//------------------------------// // Session 1 (Twilight Sparkle?) // Story: Mind over Midnight // by Moproblems Moharmoney //------------------------------// Calm. It's a funny word, short, soft, almost like a marshmallow. It's not something you associate with the millions of autonomic impulses running throughout your body. Something so fragile sounding shouldn't be able to combat my amygdala, the chunk of grey matter currently screaming like a wounded beast. Yet it does. It pushes me past the adrenalin surging through my system, through the overwhelming desire to escape. The breathing slows, and the mantra begins. It's a magic of its own really and I bless Amira every time I use it, the old bag deserved no less. So...Cadenza was right. Magic. Or more clearly possession. Not my forte, but as I watched the girl in front of me it was clear someone was running the good ship Twilight Sparkle and it certainly wasn't her. The little things stood out the most, 'Twilight's' posture, the way she moved, the unsettling look of glee as she inspected her wounded hand, blood slowly dripping to the floor. No, this was certainly not the traumatised girl I'd been speaking to. So, let us start this again. Clean sweep, new client. “H-hello, Twilight?” The thing's eyes snapped away from the mess of bloodied glass and mangled flesh, pinprick pupils focusing on me. Hope held out for scant few seconds. I knew a serious mistake had been made when it smiled though. A mouth should only go so far after all. Within a heartbeat an unseen force had ensnared me, my whole body squeezed by an invisible, vice-like grip. Screaming seemed the obvious response, but no. Stay calm. Remember the desert, the words, the training. A memory surfaces as I'm dragged towards 'Twilight' by this force, the table between us floating to the side with ease. It's an old woman, she snarls with a mouth full of gums, glaring at me with contempt. Yet her face softens briefly, wrinkles shifting in a way I'd yet to see then despite living with her for years. Purple hair streaked with grey dances in the wind, her mouth opens once more. A whisper crosses from memory to reality. “You are stronger than you think Calmy.” I centre myself as we come face to face, the...thing staring at me like a lepidopterist with a new set of needles. Despite the impending threat I couldn't help but notice its witch-flame adornment gave off a pleasant sense of coolness, the aquamarine fire presumably chill to the touch. Not only that, but a layer of frost was beginning to form on an ornament around the girl's neck, some kind of pendant perhaps? Filing that away for later, unable as I was to move right now, I sat there, awaiting my fate with what dignity was left available for me. “Read. My. Lips.” the creature snarls, borrowed voice tinged with an edge of hysteria, “My name...is...MIDNIGHT!” A single flourish and I'm rocketed back to my former position, the chair legs screeching like a wounded bobcat. “Duly noted.” Realistically I should keep her talking, try to assess the situation, and then make my move. That would be the sensible thing to do. On the other hand, this thing was wearing Twilight like a suit and could have crushed me like a can for getting its name wrong. Sensible was out. I activate the wards. A brief flash of pain in my inner ear indicated the start. Runes of defence imbued through blood and ritual, old when the world was young. Runes of containment, solid as the earth and just as strong. If this was a cartoon I'd pull a heroic pose, golden light would emanate from all around us, maybe ethereal chains would bind whatever this 'Midnight' was and I'd make a speech. This was reality though. Just one man, a monster, and a few (spent) aces up my sleeve. The breath catches in my throat, did it work? The girl seemed quite serene, yet responses tended to vary. In the past, I'd seen people vomit, foam at the mouth, and even scream in dead languages. It was never an immediate process, yet by the thirty-second mark a dark certainty dawned on me, something had happened and it wasn't good. The wards were designed in tandem, first to eject any supernatural presence, then to hold it in place. They'd done neither, yet by the hollow feeling in my skull I knew instinctively they were spent. The impossible stared me in the face. I hadn't failed. They had. Like a cat had found the cream very much unguarded, the sitting 'Twilight' smirked. She knew. Dear sweet lord she knew! “If you're going to try and use runic wards against me Mister Storm, I'd suggest something with a bit more... bite, next time.” She drawled, flashing a predatory grin to emphasise her point. I was dead. There was no escape, not if the creature's telekinetic grip was any indication. She could crush me like a bug before I even reached the door, probably like the challenge as well. Then there was the matter of Sonata. She was just some dumb kid who needed a bit of cash, a dumb kid I'd endangered. Who knew what this thing possessing Twilight would do? Clear Skies had quit after the last 'special case', and I'd warned her about the more unique aspects of my job! That poor girl out there was clueless though and it was all my damn fault. Just another drop in the ocean of lives ruined at the hands of Calmy Storm. Heh, maybe Cadenza was right all those years ago, maybe I was a murderer. Escaping my thoughts I study ' Twilight', the thing now inspecting my wall hangings with idle interest. I knew she'd pegged the runes but did nothing. I knew the story was suspect but let my hubris tell me otherwise. I deserved everything to come. Sucking in a breath, my blood cooled, this was it then. “Midnight,” I addressed the thing inside Twilight Sparkle, intent on not angering it any more than necessary, “When you kill me, can you...can you leave the girl outside, please? She doesn't know about any of this, she's no threat to you.” My voice cracks, it's hard to keep the tears in but I've done it for years. I'm ready to die. What I wasn't ready for was the laugh. Beginning as an unhinged titter, rapid and sharp like a barrage of needles, it slowly evolved into a full-throated maniacal shriek, as if a supervillain had stepped from the pages of a bad comic book. “Oh Mister Storm I'm not going to kill you,” the girl wheezed, dropping back into her chair with all the grace of a potato sack, “I just don't think it's particularly fair my other self gets all the session time, don't you?”