Atop the fetid hummock overlooking the desolate quagmire that was once known as Ponyville, The Princess mourned. She brushed a hoof over the runic letterings embossed in shimmering jade along the polished onyx monument, the name of the one who had always promised to be there for her wistfully upon her lips. After everyone she had lost, after all the grief assailing her in her unending, unyielding, unceasing existence, he was the one who had always been there by her side, showering her with false promises and faux comforts that he'd never leave ... Lies, The Princess thought bitterly. All lies. He would not—could not—be there for her, not forever. It was a despairing inevitability she had always pushed to the back of her mind, a bleak prognostication balked by the final dregs that remained of her naivety. Dragons, she had always known, had very long lives, but not even they lived forever, as she did.
Ashen was the sky above, the sun obscured by the layer of milkglass that was the weeping firmament, tidings of yet another gloomy haze to damper the morn in its oppressive shroud. The grass and soil of the hillock yielded audibly beneath The Princess's hooves as she made her way to the precipice, where the incline of the unkempt turf debouched into the paludal flatland of the city limits. She paused only to look back at that onyx monolith surmounting the hill. She would have cried had she the tears left to spare. Alas, a mournful gaze and a fond farewell was all that she had to impart to her former assistant, before turning back toward the hamlet and continuing the trudge to her home.
The Princess ambled along the sodden road, the cyclopean ruins and lichen-covered structures of the town looming all around her like skeletons of the past offering meager glimpses of a history long forgotten. She spared the decay that was once Sugar Cube Corner the briefest of glances before rounding the path at its corner. Twilight conjured an image of Pinkie Pie in her mind, back when the pink mare was boisterous and exuberant—back before the diagnoses. She was in her late fifties, if memory served Twilight Sparkle correctly, when the illness had finally claimed her.
The Princess could remember that day as if it had only recently occurred. She could still hear the pulsing cadence of the machines, Pound Cake and Pumpkin Cake's clinched sobs, the sterile scent of the hospital room clinging acridly to her nostrils as Twilight held Pinkie's hoof for the last time. She was so pale, so weak, in her final hours. Her gaunt visage was like a skull that had been shrink-wrapped in pink saran. The final words she had imparted to The Princess before the once exuberant mare's vitals flatlined were, "Don't ever forget how to laugh," before she closed her azure eyes for good and all, a smile across her face.
Twilight bit her lip. The memory still stung. Even after a thousand years. Not even death could remove that smile of hers.
The next notable landmark of the ruined town was a vacant patch of soil whereupon the Carousel Boutique once stood. Twilight preferred to remember the way Rarity looked before the fire had ravaged her beautiful face. The Princess remembered reading the reports: It was late in the night when the town was roused from soothing dreams into a waking nightmare, the glow of the neighboring structures bathing in the light of the swirling flames, the moon high at its zenith, veiled behind the growing plumage surmounting the billowing pillar of black smoke. It all happened so fast—by the time Rarity was presumably awakened by the smell of smoke it was too late. The mannequins, the fabrics, the cosmetics and the plush rushes which festooned the boutique's first floor provided ample fuel for the fire to spread rapidly. It didn't take long for the inferno to consume the stairs, impeding Rarity's path to the front door, and the small rounded windows on the top floor were only large enough for her to scream through, witnesses had said. The local firefighters tried desperately to rescue her ere the smoke inhalation could do her in, but the boutique had become too hot to enter.
The whole town was in attendance for her funeral the following week, including Twilight Sparkle, who had been attending to her royal duties at a grand summit with Celesta and Luna, when the terrible event had transpired. It was a closed casket event.
If only I had been there to help her, Twilight lamented, as she had done a thousand-thousand times before. 'If only' seemed to be her mantra these days. If only she had done this, that wouldn't have happened—if only she had done that, this wouldn't have happened. If only, if only ...
A rotted confection of fungi and mush studded with black rusted nails, which had at one time been a derelict produce stall, lay athwart The Princess's path as she traversed the weed and reed addled straight that had been the market street in its former life. Applejack, Twilight remembered, was a tough old broad, who managed to live to the ripe old age of ninety six. It was her great grand daughter who had brought the tidings of her passing to everyone in town. Twilight Sparkle herself was the one to bury her friend, whom had specifically requested that her final resting place reside in a special location, which was a plot bestrode by two intertwining trees.
Twilight Sparkle fulfilled the request as she was bade. In doing this, however, an anomaly for which she hadn't accounted had occurred, for betwixt those two trees, which interlocked about one another like eternal lovers forever frozen in an embrace, rose another tree, from the very spot in which Applejack had been interred, yielding the most peculiar cultivar of fruit Twilight ever did lay her immortal eyes upon: A hybrid of an apple and a pear, all mottled in vibrant hues of green and gold.
A folkloric tale had even spread forth about the mystical tree, that if two lovers should pick its fruit together, and share it, they would be bound together for all eternity, in both this life and the next. Twilight Sparkle thought it a sweet story, and watched with joy as the Apple family thrived on the income supplied by lovers eager to taste of the fruit themselves.
The Foyer of Twilight Sparkle's tree fortress was dark when she entered through the doorway. Even when drawing the curtains it did naught to curtail the oppressive gloom, so dismal was the grey morning sky through the windows. Entering her study, she immediately checked the time piece ticking away atop the mantle of the fireplace. It was almost eight-o-clock, earlier than she had expected. Her visitor wasn't due to arrive for at least another four hours. Her anxiety would liken it to an eternity, she knew, but there was nothing to be done for it.
With the log and faggot set upon the rack, and the tinder lit, Twilight sank back into the cushy confines of her chair, staring into the hearth as the flames began to lick up the sides of the cedar like serpentine tongues of gold and scarlet. The glass of absinthe set upon the lacquered roundtable at her side did nothing in the way of ablating her disquiet. It was potent enough to drop a stallion in just a few gulps, but neigh, not she. Since flowering into her full alicornhood, alcohols, sedatives and stimulants alike had completely lost their effect on her. Nothing to dull the senses, nothing to kill the sensations; no reprieve, no matter how brief, from her existential melancholy. There was but one hope she had, one poison—neigh—one cure, a key to the shackles in which Celestia in all her capriciousness had bound her a millennia ago. And soon, she would have it.
The Princess closed her eyes after a time, though she did not sleep. Even that one small escape was wrested from her once her evolution had been complete. Instead, she slipped away, as she so often did, into a lucid, dreamlike state of her waking memories. It was in this self-induced trance her fancies could manifest themselves into hallucinations of the deceased, both haunting and vivid. She could see them now: Sandbar, Smolder, Ocellus, Gallus, Yona, Silverstream. There was of course Sunset Shimmer and Starlight Glimmer. She saw Moondancer, and she saw ... Too many. Far too many to even count. So many she had loved, lost, mourned. She could see them all in her waking dreams, those who were her kith and kin, all gathered at a longtable lined with sumptuous fare. They would not eat, however. There was still an empty seat at the table. Gathered there at the feast of the dead, she could see them all looking to her, beckoning for her to join them.
"What'cha waiting for, slowpoke," Pinkie Pie's desiccated husk said to her, "all this yummy food to just eat itself?"
Silverstream's jaw dropped. "I didn't know food could eat food!"
Gallus was sitting back in his chair with his talons clasped behind his head. "It can if you're an omnivore."
"Yona not know Gallus play for that team," said Yona.
Smolder rolled her eyes. "I don't know what you think an omnivore is, Yona, but it probably isn't what you're thinking it is."
Rarity was there too, with her flesh seared black and bits of scorched bone poking out here and there, her eyes boiled in her skull to a milk white film. "Don't worry, darling," she said with a gracious flick of her singed mane, "we won't start without you."
Twilight Sparkle's eyes snapped open with a cold shiver. She again espied the clock, whose report read a quarter-till-noon. Soon, she thought, before pushing herself up from her chair and moving to the window. She drew the curtain and, to her surprise, she could see a rainbow of sorts. A weak one, barely a wisp of refracted light amongst the leaden grey of the sky. It paled in comparison to a particular one she remembered from so long ago. Wistfully, Twilight rested her hoof upon the glass, another memory, another loss, coming to the surface.
Rainbow Dash's passing was a peaceful one, with all her friends and family around her, with all the wealth and fame one could dream of acquiring. Vain and prideful though she was, which was what made her so obstinate in accepting the fact that she was getting old. The day had eventually come when she was no longer able to perform her Sonic Rainboom. She just couldn't get up the necessary speed the incredibly difficult stunt required, and the gravitational force exerted upon her body was just too much for her aging body to bear. More years went by, and before she knew it even fresh faced cadets in the Wonderbolts academy were able to fly circles around her. Not even Twilight Sparkle herself was able to keep count of how many long debates and arguments it required to finally persuade the stubborn old mare that it was time to hang up her suit.
Quite a few more years after Rainbow Dash had finally been convinced to retire, and her mind started to fade, she would always murmur on about her glory days, and how she wanted to perform just one more Sonic Rainboom, for old time's sake. "Just one more, Twilight," she would say. "I got one more in me. Just you watch! All these pups around me, they ain't a fraction of what I was when I was their age. Let me show em a thing or three!" It was oft that the orderlies and nurses would have to physically restrain and sedate her to keep her from attempting to do so.
Even in her twilight years, Rainbow Dash absolutely refused to accept her limitations. But that was just who she was. Her stubbornness was what made her, her. Even on her deathbed, her final whisperings came so soft they were barely audible, but they burned with desire. "Just one more time .... Just one m-more ... I-I can ... I can ... I can ..." Her voice began to trail off as her eyes closed. A mare died then, but a legend was born. Even after all these years, no one had been able to perform the Sonic Rainboom.
Twilight Sparkle, however, was nothing but dutiful in granting her friend the final boon of which she had been so desirous, and damn the expenses. The funeral was held at night, so that all could witness the glory that was to be. Rainbow Dash's body had been cremated, her ashes mixed in with the powder of a custom made shell which screamed toward the heavens at mach speed. The subsequent detonation cast an iridescent ring across the entirety of the hemisphere. All in witness that day, across the vast reaches of Equestria, looked upward to that shimmering nova blazing across the sky, and millions who wished to pay homage saluted the old Wonderbolt's memory.
Despite herself, the memory made Twilight Sparkle smile. It would have been the send off Rainbow Dash wanted, she knew.
It was late in the hour when next Twilight checked the clock. Where is he? she thought, pacing around the room. He should have arrived by now. Then the Princess grimaced. I should have expected this, thought she. Damn draconequus, can't be relied upon for anything. Was he taking his sweet time, or ... Twilight paled when a variable she hadn't accounted for crossed her mind: Could Celestia have found out her plan and waylaid him? No, that was impossible. She couldn't have found out ... Could she? How could she? Perhaps Discord tipped her off that she was trying to—
An icy gust of wind suddenly swirled about the study. The leaves of an open book resting upon a nearby desk babbled rapidly as it flipped page over page, until it finally thudded shut. Squares of virgin parchment were sent flying everywhere like confetti. The fire in the hearth was suddenly extinguished in a smoldering whisper of smoke and dying embers. A section of the study's floor began to ripple like the surface of a pond, and from there rose the heterogeneously amalgamated form of Discord himself—horns, head, body, then legs. The floor beneath his incongruous feet then solidified. "Twilight!" Discord cried out as a way of greeting, "Oh, thank heavens, I've finally found the right place! The inhabitance of the last six treehouses in which I so spookily made my grand entrance weren't very flattering."
Twilight gave him a look of reproach. "You've been out frightening children." It wasn't a question.
"Oh, fiddlesticks, don't be such a prude, Twilight. Nightmare Night looms on the morrow," Discord said before he so presumptuously helped himself to Twilight's decanter of absinthe. "Tis the season, as they say," he flippantly offered before draining the glass. Literally, the glass. He drank the glass and left the liquor standing there solidly upon the surface of the roundtable, which inexplicably emitted a rather daft squeaking noise when he set it down. "Or is that a Hearth's Warming tiding? I can't quite remember."
Unamused, Twilight gave the emerald liquid, queerly standing on its own without a vessel in which to confine it, the briefest of glances. "Did you bring it?" said she, not seeing any point in being circuitous about the matter.
Discord was quiet for a moment. "Well—yes, and no. I mean, I know where it is, but I, uh, er ..." He shifted awkwardly, his asymmetrical eyes downcast as he sheepishly twiddled his mismatched digits. "I was hoping—
—you could talk me out of it?" Twilight finished for him.
"Twilight," Discord attempted, "there's so much wasted potential in simply—"
"I'll have none of that, thank you," Twilight said, though not unkindly. "Look at me, Discord. Look at me, tell me what you see."
And the draconequus complied. Though, at first, his expression seemed to betray a hint of bemusement, as if he wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to be looking for. He scanned his eyes over her rangy form. Impossibly, incomprehensibly beautiful she was, with her handsome alicorn physiognomy arranged in such a way that would dismay even the most renowned of painters or sculptors. He inspected her long, shapely legs, her lithe physique, the lengthy horn extending from her head, which was now thrice as long as it once was, and all the other qualities of which the completion of her evolution into alicornhood had accorded her. Her eyes, however, were listless, the purple fire within them dulled to dreary blue orbs. That was when Discord must have finally realized what it was he was supposed to be looking for. "You're tired," he finally concluded.
"Aye, tired," Twilight echoed her confirmation. "I'm so very tired, Discord, yet I am unable to rest. I know not a more succinct way to put it. Do you understand?"
"Twilight," Discord attempted, but once again The Princess bulled over him. "What would Celestia—"
"A pox on Celestia," spat Twilight. "I would have been content to live a long, fulfilling life as her protégé, to live and learn and spread her teachings far and wide. But this ..." She indicated her form with a contemptuous gesture of her hoof. "I never asked for this!"
"And your friends?" Discord said pointedly. "What do you think they'd have you do if they had a say in the matter?"
"I have no friends, Discord," Twilight put to him flatly. "I dare not keep anyone close to me anymore. Celestia taught me long ago the virtues of friendship. My experiences, however, have taught me of its price, and I've found it's more than I'm willing to pay."
"I'm talking about the friends you made in the long, long ago." Discord began to list them, ticking them off on his fingers as he went along. "Rainbow Dash, Applejack, Rarity, Pinkie Pie ... Blast, who else ... There was ... Oh, yes, there was Sunset Shimmer, Starlight Glimmer, Moondancer."
And Twilight allowed him to continue until he was out of names to tabulate. There was one name he had left out, a name that he, by his own designs, was unable to remember. Discord was always saddened by the deaths of Twilight's friends, but Fluttershy's he had taken particularly hard. The cause of death was inconclusive due to the—rather macabre circumstances in which she was discovered—but all agreed that it had to have been natural causes. Twilight Sparkle could still remember the roar of anguish Discord had pealed when he discovered the aged mare's body lying half eaten on the kitchen floor of her cottage. The carnivores she had been caring for at the time, namely the lupines, had already been at her body for some time before she was found. There wasn't much left of her to bury, and there wasn't much left of Discord's senses afterwards. From the way he acted, one would think he had never even knew she existed. Twilight had speculated that it was some sort of defense mechanism deployed by his subconscious.
"Are you quite finished?" Twilight said.
Discord had over fifty fingers sprouted from his hand by the time he was finished ticking off the names of those long passed. "I ... I suppose," he said sadly. "Are you sure about this, Twilight?"
"I've had over a thousand years to ponder upon this," Twilight affirmed. "I've never been quite so sure of anything in this vast, never ending existence I've been forced to endure."
Discord was silent for a long moment.
"Discord," Twilight said, her tone bordering upon the lines of desperation, "please."
There was another bout of silence from the draconequus before he finally acquiesced. "Very well, Twilight," he sighed. "I'll be right back."
"Where are you going?"
"To the underworld. It's as I've said, I don't have it with me, but I know where it is, and I know how to get it. Cerberus will be guarding the gates though, and my last encounter with that tri-cranial canine didn't exactly end in a cordial manner. And don't get me started on that insufferable ferryman at the River Styx, always swinging that ore of his at me whenever I refuse to pay his outrageously exorbitant tolls, the rude little tit-wank. This may take a few minutes, so you might as well make yourself comfortable." Discord then snapped his fingers and disappeared in a puff of smoke.
"Make myself comfortable," Twilight echoed. "If only." She espied the green liquor standing bereft of it's vessel upon the surface of her intable. Using the magic from her horn, she gathered up the fluid and conducted it into a glass. She reignited the fire in the hearth and sat back in her chair with her drink, though she was not alone with her thoughts for very long.
Discord's reentry into the world of the living was accompanied by the mephitic scent of brimstone wafting off his mane in tendrils of thick grey smoke. His arse was covered in bitemarks, while his face bore a hideous rectangular bruise that ran nearly the length of his entire visage, where the flat of the Ferryman's ore must have walloped him. "You just make friends wherever you go, don't you?" Twilight said dryly.
Discord cocked a discontented eyebrow. "I really hope you appreciate all the things I do for you, Twilight." He held out his hand to present the treasure Twilight had coveted for so long: The Apple of The Underworld—rendered from a tree that had been watered at the source of the River Styx itself. It was black, but it did not rot, for the apples which grew in the underworld were said to be everlasting, so long as they were not consumed. Legend had it that even immortals were incapable of escaping the clutches of death once the apple had been eaten. The dusky fruit was unlife itself, the cure for immortality, which ancient gods and deities have been storied to eat in order to escape the misery of their eternity.
Twilight, in a manner that was perhaps a bit too eager to be considered polite, snatched the apple from him, and beheld it in all it's malignant beauty. It was black and shiny. The very air around it seemed to swirl and blur in the tumult of its black radiance.
"Twilight," Discord said.
"Are you going to try to talk me out of it again?" Twilight said, not moving her gaze from the apple in her hooves.
"No," Discord said. For the first time in such a long time he actually sounded sad. So unexpected his tone was, Twilight managed to tear her gaze from the fruit to look up at him. "I just wanted to say goodbye," he said
"Oh," came Twilight's nonplussed response. "Yes, I ... I suppose goodbyes are in order, aren't they? My thanks as well. I owe you that, at least. After all, this wouldn't be possible without you."
"I suppose," said Discord. The statement was not meant as an admonishment, but he looked as if he had taken it as one. "Goodbye, Twilight. Goodbye, and ..." He fidgeted awkwardly for a moment, then held out his mismatched limbs. "Permission to hug?"
That managed to wring a slight smile out of Twilight. She placed the apple on the roundtable next to her drinking glass before approaching him. She stood on her hind legs and wrapped her forefronts about him, the big softy. And Discord held her just long enough for the hug to feel weird, before he finally broke off the embrace. "I'm going to miss you, Twilight," he said. "I'm sure Celestia will, too. I'm not looking forward to breaking the news to her, but she'll need to know."
The statement jarred Twilight's memory. "You won't have to," she said, before she went to her desk, from which she drew a supple leather tube containing a rolled up letter. She held it out for Discord to take and explained, "just make sure she gets this. I want you to deliver it to her three days hence, not a day earlier. Do you understand?"
Discord eyed the cylinder curiously upon accepting it.
"It's a missive, as well as my last will and testament," clarified Twilight. "It informs Celestia of what I've done and why I did it. It completely alleviates you of any blame, so you need not concern yourself with what she might do."
"Twilight," Discord said, "you know I couldn't care less about that. What could she possibly do to me?"
"Merely a formality," replied The Princess. "I'll not have you blamed for something that was completely my decision. Are we copacetic?"
"Not really."
"Why?"
"Because I don't know what you mean."
"I mean," said Twilight carefully, "that the blame of my actions lies solely with me and me alone, and I'll not have you shoulder any of the responsibility."
"That's not what I meant."
Twilight blinked uncomprehendingly at him. "Then, what did you mean?"
"Copacetic. I don't know what that means."
Twilight let out a sigh of exasperation. "It means good and clear; concise; in fine order and understood."
"Oh," said Discord. "Copacetic. Yes, that's what we are."
"Good," Twilight said. "Well, I'm sure everything that wanted saying has been said."
"I suppose," replied Discord, stroking the mane bristling down his elongated neck. "Well, then, If there's nothing else ..."
"That is all, old friend," confirmed Twilight with a gracious bow of her head. "I thank you for all that you've done for me."
Discord, his eyes downcast, sighed. "All that I've done for you indeed," he reflected, appearing to be regretful of the whole situation. "Farewell, Princess Twilight Sparkle."
Twilight glanced over at the black apple resting upon the table, it's surface shining invitingly. "Farewell, Discord. I would say something along the lines of 'till we meet again,' or the like, but, you know ..." She looked back in the location where the draconequus had been standing when there was no response to her blithe comment, but he was already gone. He could have taken that brimstone smell with him, at least, she thought, wrinkling her nose.
The Nightmare Night eve moon shined brightly, Twilight could see through her bedroom window. The clouds dispersed in small black tufts all about the ethereal pearl hanging in the star-speckled night sky reflected vividly its glow picturesquely. "Luna sure does know how to put on a show," Twilight reflected, looking to the sky for what she knew would be the last time, then she closed the silken curtains hanging down from the canopy of her ostentatious bed.
The key to her egress was left to rest upon her pillow like some precious artifact on display. She took it in her hooves and lay upon the coverlets, pondering how she should go about doing this. Would it seem melodramatic if she were to lie with her forelegs crossed over her bosom? She gave it some thought, and when she decided that she'd rather be positioned naturally, she held the apple above her.
Now, she thought, should she eat the whole thing, or would only one bite be required? She gave that some thought too, and decided to take only one generous bite from the thing, so that she could leave it behind as incontrovertible evidence of what she had done, if the presentation of her shallow husk was somehow not adequate proof.
Celestia, Twilight thought, Here's to you, and here's to me: You sought to chain me to this world, but in this single act I defy you; I strike myself free of the anchor to which you so presumptuously tethered me. The time has come for me to sail the estuary, which shall debouch into the abyssal depths of the stygian sea. And with that parting sentiment, she brought the apple to her lips and bit deep into its flesh. It had a rather bitter taste to it, but Twilight had half expected that. Death, she supposed, was not meant to taste sweet.
Twilight set the apple upon the pillow next to her, and closed her eyes, and amazingly, miraculously, she did something that she had been incapable of doing for years now—decades—centuries, even ... She slept. Princess Twilight Sparkle, for the first time since reaching her full evolution as an alicorn, slept, and what a peaceful sleep it was. So peaceful, in fact, that she felt refreshed the next morning when she had awakened.
Wait, what? came her waking thoughts. Am I ... Why am I waking up? I was supposed to ... Something was wrong. She couldn't move. She couldn't even open her eyes. She couldn't feel anything. What the devil? She tried again to move, but she couldn't. She couldn't move, and all that she could feel was her own consciousness.
Twilight began to panic. Was this what death was? The remanence of ones sapience wandering endlessly in some endless dimension of vacuity? Or could it have been ... The apple ... She only took one bite. Perhaps she needed to eat the whole thing to bring about its full effects? Or was it that this was brought on by the simple fact that alicorns were not meant to die? Her soul, or her essence, or whatever it was called still lingered, because she had attempted to defy her own immortality?
Hours went by, yet still Twilight's conscience remained, her panic growing. She had thought of her immortality as a form of bondage, but no, nothing could be compared to this. At least in her immortality she could feel sensations. She could fly and run and eat and read. She could dance, she could sing, she could tumble lovers into her bed, she could indulge in all the pleasures life had to offer. But in this state she could do naught but simply be. Be, and naught else.
Just then, a sound caught her attention. She could still hear. Her door was creaking open. Hello? she attempted, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn't speak, couldn't move, she could only be. Be, and naught else.
"Twilight," came Discord's voice. "You ... you actually did it didn't you?" There was the sound of the curtains around her bed being drawn. For that one moment Twilight could see, as Discord placed his talon upon her brow and opened her eyes so that he could look into them.
Twilight could see him standing over her, his expression melancholy. Discord! Twilight would have been shrieking if she could, would have been crying in her mad desperation, but she couldn't. She could only be, and that was all she could do. Simply be, and naught else. Discord, gods, please hear me! Help me!
"Gone," Discord croaked, low, as if he was simply talking to himself. "You actually did it. Part of me was hoping—well ... Never mind. I suppose there's no point in hoping. I've given up hope, just as you did."
Discord! I'm not dead! Please! Hear me! You've got to hear me! I can see you! Twilight wanted to scream, wanted to thrash, but she could not. All she could do was be. Be, and naught else.
Discord sighed sadly, then he placed his talon upon Twilight's brow. "Rest, little one," he said.
No, don't shut my eyes! Twilight shouted into the ether, not wanting to be consigned to the darkness forever. But her plea went unheard, as all she could simply do now was be. Be, and naught else.
Atop the fetid hummock overlooking the desolate quagmire that was once known as Ponyville, The Princess mourned. She brushed a hoof over the runic letterings embossed in shimmering gold along the polished marble monument. "Princess Twilight Sparkle," Celestia whispered, the sting of the loss still fresh in her heart. Little did she know that, deep, deep in the earth, below the monument that had been erected to her memory, forever confined within the rotting husk that was her body, Twilight Sparkle still remained. The body was long dead, yet the soul continued to thrive. She could not cry out to the one mourning at the foot of her grave. Could not free herself from this bleak eternity of invalidity in which she had imprisoned herself. All she could do was be. Be, and naught else.