony had moved on, Spike’s utter disappearance, and no note of Celestia and Luna’s well-being, she knew something was amiss. Scanning the book for anything else of import, she returned the book and picked up a second.
Unfortunately, the next tome was much like the first. Outside of a small incident with a hive of unreformed changelings, and how the diamond dogs had formed a tenuous alliance with ponies, there was a glaring lack of information about the Princesses. Though there was talk of the Crystal Empire’s grandeur, the only other alicorn mentioned was Flurry.
Aging at a remarkably slow rate, due to being a naturally born alicorn, Flurry Heart had received an education at the School of Friendship then taken an apprenticeship under Twilight Sparkle. The specifics of her tutelage were vague, at best, although she’d eventually assumed a position as the monarch’s second in command. Funnily enough, she was spoken of more frequently than her illustrious senior Princess.
In a way, it was almost as if Flurry had replaced Twilight; she was the one who signed accords, she was the one who was noted as attending formal affairs and stately events, while the Element of Magic remained in her castle on the outskirts of Ponyville. The scarcity of details pertaining to Twilight just seemed off, even if Cozy couldn’t put her hoof on exactly why.
Setting the book down, Cozy drifted back into the kitchen in search of a kettle and some tea. There was no reasonable explanation for why Twilight would stop stepping into the public eye. The loss of her friends was regrettable and would more than justify a temporary refrain from socializing, yet that wasn’t the case. Flurry acted in the elder Princess’ stead, while the senior alicorn stayed cooped up in her castle doing Celestia-knows-what without her longtime companion and assistant Spike.
Rifling through the cabinets, Cozy stumbled upon a tin of loose orange pekoe. After depositing the small container on the countertop, she quested for a tea ball. As luck would have it, she found one setting in the sink. With a warm, half filled kettle sitting on the stove, likely from Anon having helped himself to a cup earlier, she set the range and waited for the water to boil.
Lounging by the oven, eagerly waiting for her cup of tea, a knock at the door caused her to start. Her host had mentioned that a mailpony would probably come by, at some point that morning, but she was unsure of how to proceed. Given the early hour and her predisposition not to deal with what would likely be an overly friendly stranger, she chose to keep her voice down - that was, until a high pitched whistle started to blare.
The kettle must have been hotter than she thought, because it only took a minute to start singing. Mere moments later, the pounding at the door began again; only this time it was a fair bit louder. She cursed her luck, realizing that whoever was outside had doubtlessly heard the shrill sound.
“Anon? Anon, are you home?” a mare shouted from outside, followed by another series of energetic knocks.
Rolling her eyes, Cozy steeled herself, turned off the burner, and trotted into the living room. If the pony knew Anon, and she had to presume he did, there was a distinct chance that she’d let herself in - especially if she thought the stove had been left on in a vacant house. Stomping to the entrance and flying to the knob, she pulled the door open. Her pupils shrank to pin pricks and a lump formed in her throat, as she saw an alicorn standing just beyond the threshold.