//------------------------------// // Session 0.75 // Story: Mind over Midnight // by Moproblems Moharmoney //------------------------------// The woodland soil is thick and cloying, cold mud sticking to my cheek as I rise. Vision blurs, pain racing through my skull. I-I think my arm is broken. What hit us? US! Diamond! Where is- The trees warp and twist, is it the concussion or is it more? I-I see her! Oh god, god no! Rusty Iron. Red Coals. Midnight Black. “MINE” I don't scream this time, I just cry. It's been a while since I cried. In retrospect that's probably a bad thing. Healthy outlets are necessary, bottling leads to back sliding, and dear god is the temptation strong. To just forget everything, float away into a blissful numbness. It's hard enough with these nightmares and now Cadenza back in my life. The bedside clock glares at me, neon red announcing seven thirty pm. Great, just great. After the confrontation at the office I shut up early. It was unprofessional of me, but then working with anyone in that state would be more than unprofessional, it'd be downright dangerous. With no Sonata (she was informed first of the decision and happily left) I made the calls personally, it was my responsibility after all. Thankfully Miss Lulamoon and Mister Sunburst took it well. Losing clients was always a possibility, but I tried to create a good rapport with anyone in my care, and it seemed to be working so far. Then came the bus ride (no Stony this time), a miserable experience with my stomach gurgling whilst the urge to sleep came on stronger with every minute. I'm frankly surprised I managed to crawl into bed, sleeping on buses isn't exactly new for me. My home has been described as 'spartan' by the few visitors I've had. I'd agree with that. The only 'clutter' in my two up-two down consisted of a few Saddle Arabian nicknacks, several full bookcases and my locked chest. Today that emptiness felt more painful than soothing. “L-lets get going” I mumble, trying to gee myself into motion. It's a struggle but with some effort the bedroom and stairs are conquered, by the time the coffee is ready I feel at least somewhat more human. The origami helps. It was a suggestion when I was recovering all those years ago, move your focus onto something else, something productive. My work was one element, but that was dangerous to lean on, this on the other-hand allowed me to flex my creative muscles whilst keeping my hands busy. As a hobby it wasn't exactly what you'd call 'thrilling', but I enjoyed it. It certainly made the kitchen brighter. A facsimile of a llama smiled at me from the kitchen table as I worked on its sibling. Cranes were irritatingly tricky, this was my third attempt in the last week. No matter how many twists and folds though it always ended up wrong somehow, instructions or no instructions. After five minutes of fruitless struggle the pseudo crane and its sister are gently placed on a shelf, a dozen completed creatures surrounding them. It was always better to return to it then get flustered, a hobby is as fun as you make it after all. “Nose the to the grindstone time.” Another encouragement, it's not necessary but some affirmation helps. Especially when the days been as stressful as this. A few clicks of my discarded briefcase, and she's here. Picking up the tape-recorder, I smile at the few dings and scratches gracing its surface. It hadn't been pristine even before she'd got it for my birthday. Back in the day I'd been a bit of a retro geek, clothes, tech, you name it. I'd search all the second hand stores and flea markets, dive in for hours, then walk out with a single shirt. She liked that, said it showed "perseverance". I just liked older things, they all had a certain character to them, everything has a story right? I just had to find it. Pressing the button slowly, the click begins a fresh tape-reel. My face set, it was time to uncover a new story. "Client review, Twilight Sparkle. Request for my services by parents, Velvet Sparkle and Night Light. Preliminary notes on clients issue and background supplied with permission by former Dean of Crystal Preparatory Academy, Cadenza Mi Amore" A brief stab of anger flared in me. Not just because of 'her' but also because of that damn school. Nearly half of my teenage clients in Canterlot came from that place. Oh, it was well recommended, and it certainly got academic results, but to get that omelette they'd broken a hell of a lot of eggs, eggs I had to repair. Begrudgingly though --and it hurt to say this-- it wasn't Cadenza's fault. No, this was down to Principal Abacus Cinch. The psychotherapist in me acknowledged that she herself was probably quite damaged, you don't wrap yourself in something as fragile as 'reputation' unless you're covering for some kind of inner pain. The biased part of me though? Well, that railed at institutionalised bullying for 'results'. I took a breath, then continued. "Age Sixteen. Former Crystal Preparatory Academy student, transferred to Canterlot High School two months ago. Academic record is...very impressive. Straight A's in everything save for creative arts and physical education. Irrespective, looks like most colleges would kill to have her. Parents request form suggests daughters recent behaviour is frequently erratic, including moments of hallucinatory states and referring to herself as 'Midnight'. They are frightened clearly, though I have serious doubts about their suggestions of 'a split personality'." I paused the tape, looking over the papers once more. Unofficial diagnosis were the bane of my career. The Internet had revolutionised our world, on the flip side, those with zero training had access to materials they just couldn't comprehend, and dear sweet lord could they make things difficult. I'd once spent a solid three sessions convincing Filthy Rich his wife didn't suffer from narcissism. Now, Spoilt Rich was a horrible person, no doubt, but they didn't suffer from narcissistic personality disorder as such. In the end I had to refer them to specialised marriage counsellors, they were just too dysfunctional for my training frankly. I hoped this Sparkle girls parents were willing to listen to a professional. There was another problem as well. Cadenza had managed to give me the notes from Crystal Preps own school counsellor, but frustratingly nothing within the last few months. I needed every scrap of data possible to avoid going in blind, but I couldn't just strong-arm Canterlot High. The Dean was skirting several data protection and ethical laws as is by giving me this much free access. It was very unusual to be blunt. Then again... "Following Cadenzas comments from earlier today there is a strong possibility supernatural forces are involved or perceived to be involved." It still stung, her of all people coming to me. The anger had faded to bitterness now though, my logic frustratingly agreeing with her assessment. You didn't go to a plumber to fix your lighting after all. A standard psychotherapist would be quite out of their depth in these kinds of situations. Still, it had been four months since the last 'special' case and this didn't feel quite right. Something stank, and it wasn't the unwashed dishes rotting in my sink. "I will enter with an open mind as is standard, however I've certain suspicions. Client notes from Crystal Preparatory Academy paint her as a mental health time bomb, massive obsessive compulsive issues, reclusive, anti-social with depressive and self-worth episodes. Yet nothing to indicate Dissasociative identity disorder ? Loathe as I am to make snap judgements, I'm wondering if the client finally stopped putting a brave face on things and her parents can't face up to the truth. Perhaps willing to 'other' the problem with a big incomprehensible lie then face up to the smaller truths of plain bad parenting?" I clicked the 'stop' button with a resounding sigh. I hated saying it, but things just weren't adding up. The girl had been suffering for years, her records began within weeks of enrolment, yet she'd never seen anyone more qualified than her school counsellor? Where were the doctors? The medication? Hell, where were my peers?! I knew of two other psychotherapists in Canterlot who'd happily take another well paying Crystal Prep job. So that left two answers. Either the school had hushed it up, pressuring the girl to be silent or the parents just didn't give a damn. Either was possible in my experience. Now she was free of its stifling presence though she was going off the rails, letting out everything that had been building up like a bomb. Watching your formerly meek daughter let her hair down would certainly be a shock. Then there was their ludicrous DiD claim, it was laughable frankly. You don't just 'develop' a severe mental health issue like that out of nowhere. The girls notes suggested an outcast, someone struggling in a toxic schooling environment, but nothing to suggest the presence of the condition. Then again there was the involvement of Cadenza and this mysterious supernatural factor I'd stupidly left unquestioned in my anger earlier. There were too many questions and not enough answers. I had one recourse. "Hello, is this Velvet Sparkle? Good evening, I apologise for calling so late. My name is Calmy Storms. I understand your interested in booking a session at my practice for your daughter?"