//------------------------------//
// A Girl's Magic Trinkets 
// Story: The Conversion Bureau: The Price of Generosity 
// by GIULIO 
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“Come on in—make yourselves comfy.”



Spurred on by Leaf’s friendly invitation, my parents and I made our way into the living room of the wooden cottage. Upon entry we were basked with a surprising amount of sunlight, even with the relatively few windows, the insides of the house were well lit. The stillness in the air, along with the rays of light, emanated the aura that one would feel when in a spiritual sanctuary.



I mentally rolled my eyes at that thought: here I was, in a living room of an old mare’s cottage of modest quality, and I was comparing it to one of those new religious institutes that had been popping up all over. The living room was quite small, mostly consisting of a large table placed dominantly in the center, some old cushions placed around it and two wooden cabinets lining the northern wall. All in all, a quaint living room; nothing about the room suggested that it was mostly used by a mad mare.
 


Still, seeing how the light played with the room and its furnishings was something for the eyes to behold.



Hang on, a voice interrupted, as my nose caught whiff of something, what’s that smell?



Quite unlike the aroma emitted by the wooden furniture, a sharp, sweet smell hung about in the air.



Dew took note of the smell, her own nostrils dilating in an attempt to place the particular odor. “Do you smell oranges?”



“It’s that obvious eh?” Leaf asked, sighing to our nods. “Lyra loved orange juice: she would have me make a batch of it whenever I came over. Come to think of it, now that she ain’t around no more, what am I gonna do with all of the stocked up oranges?”



“Maybe you could take some for yourself?” Dew suggested.



The stallion shook his head. “Naw, I don’t like ‘em; too strong for my tastes. But please!” he gestured to the cushions, “take a seat. Can I getcha anything, maybe something to drink?”



“I would love to have a cup of tea,” I stated, suspecting that he’d push us to have some orange juice —which was not the drink that I wanted right then— if I let him.



Leaf pouted pensively for a quick moment. “I’m not sure if there is any; I’d have to check. What about the two of you?” he inquired my parents.



“I’m fine for now,” Iron huffed, mostly interested in observing the room.



“I’d actually like to try some of that orange juice,” my mother told the Seaddle stallion, and with that, he immediately set out to procure the two drinks for us.



Left alone in the living room my parents sought the chance to express their first impressions of the cottage.



“It looks like it's in good conditions,” Iron commented, looking over the furnishing, “either mom wasn’t much of a mess or Leaf is a really good caretaker. I didn’t see any dust or cobwebs.”



Dew nodded. “Yes, I think that it’d be a good idea to keep Leaf around if we’re going to keep the house.” She looked over towards the door where the aforementioned stallion could be heard preparing juice. “I’d hate it if we’d have to lay him off, he seems like he really enjoys working here and it looks like he can do a good job of keeping the house in tiptop shape.”



“We’ll have to see,” the blue unicorn murmured, still looking about the living room. “I still want check the rest of the home before we decide anything.”



The green earth pony nodded once more in agreement, just as a voice called out from the kitchen. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news Crystal,” Leaf exclaimed, raising his voice over the clinks and tinkering of glass and metal, “but I don’t have any tea for you.”



Horseapples, I cursed inwardly, slightly frustrated. Considering what I’ve been feeling just minutes ago, tea would’ve been a tremendous help in calming my nerves. “It’s alright,” I called back, repressing my disappointment, “some water will do.”



The sounds of fiddling glass was the only response I got from Leaf.



Grumbling from the lack of acknowledgment my eyes drifted about the living room: it was of an odd design now that I took a closer look, mainly seeing how the room doubled as a dining room for the house. This sort of architectural decision would be more on par with small apartments or with the newer floating homes that were catching on. But traditionally the living and dining rooms were separated in Equestriani homes. While it’s true that cottages of this kind were a relatively  new thing that became all the rage about seventy years back, they were still mostly adherent to the conventional blueprints common back then. Plus, it’s clear that this wasn’t a decision made due to lack of space or building materials, so this was done deliberately by choice.



The question was why? Was it because it was more practical? Perhaps; one less room to keep organized would definitely help. Additionally, bearing in mind that Lyra lived alone and her reputation, there would be little need to take in many guests often. It looked less impressive, but it did make sense in terms of convenience.



Or, I mentally added, is it perhaps to show that the proprietor doesn’t need to impress?



As that idea rolled around my head, it became more and more plausible: why try proving that you’re important or even relevant if everypony has already been convinced otherwise?



A new wave of guilt washed over me as my thoughts on Lyra were renewed. She really had it tough, not just to have your titles stripped, but to be left with few friends? I shuddered at the image of being completely alone and no one to turn to; no friends, no family.



My respect for my grandmother boosted, Leaf returned carrying a tray with two drinks: orange juice—he didn’t hear me after all.



“You misunderstood Crystal,” my mother told him, “he asked for water.”



“No no,” I interjected, forcing a smile, “juice is fine.”



Any trace of worry ebbed away from the burgundy stallion as he offered the drinks with a smile. “I’ve got a feeling you’ll love it.”



I gauged the fruit juice (which had bits of fresh pulp) in front of me before lifting it to my lips for a sip. My tongue was overwhelmed by the strong, acidic, yet sweet, flavor of orange. My eyes widened as a surge of electrifying energy washed down my throat along with the juice.



This was the darndest best orange juice I’ve ever had tasted and, judging Dew’s face, she too shared the same thoughts.



Leaf smirked at our reactions. “I knew you’d like it.”



We downed our drinks relatively quickly, while Iron and Dew interrogated Leaf away about the cottage’s conditions, how far was the closest store, where they could arrange supplies for the house, the works.



I wasn’t paying much heed to the conversation at this point, not so much because I was irritated, but because I felt like I needed to do something. Mumbling a quick ‘excuse me’ I walked around the room to investigate the furniture, namely the cabinets. They had glass displays, in one containing stacks of papers and in the other were various small statuettes; there was a set of the Bearers: each one depicted in a unique pose; two representing Celestia and Luna, both looking on with warmth; and there was another set of three that…



I stopped to take a closer look at the last three brass castings: each one was a small ape sitting down, though each one held a different posture to the other—one covered its eyes, the second covered its ears and the last one covered its mouth. A curious set, mostly due to the hidden symbolism that was obviously present, yet escaped my understanding. As far as I was aware primates were not a common subject in either literature or art, and the actions depicted here were not common. See, hear, speak nothing? Why would someone want others not to hear, see or speak?



Somepony would have to explain me that one, someone like—



Lyra, I realized, suddenly feeling down.



A certain aroma began to fill the dining room, and my mouth began to water; whatever Blossom was cooking up smelled delicious.



“Ah,” the stallion piped up at the first whiff of the food. “Soup’s up. Hope yer all hungry as I am.”



We all agreed in unison as I sat down, all other thoughts shoved aside for the moment. I can ask Leaf afterwards, I consented to myself.









Once our hunger was satiated, Leaf offered a tour of the house to which my parents happily accepted. We had finished checking out the ground floor, and were making our way for the top floor. The wooden staircase creaked in protest with each step, not used to so many hooves. It led us to a hallway that had two doors, one at each end.



Leaf turned to face my parents. “We’ve got the bedroom to the left and the study to the right,” he pointed out. “The study is pretty small and hasn’t been used for a while, so expect a lot of dust on old papers. It’d be a mess, but it could be rearranged into a guest room or second bedroom.”



“Maybe it’s best we take a look for ourselves?” Dew offered, looking somewhat hesitant about seeing either room.



To be honest I too felt some apprehension about this: one was the inner sanctum of a pony without political scruples and the other was her own personal quarters. Even though the sympathies were presented by various voices earlier, there was still the undeniable fact that even if Lyra was a regular mare if one came to know her personally she did challenge the Crown’s word and, by extension, that of the Royal Sisters. It was difficult for one who knew what the mare did to simply waltz in her private quarters without some rather unpleasant expectations; perhaps not to the point of finding skeletons in the closet, but still enough to have second thoughts before entering said quarters.



Iron was the only one of us who didn’t appear the least bit concerned. “Let’s,” he simply said, a certain edge to his voice. Perhaps he wasn’t as undaunted as his façade led to believe.



Leaf nodded and herded us to the right door and produced a key. As he went through the trouble of unlocking it, I ran various scenarios as to what could be found behind the door: was it going to be something from a horror novel, with a collection of sharp instruments of various shapes and sizes, all coated with blood? Or perhaps there would be something more exotic, such as a bubbling cauldron, vials and jars filled with mystifying liquids; something akin to an addled alchemist or chemist.



The door unlocked with a sharp click, and Leaf pushed it open to reveal…



…a very unremarkable study, with papers lying discarded methodically on a dust-caked desk and filled book shelves lining the walls. The only thing that looked out of place was this large, greenish sealed bag that reminded me very much of baked dough. In fact, besides the dankness, the green bag and the dust, Lyra’s study was comparable to my own, albeit more orderly.



I mentally scolded myself for having even considered those ridiculous scenarios. To be fair, I suspected that the juice from earlier must’ve had some effect on my anxiety.



Leaf groaned at the moldy odors present. “Dangit, must be a loose tile if there’s this much humidity in here.”



“Is it a problem?” Iron queried, still focused on the issue of the home.



“Naw,” the earth pony replied, shaking his head. “The roofing’s pretty easy to fix up, and it don’t happen too often to become irritating. It’s a nuisance when it happens, but it ain’t no big deal.”



While my father nodded comprehensively, Dew’s gaze was fixated on the green bag that was by the far wall. “What is that?”



“The beanbag? It’s a weird chair that’s surprisingly comfy,” Leaf explained. “Apparently, it’s something that humans used.”



I quickly jumped on that: “Wait, didn’t the barrier destroy everything of the humans’ world?”



“Lyra had it made on our end of the barrier,” he clarified as he checked said beanbag thoroughly. “I’m surprised that whoever made this didn’t think of making more of ‘em. It’s really comfortable, more so than a cushion or stool: I saw Lyra lie on it sometimes when she didn’t feel like sitting.”



While an image of a pony lying on the bag formed in my head I did rapidly consider the possible reasons as to why no other beanbag chairs were made. A voice quickly reminded me the obvious: Lyra was an outcast. Clearly getting an order to make such a weird piece of furniture would immediately limit the number of craftsponies willing to do it, and then knowing that it was requested by a supposed traitor… well, I believed that the better question was just how Lyra was able to get someone to fill the order. Perhaps she still had some pull even with her position and title stripped.



“Looks like the chair’s clean,” Leaf declared once he finished inspecting the beanbag. “Was worried that there might’ve been a mold growing on it, what with it bein’ covered in fabric and all.”



“The room does need some sprucing up,” Dew observed, noting the clear hoofprints on the filthy wooden floor.



“As I’ve said, nopony’s been here for a month or so,” the Seaddle stallion retorted as he scanned the bookshelves. “When Lyra became bedridden, there was no use for the study. She specifically told me not to bother with cleaning it and to just lock it up.”



It looked as if the mantis green mare was about to object when Iron shot her a look and shook his head. It went unnoticed by Leaf but I did manage to catch it and piqued my curiosity. Just what did Iron convey with that gesture?



My inner musing was interrupted by an abrupt ‘aha!’ from Leaf, who picked out a hardcover tome with a fungal growth on its spine. “Social Psychology of Equestriani,” he read the title out loud, “thank goodness that it ain’t one of her own books.”



My ears flicked to attention at that: Lyra was an author? “Lyra’s got published works?”



“Huh?” Leaf uttered, his face contorted in confusion before his eyes lit up in understanding. “Ah, no. She didn’t write professionally. Never got anything published. I doubt that if she had published something it would’ve been on everypony’s bookshelf.”



“Thank Celestia that she didn’t,” I heard my dad mumble.



I ignored the stallion’s admittedly justified comment and focused on the bookshelves. I noticed that while there were the classical hardcover prints, these were accompanied by a series of leaflets and novel-sized manuscripts bound together in bits of strings. A quick gloss over at the first page of the ‘book’ at the end of the shelf showed that the words were indeed written and not printed like those in the hardcover books.



I did consider taking a closer look at my grandmother’s works, but with my parents watching me and my outburst still fresh in mind I kept myself to simply observing the papers from afar.



“Well then,” the house curator piped up as he set the moldy tome apart from the others, “as you can see it needs some work, but with the desk gone you could put a small bed here.”



“Maybe,” Iron muttered, drawing out the word while he considered Leaf’s opinion. “It would still be very cramped though, I think that the beanbag needs to go elsewhere to make more room.”



Leaf shrugged. “It’s your house now, you decide what to do with it. Up for seeing the bedroom?”



“Yes, I think we’ve seen enough here. Lead on.” Iron waved Leaf on.



I gave a last look to the rows of manuscripts, somewhat disappointed that I couldn’t read them for the time being, before turning to leave.



The hoof-falls resounded in the hallway along with the creaking wood as we made our way to the other end of the corridor. This door, unlike its opposite, needed no unlocking and led to a noticeably cleaner and brighter bedroom. The skylight wrapped the ivory double bed in light, further illuminating what light entered via the patio door. Already from the entrance I could catch a glimpse of what the balcony view offered: an horizon of southern Equestria. Unlike the study the bedroom was mostly empty, a feeling accentuated by the larger size, only populated by a long low wooden cabinet (aside from the bed).



On this cabinet were a number framed pictures, mostly of a younger Lyra, alone or with ponies whom I didn’t recognize.



…except for one:



It was a jaded photograph that depicted two unicorn mares sharing a drink. I immediately recognized the mint green pony as Lyra who was laughing heartily with the other which was—



My mind did a backflip as I realized who Lyra’s companion was: the Bearer of Magic, Twilight Sparkle, was laughing back along with Lyra.



This wasn’t just a picture of the sort where a big time celebrity posed with a stranger just for the sake of bragging rights (as some friends from Canterlot of mine had). No, it was clear that at one point my grandmother and the Element of Magic were friends, and judging by their appearances they must’ve been in their teens, perhaps a bit younger than I was. Did their friendship go all the way back to foalhood? Did Lyra’s misdemeanor end it, or did they still see each other even after she was ostracized?



So many questions went by unanswered as Leaf presented the bedroom to my parents. I didn’t pay any mind to them as all of my focus was on uncovering the mystery posed by the framed photograph with the picture itself being the only clue. I reflected on the chance that it was a fake, but that theory was soon disproved when I checked the back where there was a written message.



Thanks for being a great friend through school!
Hugs, Twilight Sparkle



I found myself staring at the signature in disbelief: it was nearly identical to the one I had seen in a science article back in PRPI. Granted this autograph lacked the smooth lines that composed the other one in the article, but that was easily explained by age refining it. Even still my mind was reeling at this revelation. Now I really wished that I had a chance to talk with my grandmother.



Leaf and my parents came back into the bedroom after taking in the patio, indifferent to the fact that I hadn’t come along with them. “And that’s pretty much all I’ve got to show ya here,” Leaf exclaimed.



Mother looked pleased. “I’m impressed: it’ll make a wonderful summer home.”



Iron, on the other hoof, looked less than convinced. “The house is fine,” he admitted, turning to face Leaf, “but I’m still on the fence with it. What did you two do for food and other supplies?”



“We just shopped at the village,” the stallion explained, “there’s all kinds of stores in the village East of here.”



“With good prices?”



Leaf pouted pensively. “I’d say reasonable. Ya know, if yer curious about that I can take you there and show how it is.”



The blue unicorn gave him an inquisitive look. “It isn’t far I take it?”



“Not at all, it’s even shorter of a walk than the one we had earlier.”



Dew and Iron exchanged gazes, gesturing each other with quick nods as Dew replied, “It’ll be nice to see how the people here are and, if Delgate is anything similar, I know that the island will be a thing of beauty.”



I shifted uncomfortably as I gave a sheepish cough. “I uh, would like to stay here,” I mumbled once I got their attention. “Some of those books looked relevant to what I’m working on, so I’d prefer to stay here for the moment.”



My mother looked dismayed at the thought of leaving me in the home of the disliked Lyra. “Staying here? Cooked up in this old place?” she objected. “It’s a beautiful day outside, and you’d prefer to stay in here?”



Iron stared silently, unwilling to say anything against me, but still clearly in opposition of my idea. Only Leaf spoke up. “Come on Dew,” he referred to my mother casually, “Crystal’s a grown stallion, he’s free to make his own choices.”



Dew turned to Leaf with great disdain. “But we wouldn’t want to impose…” she let her words hang when Leaf raised his hoof.



“As I’ve already told you, this is not my house; it’s yers. Whatever you do with it is none of my concern.”



The mare stumbled on her words, mouth agape in search for a rebuttal. She turned to her husband. “Iron, tell Crystal that he should come along!”



For his part, dad mulled over the situation silently, occasionally glancing at me. I gazed back with pleading eyes. After a long moment he sighed.



“Leaf’s right,” he finally said, “he’s an adult now. He can do what he wants.”



“But—” Dew blabbered, taken aback from Iron’s response, before finally groaning in defeat and nudging him to go downstairs.



I felt a bit of relief at the prospect of having some time alone to think and read; especially after the regretful debacle with my parents, I needed the time to wind down a bit.



“Alrighty!” Leaf exclaimed. “I’ll meet with y’all in the front porch, I’ll be with you after I tell Crystal what’s what.”



My parents left the bedroom mutely, with Iron whispering ‘I hope you know what you’re doing’ to me as he passed by. Great, he wouldn’t let this one go for a while as well.



With my parents gone, Leaf came to my side, a warm smile plastered on his muzzle. “You can take care of yourself right?” he first asked as he led me out into the corridor.



“Of course I can, I’ve been living three years by myself in Pinto.”



He nodded confidently. “Alright, just makin’ sure,” he clarified. “Anything you need to eat or drink you can find it in the kitchen. Just make sure you don’t burn the house down.” The stallion chuckled heartily at his witty recommendation as we went past the staircase and towards the study.



I blinked in confusion: wasn’t he going downstairs with my parents?



We entered the study again, Leaf’s appearance suddenly turning solemn. “Guess that this is the best chance that we’re gonna get,” he mumbled to himself as he went to the desk and opened a drawer. From it he picked up a strongbox and a key.



I eyed the object with a questioning eye: it was nothing particularly remarkable, besides it being clearly old, with rust spots plaguing the lock and key. “What’s this?”



“Your inheritance,” Leaf replied as he offered it to me. I blinked once more: Lyra left something for me?



“Wha-what?” I erred, trying to make sense of the locked strongbox. “Why didn’t you give this to me earlier?”



“Because Lyra specifically told me that neither one of your parents should know about it.” He shrugged, “I don’t know what it is, nor do I want to. It’s none of my business and I don’t pry into other people’s affairs.”



I examined the box with more attention, gingerly rattling it to hear the contents clatter inside; sounded like there were multiple objects inside, perhaps made of metal or some other similar material. I couldn’t gather much of anything else however.



“Whatever it is,” Leaf added, giving me a firm look right in the eyes, “be careful with it. I know Lyra well enough to trust her on this one, but she has kept secrets from me, that being one of them.”



He gave a playful punch, his attitude lighthearted again. “Alrighty Crys, you take good care now.” And with that Leaf left me alone in the study with the  puzzling box in my grip.



What just happened?



Honestly I couldn’t make much sense out of what occurred, it just went by too fast for me to really have a moment to take it all in. I apparently held something possibly dangerous intended for me, left by an ostracized mare who may or may not have held a grudge against her own family. I dismissed the possible implications for that, mainly because I didn’t want to think about them.



Once more I took a closer look at the rusting strongbox, half expecting it to open by itself. I lifted the corroding key, which was a simple skeleton key, feeling the weight and shape of it. It felt as if I was weighing a spear which, if handled improperly, could kill me. I gulped, again alluding to things that I didn’t really want to think about.



I heard the echo of a door slam from downstairs, signaling that I was well and truly alone now. If anything were to happen to me I wouldn’t have anyone to help me out if need be. The safest route was to simply leave the box be and never open it. But if I were to do that the ‘what ifs’ would eat at me, prodding, tempting me to do so.



It was clear even then that the only reasonable path to take was to simply give into my curiosity and see for myself what Lyra left me. So, I levitated the key and slid it into the warded lock. It was a perfect fit as expected, and with a gentle twist of the key, all of the tumblers moved in sync and produced a satisfying click. Whatever was inside was now accessible.



I took a deep breath to brace for whatever might’ve been inside the strongbox as the door opened, creaking in protest.



What lay before me left me baffled: there were these strange, metallic (or crystal? I couldn’t tell) spheres, that gave off a bizarre reddish aura, the light on the surfaces… moved, as if clouds or a sort of fog was in the surface reflection, blocking some of it and continually moved, always giving off different reflections.



I was at a complete loss to understand what exactly these spheres —no, orbs— were supposed to be or do. They were clearly magical in nature but their purpose escaped me, my mind drawing a blank as it was mesmerized by the shifting lights.



I quickly shook my head in an effort to focus, partly because I was also afraid that it was possibly dangerous to stare at the orbs for too long, and because I noticed an enveloped letter tucked by one of the sides. I took it out and hastily closed the door of the box, afraid that it would all blow up in my face if I left it open for too long. With no signs of an impending explosion I sighed in relief, and took out the letter from the envelope and read it.



Dear Crystal Clear,

By the time you read this I’ll be dead, hopefully not by the hand of another. I know that you have many questions, both about me and these orbs, but I know that you would find yourself hard-pressed believing anything that I write here.

So I have decided to do what few others would do willingly: I’m offering you an insight to my memories.

I have made no alteration to any of them besides showing you only the pertinent memories; these are otherwise unchanged from what I personally experienced. My memories will hopefully explain everything that you need to know, about the barrier, about the humans, about the Crown’s deeds, everything.

You might be asking why you, why I chose to give you my memories. The answer is fairly simple: I don’t want the truth to die with me. I’m eighty seven years old as I’m writing this and I know that I am not going to live for much longer; anyone else who knows the truth but isn’t with the Crown is either dead or missing.

And I know you’re interested in humans Crystal, probably as much as I was. You’re probably the only pony who’d know what to do with these memories of mine. I trust you will do the right thing grandson.

The memory orbs are all arranged in chronological order, the right one farthest from you is the first one, and the rest are placed accordingly in the same order as reading. Each orb has several different memories cut into different pieces, similar to how scenes are in movies, and you can access each ‘scene’ by simply manipulating the orb’s sections like you would with polypuzzle. Of course, you can only do this with your magic so as to avoid accidentally accessing a memory when you don’t need to.

Remember to do this only when you are alone and when nobody else can interrupt it. The process is very intensive on the mind: everything will seem very lifelike and you will spend anywhere from a few minutes to hours experiencing a memory. And as Leaf has likely told you, don’t let my son or his wife know about these orbs. I love them both with all of my heart but they wouldn’t react well. I hate keeping secrets, especially from close relatives and friends like Leaf or your parents, but discretion is the only way to keep this from falling into the wrong hands.

One last thing: don’t delve into the memories too often. Space each experience by a few hours at least. These magical artifacts still carry unknown effects and I wouldn’t want anything bad happen to you.

Even though you might not know me, I know you, and I love you as much as my son. I only wish we had spent some time together after I last saw you when you were but a foal.

Celestia willing you will understand everything and forgive me and everyone else for what we have done; what we all did.

I am so sorry Crystal.

Your loving grandmother,
Lyra Heartstrings



A mix of emotions flowed in me as I finished reading the note: I felt saddened, elated, angered, but most of all, confused. The words that my grandmother left me only brought up more questions while answering fewer still. I now wielded the truth? Why did she imply that she might’ve been murdered? What did she mean by my parents reacting badly? What was it with those odd word choice, such as using hands instead of hooves or nobody instead of nopony? Why was she begging me for forgiveness, on her part and apparently for the actions of others? As far as I was concerned she was the only who would be asking for forgiveness seeing as she was the one banished. Did that mean that there were others?


I rubbed my forehead just under the mane line, my head abuzz with questions and riddles which wouldn’t resolve themselves. Stopping for a moment to think, I considered the off chance that secretly Lyra had in fact gone completely lame when she wrote this. What I had read felt too much as if it had been written by a conspiracy nut (of which I had the displeasure of meeting a few).



And yet…



It felt very honest. A part of me scoffed at the notion of being capable of recognizing the tone just by the writing, and another part reminded me that I had never formally met Lyra nor knew how she behaved; all I had were others’ accounts that gave me mixed messages: some claimed that the unicorn was nothing but a madmare and traitor, while others viewed her as a wonderful person to be around with.



So the question is, I thought to myself, who is right about this girl?



It was an answer that seemed impossible to attain, seeing how the pony in question was dead and there were conflicting opinions on her. But then came a fleeting thought as my gaze fell on the strongbox containing the supposed memories of my grandmother:



Why not take a look? a small voice meekly asked.



Almost immediately I came up with various counterarguments: ‘it’s too dangerous’, ‘it could be a trap’, ‘what if the letter is fake?’, and ‘what if my parents did find out?’ being the better retorts.



…then again, this was an opportunity to learn; all I had to do was simply follow the instructions described in the note and all of these questions could go away. In fact, I could do this right now, seeing as I’d probably be alone for a while.



Yet I felt very apprehensive of having anything to do with those strange orbs. Memory orbs or not, they were nothing that I had ever seen, read or heard of before. What guarantee did I have that they were in fact her memories? As far as I knew these could kill me as soon as I tried to reach them via magic.



But what if they are really her memories? the voice from before countered, what if they’re real and you just discard them? You’ll never forgive yourself for trying to find out what they really are.



I gritted my teeth, my stare locked on the accursed little box, torn apart by indecision. I cursed at myself: I had never felt this hesitant before, and this sense of feeling helpless aggravated me to no end. Never once did I back down from a decision I took. As ponies around me would notice I was one who would defend my stance to the very last.



And then it dawned on me: didn’t Leaf mention that I was like Lyra in that respect? If that was true, then she was just as much of a debater as I was, and like any good debater, I’d at least allow her to speak her mind instead of simply dismissing it—that was just poor tact and disrespectful. If I truly was that, then I’d give her the benefit of the doubt and do as she instructed to see her side of things. This would be beyond just putting on another’s horseshoes if it was true, I’d actually experience what my grandmother experienced.



If it’s true, the cynic in me recalled; if the letter wasn’t a hoax; if the memories weren’t doctored.



If, if, if. Too many ifs for my comfort. But then again I knew that if I just let this lie the dread of having missed the opportunity of a lifetime would eat at me; I would probably give into this itch to know eventually, not knowing would be the death of me.



With everything put into perspective, it did make more sense to just try doing as the letter indicated and get it over with. Besides, I seriously doubted that a dead mare would have a thing against me specifically. Not only did I not know her, but I was family—she wouldn’t harm a stranger, let alone a relative. Right?



I took a slow and deep breath, as the hinges of the strongbox groaned once more. There were those fabled memory orbs, magical artifacts of an unknown nature, and I was going to use them on the word of a pony who was made into something of a nonperson. Hearing the amount of voices against the idea was almost deafening.



Regardless of the second thoughts and I concentrated on the orb that Lyra had indicated to pick first. When it slowly lifted upwards, engulfed in a blue-green aura, I realized that I had been holding my breath—I guess that the anxiety was getting the better of me.



As I mentally felt the orb, I immediately found the various sections that were, as Lyra had written, in a similar format of a polypuzzle. The top piece, being the smallest, would be the first one that had to be manipulated: that’s how a polypuzzle worked—you started with the smallest section, and the next one would reveal itself, which would then have to be manipulated to find the next one and so on and so forth. If these memory orbs were similar to the popular unicorn toy, then it stood to reason that they worked in the same manner.



I delicately shifted the moveable part clockwise, slow and steady, searching for any signs of the artifact’s activation.



Click



No sooner after locking the piece in the correct spot, the orb shook violently and grew increasingly bright at an impossibly fast rate. The light overwhelmed the room’s natural light so quickly that I had barely any time to even think of reacting.



Barely two words formed in my mind before I passed out:



Oh horseapp—
 






Soft notes enriched the living room, the soothing music a means to ease the tense atmosphere into a more relaxed one. It worked, though not for the reason I had hoped for: focusing on the strums of the lyre helped forget (if temporarily) what was happening outside of the house.



It was saddening to learn that the near-lullaby quality of my latest composition failed to pacify, but at least I was glad enough that the only thing that mattered at the moment was my musical instrument. The tune was so well inscribed in my head that I played it eyes closed.



D, E, G A, B



The strings’ twangs and plunks had proven to be quite the crowd pleaser, usually a harmonious composition meant to loosen the minds of ponies, especially those of newfoals. However only the act of playing the lyre brought ease in this case; very disappointing in retrospect.



D E G A, B



Even though the music was the dominant sound in the room, harried hoofsteps and stomps sneaked in through the open windows. It had been several hours already, and ponies were still panicking; not as much, but enough to warrant a large number of worriers stirring up the town.



D, E, G, A B, d—



The front door swung with immense force, slamming against the wall and snapping me out of my musical trance. I blinked in surprise to see a cream-coated mare, with piercing blue eyes and dark blue mane with pink highlights, trot in, a restless look plastered on her muzzle.



“I can’t believe that someone would want a delivery done with everything that’s going on outside,” she breathed, not really directing her frustration towards my way. The earth pony turned to finally notice me. “Oh! Lyra—you’re back already?”



I mentally rolled my eyes at the somewhat dumb question: hadn’t she seen what had been happening?



“As soon as the shakes started I went straight back home,” I explained. “You’d be surprised how often things take priority over dating a stallion, Bon Bon.”



She shot me a curious look. “You left Evening Star to fend for himself?”



“No, he left me to fend for myself,” I corrected, “he bolted at the first sign of trouble. I gotta say, if I weren’t so concerned of the tremors, I would’ve been impressed by his speed.”



“And you came back here… to play with your lyre?” Bon Bon asked, unsure of what I was doing before she came in.



“I panicked!” I said defensively. “I don’t know what else could calm me down! What with Twilight and her friends gone since it began, I just couldn—”



My roommate interrupted my tirade: “Wait, wait, wait; what’s this with Twilight being gone?”



“Like I said, I was panicking,” I repeated, “but not so much that I didn’t realize that Twilight probably knew what was happening. So I went over to the library, but only Spike was there. He told me that not long after the start of the shakes, they’d received a letter from the Princess requesting Twilight and her friends’ presence back in Canterlot.”



“And they haven’t come back yet?”



I shook my head in deject; it had been already hours since they were gone, and while the tremors stopped long ago, the sky was still a strange purple-pink tint. It vaguely reminded me of the barrier that engulfed Canterlot during the wedding month ago. It was obvious, however, that whatever was happening now wasn’t a shield: it was simply too big for it to have been cast by anypony. Perhaps the Princesses were powerful enough to do so, but then it wouldn’t explain the quakes, that flash of light or why the sun was suddenly in a completely different spot.



Bon Bon visibly paled at my response. She was reacting similarly as I had when I was given the same bit of news. “W-wha– what do we do?”



I began to play the tune on the lyre again as I thought what to tell my roommate. “Ponyville has been through some pretty bad times and Twilight always pulled through with her friends,” I said to her (as well as to myself) reassuringly. “We just gotta wait it out like we did the other times.”



The cream-colored pony looked crestfallen and cast her gaze on the floor. “I know, I just feel so helpless with everything happening outside.”



I offered her an understanding look: “What else can we do? Just try to relax.”



She nodded and began to say something when the door shook from forceful knocking. Bon Bon turned to face the door, then to me, her eyes conveying a simple question: ‘should I open?’ To that I nodded in spite of my better judgment. What if there were looters? I hadn’t seen any destroyed shops or ransacked homes, but with the panic going on outside there could very well have been some burglars running about.



The earth pony opened the door only to be faced by two stone-faced pegasi wearing golden armor. Royal Guards, I recognized, now more interested in our visitors rather than my lyre.



One of the two guards, the one on the left, spoke up with a strong air of authority. “Is there a Miss Heartstrings here?” he demanded. Bon Bon seemed so taken aback by the presence of the Guard at our doorstep that she stumbled with a response. Unsatisfied with the lack of a reply, the stark white pegasus looked beyond the mare in front, spotting me.



“Miss Heartstrings?” he called out to me in the same demanding tone as before.



A lump formed in my throat; what did they want with me? “Yes?” I answered meekly, putting my string instrument away and cautiously approaching the two armored stallions.



“Princess Celestia has requested your presence,” the other guard affirmed, his solid stare unwavering, “we are to escort you to Canterlot.”



I found myself staggered, enough to nearly forget to voice my questions over this: “W-wha– why? Why would the Princess want me to come?”



“I’m afraid that’s classified, miss,” the first guard replied, shifting his eyes towards Bon Bon. “The Princess has insisted for your presence, so we’d best make haste.”



“I—”



“Just go,” a voice behind me said; Bon Bon looked on with an encouraging smile.



“Bonnie…” I began before she silenced me with a hoof.



“Looks like you get your chance to do something this one time,” she said somberly, with a slight hint of envy in her voice, “go on, I’ll take care of things here.”



“Are you sure?” I didn’t want to leave her alone with how things were then, it felt almost unfair to do so, seeing as how I’d be in what was probably the safest place in Equestria right there and then. “Please, can’t my friend come along?” I asked pleadingly to the closest guard.



Neither his blank face nor his deadpan voice betrayed any pity: “No can do, ma’am. We’re here for you and you only. Princess’s orders.”



I was about to protest when the cream-coated mare nudged me with a tap of her hoof. She waved on with that same cheering beam: “Go on, I’ll be fine. Heck, you might actually help save Equestria while you’re in Canterlot.”



We both scoffed at the silly idea, both quite certain that I would do no such thing. Imagine me, standing side by side with the Elements and the Princesses, solving together whatever was causing all of this chaos. I dispelled the outrageous thought and focused on my goodbye.



Bon Bon and I embraced each other. She whispered, “Come back safe. You hear me?”



“I hear you Bonnie. I’ll be back ‘fore you know it.”



We broke the hold and I turned back to the two pegasi patiently waiting for my go-ahead. “Should I bring anything with me?” I solicited to them.



“There’s no need. Everything will be provided by the Crown for you.”



I nodded and took one last look back in the living room. Bon Bon beamed and gave a knowing nod of her own. With one last deep breath, I finally told the guards, “Alright, let’s go.”







The trip to Canterlot was a fast one, ensured by the guards’ fast pace, but in that time I was able to make some further deductions of the events unfolding back in Ponyville: for one thing, the strange purple taint that colored the normally blue skies wasn’t something that was restricted to the small town. The capital and the surrounding valley were also suffering from the same strange phenomenon, ruling out the possibility that it was an artificial construct; the revelation was not very comforting.



As we zoomed at breakneck speeds, I tried to pry some more information from my escorts. The most that I could get out of them was that I was requested for my ‘special expertise’ as they put it, without specifying what that was exactly. I seriously doubted that the Princess wanted me for my musical talents. Pressing them on what exactly was expected of me or what was happening proved fruitless, as they would just clamp up and not say a word when I tried. Whether they did that because they couldn’t tell or because they didn’t know, I couldn’t tell. If there was one thing that Guard was well known for was its members’ dead-set look that hinted little in the way of emotions.



We bypassed the Canterlot districts, heading straight to the Royal Palace and landed in the main courtyard. It was organized chaos: civil servants rushed to and fro with hurry, but in a far more orderly manner than one would expect in a moment of crisis, and there was a strong presence of the Guard all around. I was handed a visitor badge by one of the servants who greeted me upon landing, and then quickly ushered into the palace proper by another guard. He navigated me through twisting and crowded corridors hurriedly, not allowing me to appreciate the decorative tapestries and windows that lined the hallways.



Eventually I found myself staring at a large set of ornate doors under guard by two heavily armored unicorns. My escort flashed them his own badge, and with one quick look at mine, the two guards led us in through the double doors. What awaited for us behind the doors was something of a familiar sight: the throne room. It seemed to lack the same splendor as it had when it hosted the wedding a few months back, although it had a sense of vastness that it didn’t have the last time, probably due to how few people were inside this time.



“Presenting Lyra Heartstrings!” one of the guards announced, his voice silencing every conversation that took place in the grand hall.



All eyes fell on me and I suddenly felt very small. By the base of the thrones was a group of ponies with two towering figures watching over towards me: the royal princesses.



I instantly bowed in respect, snout almost touching the marble floor. I held the pose, waiting for Celestia’s silken voice to say ‘rise, my little pony’, only to have a different voice greet me:



“Lyra!”



Etiquette temporarily set aside, I brought my head up to see an unexpected but still familiar face. Lavender eyes greeted my gaze as I arose. I beamed at the sight: “Heya Twilight!”



My old school colleague trotted over and gave me a friendly hug, giving me the time to take in the faces of her fellow bearers coming up to welcome me. We exchanged some quick pleasantries before I faced Twilight. “So,” I began, adopting a more serious tone, “what’s going on? We’re completely in the dark back in Ponyville, and you know how people there react well to strange events.”



She began to respond, but a strong voice called out.



“So this is the expert that you’ve been talking about, Sparkle?” it called. Looking over I spotted an approaching stallion. Gawky-looking, he had a scholarly look, mostly thanks to the sharp grey eyes behind his thick-rimmed glasses. On his flanks was his odd cutie mark that reminded me of a blurred pony silhouette. He looked half-way between being amused and annoyed at my appearance. Just who was this deep auburn earth pony?



“Ah, yes professor,” Twilight quickly recovered, “she’s probably as knowledgeable as you are with what we’re dealing with.”



This ‘professor’ took a precursory look at me, his cold stare paralyzing me into compliant silence. “I don’t recall hearing about you, miss…?”



It took me a moment to pick up on his request, and even then I stumbled with a response. “L-Lyra. Lyra Heartstrings.” I offered the stallion a hoof.



He took it apprehensively. “Professor Presumptive Belief, at your service.”



My jaws slackened at the introduction. “The Professor Belief?” I asked incredulously, almost squealing with glee, “the author of the Cryptozoology: Equestriani Rationalizations series?”



“As well as co-writer of Scientific Discoveries—Terrible Lizards and head of the Manehattan Society of Cryptozoology,” the scholar added, his demeanor growing friendlier. “It’s always a pleasure to meet a fellow researcher.”



My grin fell at his assumption. What did he mean by that? “I uh, I’m not a researcher,” I admitted. “I’m actually a musician.”



The cryptozoologist’s brow rose, more so out of amusement than of confusion. His sideways glance towards the lavender unicorn prompted an explanation from her.



“Well,” Twilight began, “she’s right. Lyra’s more of an aficionado than an actual researcher. Still I do think that her insight will be very helpful.”



Belief’s eyes gauged my admittedly lost expression. “Hm. It wouldn’t be surprising if you know as much as I do if you’re an avid reader of my work. There just isn’t much that can be gathered about them.”



“’Them’?” I blurted out, shaking my head in frustration. “I’m sorry, but what’s going on here? I’ve been scared witless for the first few hours after whatever happened, and then I’m suddenly requested by the Princess herself to do something that nopony’s bothered to explain to me!”



A blur of pink hopped up at my side, catching me off guard when an acquainted party planner giggled at my aggravated tone. “Why, you of all ponies should know what we’re talking about!” Pinkie stated with her bubbly attitude, placing her forehoof around my neck and pulling me at her side while waving her left hoof theatrically to create a sense of mysterious wonder.



“Outside the barrier,” she said dramatically, “there are humans—humans everywhere!”