Asylum
Chapter 5
How many ponies from my world are here?
The question haunted her. The sound of Lyra’s struggle against the hospital’s orderlies had faded away, but it left behind dangerous thoughts, the seeds of some tenacious weed taking root in the fertile soil of her mind. The answers offered little comfort; Twilight couldn’t decide if having everyone she knew stuck in an insane asylum with her was reassuring, or terrifying.
Twilight had known Lyra back in Ponyville. Well, she had known her as much as she had known most ponies there. It took Twilight a moment to remember her last name: Heartstrings. Lyra Heartstrings. No, she wouldn't consider them friends. They had talked a few times and met at a few parties, but they were just neighbors. Friendly neighbors, certainly, but still just neighbors. It was enough for Twilight to identify her, though. The mare who had been screaming obscenities and trying her best to break out of the orderlies’ grasp had been the same pony from her memories.
At least on the surface she had been. Unlike with Applejack and Pinkie Pie, she hadn’t been close enough to really examine her. Getting run over by a band of burly stallions was not an effective means of obtaining information.
Regardless, Twilight had already begun crafting hypotheses about the world she had awoken in. It was hard to imagine that, if this world’s versions of Applejack and Pinkie Pie shared a connection to their real-world counterparts, the same rules wouldn’t apply to others as well. Could this just be a topsy-turvy recreation of reality, with each pony from her memories reflected as if through a funhouse mirror?
She glanced over at her two friends. Both of them were as quiet as she was, lost to a moment of introspection once the shock of watching a pony get dragged off in a straightjacket had worn off. Even Applejack looked taken aback by the violence, her green-eyes still showing traces of her earlier alarm.
I guess that even for a “doctor” like Applejack, it must not be a common occurrence, Twilight considered, still struggling to connect the Applejack she knew with the concept of a physician. It was so alien to everything she understood about her friend. Applejack hadn’t been happy unless she was working with her hooves, getting sweaty doing an honest day’s work. The image of Applejack writing out prescriptions and examining medical reports was laughable.
Twilight frowned. Was that jealousy speaking? Was she envious that this Applejack had obtained a degree in higher education, while she was supposed to be a basket case? Or was it simple arrogance? Was she finding it so hard to accept Applejack as a doctor because, deep down, she had always seen her friend as simple and uneducated?
No, she thought firmly – she had never thought of her friend that way. Twilight had always had the most book-smarts within her circle of friends, but she had never thought of her friends as any less capable than herself. They were certainly not dumb!
The unicorn pushed such thoughts away, letting them melt back into the recesses of her mind. Twilight knew she was prone to bursts of doubt and self-flagellation – her near neurotic breakdown over missing one of Celestia’s letters an embarrassing reminder of that fact – and had been working hard to cope with it ever since. She needed to calm herself and find the real cause of her sudden guilt.
Slowly Twilight tried to center her thoughts, pushing past the last fragmented tendrils of the fog that had plagued her mind since morning. It took only a few moments of introspection to find the answers, the truth glittering like a gold bit half-buried beneath the sands of self-doubt. It wasn’t hard to believe that Applejack could be a doctor due to prejudices against her friend. No, it was simpler than that: it was Twilight’s desperation that made it so difficult.
More than anything else, Twilight feared giving in to this false world. The more unlikely it was for Applejack to be what she claimed, the easier she found it to reject the lies and hold onto her memories of what was real.
Her frown deepened into a scowl. Discovering the truth was not as comforting as Twilight had hoped it would be. Instead of washing away the guilt over Twilight’s lingering suspicions about herself, it just returned her attention to how difficult it was becoming to separate this world from her own.
That Applejack is not my Applejack, thought Twilight, doing her best to hammer the point home. And that Pinkie Pie is not my Pinkie Pie. They are the products of this world, with its altered histories, or cursed magics, or... or some other unknown phenomena. Only I seem to remember them as they were – as they should be. They are similar in so many ways, but they’re not the same. Never forget that. If I give in to this nightmare, then I lose my real friends. I can’t let that happen.
Although, if you’re right, and these aren’t your real friends, then wouldn’t escaping this world kill these ponies instead? a voice maliciously whispered back. After all, if this is all just some curse, or alternate dimension, or the product of a strained mind, then if you left, do they not all perish as well? When one wakes up from a dream, what is the fate of those that you have created while asleep? Are you not but a careless god, wiping away the lives you have crafted every time you awaken?
Twilight ground her teeth together in irritation, too annoyed by the thought to even roll her eyes. The evidence was piling up: her subconscious hated her. It had failed to make her guilty over a supposed bias against Applejack, so now it was resorting to nonsensical theories to try and gain a measure of revenge.
A loud gasp broke the silence that had lingered in Lyra’s passing, distracting Twilight before she could be plagued by more pointless and pretentious philosophical ponderings. “Wow! That was... wow!” Pinkie exclaimed. She turned to Applejack, her shocked expression becoming a worried frown. “Dr. A.J., is Lyra in trouble again?”
Applejack nodded. “I’d reckon so, sugarcube.”
Pinkie prodded the floor with a hoof. “Well, that's not good. That's not good at all. I like Lyra. She’s always been really nice to me. She has some really funny stories, although she doesn’t like it when I laugh at them. I mean, she does seem angry a lot, but she can be fun when she wants to.”
“It’s just part of who she is, Pinkie. Hopefully, with enough love and care, she can realize that she is just makin’ things harder on herself.” Applejack gave Pinkie a reassuring smile. “Besides, you shouldn’t be worryin’ yourself none about her. She’s only been here a month. Some ponies just take more time to get accustomed to livin’ here.”
Her words seemed to have the opposite effect on Pinkie. “Some don’t ever really get used to it,” she said quietly.
Applejack shuffled uncomfortably in place. “Well, yes, that’s true too. But still, you don’t need to worry none about that, sugarcube. You and I can’t change that, no matter how much we might wish we could. Some ponies never do change, but other ponies just need time. All you have to worry about is just being there with a smile when they need it – when they’re ready. After all, you can take a pony to a party, but you can’t make ‘em enjoy themselves.”
Pinkie Pie perked up at the word ‘party’, a familiar smile spreading over her face. Maybe it was just the idea of a party, or maybe it was the inherent challenge in the idea that you couldn’t force someone to enjoy themselves at a party, but the morose cloud that had descended upon her vanished instantly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Oh! I know! We should totally have a party for Lyra! Like... a ‘No More Punishment’ party! Oh, can I, Dr. A.J., can I? Pretty pretty super pretty please?”
“We’ll talk about it later, sugarcube, I promise,” laughed Applejack, although Twilight was fairly sure she was inwardly cringing at the thought of being greeted with a ‘No More Punishment!’ surprise party as well. “I’m not in charge of that sort of thing. And besides, before we start plannin’ parties, we should probably get some supper first. Don’t you agree, Twilight?”
“Wha- Oh! Uh, absolutely,” she answered, before she turned back to watch Pinkie bounce on the tips of her hooves. The energy was infectious. Her lips slowly curled upwards into a smile.
Despite all her earlier fears about giving in to this world’s lies, she couldn’t help but draw comfort from the familiar excesses of her friend’s cheerful doppelganger. Instead of fearing the similarities, she found strength in them. They were not replacements but links back to the real world. As long as she had these versions of her friends with her, she had something tangible she could hold onto.
The cafeteria was not as big as Twilight had expected. Her schools in Canterlot had possessed facilities twice its size, at least. However, after so long spent in the same narrow hallways, it felt like a concert hall. The wall to her left held large windows protected by a thin wire mesh, filling the room with the heady warmth of the mid-afternoon sun. Natural light was a delight, and Twilight could envy the cats that got to nap in its golden embrace.
The rest was much more disappointing. Despite the smaller size the cafeteria showed all the familiar hallmarks of an institutional eatery: white rectangular tables laid out in rows with painful precision, long benches at just the right height to be comfortable for no one, a floor of large and easily cleanable tiles, and the still painfully drab green-and-white colors on the walls.
Opposite the windows was the other key component of the traditional cafeteria, the food queue. All polished metal and sparkling glass, the area beyond the chrome counters was filled with the usual large machinery of a productive kitchen. It was cooking on an industrial scale. A famous pony had once said that quantity had a quality all of its own. The kitchen was a polished metal monument to that ideal.
About the only thing not gleaming were the lunch-mares. Each sported a look somewhere between apathy and annoyance, as if they had stepped in something that morning and were still mildly cross about it. It was the expression of a worker who had been performing the same repetitive task all day, and could look forward to an encore performance tomorrow, and the day after, on and on. It was a wonder that more lunch-mares didn’t end up in psychiatric hospitals.
“Alrighty you two, come on and follow me,” Applejack said as she led the other ponies around the edge of the cafeteria.
Pinkie Pie continued to bounce excitedly as she followed the doctor around. “I hope it’s cupcakes! I really love cuppy-cakes! It’s been, like, forever since I had them, too!”
“Like I said before, it's soup. It’s just soup,” Applejack repeated. Pinkie ignored her as she began debating aloud which flavor would be best for dinner. Applejack sighed in defeat as the trio took their place in line.
Twilight wasn’t concerned over what she was going to be fed. Food was food, and she would be happy to fill her belly with something warm. Besides, she had enough experience to know that whatever she got would be depressingly functional. There was no reason to add disappointment into the mix. She let her eyes roam over the cafeteria as she trailed behind the other two, trying to locate familiar faces amongst the crowd.
The cafeteria wasn’t packed by any definition of the word, which she chalked up to dinner having only recently begun. Still, the seventy or so ponies were a diverse lot. Twilight felt like she was at a reunion and trying to put old names to new faces. The presence of a few familiar ponies in amongst the crowd filled her with the same storm of emotional confusion she had been dealing with ever since Applejack had first appeared. Was she supposed to be relieved or horrified to spot Berry Punch at a table? Was Carrot Top’s presence in the hospital a reminder that her memories were not fabrications, or just another example of a pony she knew suffering?
Her nightmares were difficult enough when Twilight was being tormented – a nightmare about the pain of others was something else entirely. Despite the rays of the afternoon sun, Twilight felt cold.
Thankfully – or not; Twilight still struggled to decide – most of the ponies were not familiar to her. Many showed obvious signs of mental illness, from slow and jilted movements to odd behavioral tics. Some of the ponies needed assistance feeding themselves, with a few nurses spoon feeding the most incapable patients. Twilight watched as one nurse cleaned a patient’s chin of some dribbled soup, cooing to him gently. The stallion’s empty eyes were locked on something on the horizon only he could see.
The chill of unease deepened. Whatever terrors and tribulations she might be suffering through, she was thankful for what she still had. Things could have been worse. So very much worse.
Twilight moved her gaze elsewhere with relief. She didn’t let her eyes linger on any one pony for very long, doing her best to avoid being rude. The diners were a mix of so many different sorts of ponies. An old mare sat hunched over her bowl protectively. At the next table over, a pair of teenage colts giggling over some shared joke. In the corner was a mummy.
Twilight’s mind came to a screeching halt. She blinked. A mummy?
Her first impression hadn’t been too far off the mark, she realized, once she returned her attention to the unicorn. The pony was seated as far away from the windows as possible, and was wrapped from head to tail in bandages. She assumed the pony was a mare, although she couldn’t be certain at a distance – the wrappings obscured any details. Every part of the mare was hidden away. The only part of the pony not covered was the bright blue mane peeking out of the top. Even her eyes were shielded behind a set of tinted goggles.
The uncanny resemblance to the monster from a Daring Do novel was accurate, despite being a highly inconsiderate and childish comparison. Still, despite her earlier promise not to, she continued to gawp at the linen-clad pony with macabre fascination like she was a museum display. A gray nurse sat beside the mare, helping to feed her through a slit over the mouth. Twilight couldn’t imagine what terrible things could have condemned a pony to a life shrouded in bandages.
Twilight’s heart froze when the nurse glanced up, the two ponies making eye contact. With a squeak Twilight averted her gaze, trying her best to pretend like she had been examining the fire extinguisher over the mare’s shoulder. Her face burned with embarrassment at being caught acting so inconsiderate.
“Aww, it's just soup!” Pinkie Pie exclaimed in disappointment, and Twilight used the excuse to turn around. She could feel the nurse’s purple eyes boring into the back of her head. Part of her pointed out it was just her embarrassment fueling her imagination, but the rest of her was too scared to prove the point. She’d already been rude enough for one day.
Applejack rubbed the bridge of her nose and muttered something beneath her breath as Pinkie moaned about the lack of pastries as an entrée. As the line shuffled forward Twilight picked up a plastic tray, plastic bowl, and plastic utensils – each item the same joyless shade of white. The clear plastic of her cup was downright flamboyant in comparison.
“So Applejack, are you eating the same meal as us?” Twilight asked when Applejack grabbed a tray of her own.
“Sure am, sugarcube. A lot of the staff get their meals here. It’s simple fare. Not bad now, just simple. And it don’t cost nothin’, either.”
“I wouldn’t think that doctors would want to eat the same food as patients, though. Why aren’t you bringing something from home? It has to be better than this,” she said as she gestured at the bubbling vats of soup.
“Well, yeah, I could bring my own lunches if I wanted,” Applejack said, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Or I could eat here. You know, for free.”
Twilight blinked as she connected the dots. “Oh! Right. I understand,” she said in an apologetic tone.
“I like the food here,” Pinkie interjected before Twilight’s blush grew even worse. “Of course, soup isn’t my favorite, but it’s alright. You know, for being all boring and unexciting and all.” The lunch-mare glared at Pinkie as she ladled soup into her bowl. “The worst part is that they don’t let me have anything to add to it!”
“Pinkie, the last thing you need is more sugar in your diet,” Applejack said. Twilight nodded with her silently.
“Aw, phooey,” Pinkie replied. “Sugar makes everything taste better.”
“Sweeter, sugarcube. Sweeter, not better.”
“Sweeter is better!” Pinkie Pie scoffed and glanced at Twilight. “I bet Twilight thinks sugar makes everything taste better. Right, Twilight?”
“Actually, I have to agree with Applejack on this one,” she said.
“Aw, double phooey! You’re just agreeing with her because you wish you were a doctor too. You always take Dr. A.J.’s side, just ‘cause she went to a university like you,” Pinkie Pie pouted. “But I bet if you gave it a chance, you’d love sugar and soup! Soupnsugar... sougar... sugoup? Whatever – it’s tasty!”
Twilight started to disagree before she realized just what Pinkie had said. “Wait – Pinkie, you believe that I went to a university?”
“Of course I do,” she said with an eager bob of her head. “After all, you’re really smart, and you have all those books. And you told me you did, too!”
“Pinkie,” Applejack said. “We’ve talked about this before. You shouldn’t believe everythin’ everypony tells you.”
“But–”
“No, no buts,” Applejack tutted. “I just want you to think about what ponies tell you before you believe it as the truth.” She glanced at Twilight out of the corner of her eye. “We’ll talk more about this later, okay Pinkie?”
Part of Twilight wanted to leap for joy. Someone believed her! Someone didn’t think she was crazy! Another part of her, fed by the volatile temper she had been wrestling with all day, wanted to smack Applejack with her tray for trying to convince Pinkie not to believe her.
Stay calm, Twilight, she told herself, doing her best to look nonchalant for Applejack’s benefit. You know Pinkie believes you, at least. Remember, you want the rest of the staff to think you’re not crazy, and hitting your friend won’t help. Just wait until you have a chance, then talk to Pinkie alone. Figure out what she knows. You don’t start an experiment without gathering as much information as you can first.
By the time Twilight had finished reining in her emotions and forming her plan, she had passed through to the other end of the dinner line. Beet soup simmered in her bowl. Its aroma was enough to convince her that Applejack hadn’t been been lying about the food. It was as if they had set out to make something so bland, it had no positive or negative qualities. It was food.
“Now, be careful. We don’t want to spill any of our suppers, now do we?” Applejack reminded the pair. Twilight narrowed her eyes in irritation. Despite being more than capable of carrying her own tray, Applejack was paying both her and Pinkie Pie an inordinate amount of attention ensuring they didn’t drop anything. It was bad enough that she doubted her sanity and told others not to believe her, but now? Now she was doubting her hoof-eye coordination.
Twilight wasn’t just annoyed anymore. No, the continued attempts to treat her like a foal were downright infuriating. She was old enough to have graduated, dammit! She could manage the simple task of not spilling her food, even without the use of magic. She’d faced down monsters and wrestled with the spirit of disharmony – she could manage a single bowl of soup!
Twilight was still glaring furiously at Applejack when she walked straight into the side of the table. It felt like the furniture had bucked her in the chest. The tray flew from her mouth as she tumbled backwards with a undignified squawk.
“Twilight! Are you okay?” Applejack set her own tray down and rushed to Twilight’s side. Twilight stared up at the ceiling, considering whether she was more angry or embarrassed. Pinkie’s laughter made her decide on both. Irony wasn’t as funny from the receiving end.
“I’m fine,” she said through her clenched teeth, ignoring Applejack’s hoof to get up on her own. Applejack hurried off while Twilight steadied herself, using the table for support. She had been lucky – when she had dropped her tray it had landed on the table, so she had only spilt about half her soup.
Yes, I certainly was ‘lucky’ that I didn’t spill so much of my soup. Maybe next time I’ll be lucky enough to not end up running into any furniture like a moron, she thought, doing her best to ignore the pain in her chest.
“Twilight, you need to watch where you’re going, sugarcube,” Applejack said when she returned, dropping a bundle of napkins on the table to start soaking up what had escaped Twilight’s tray. “You might have hurt yourself.”
How she managed to keep from exploding, Twilight would never know. Her embarrassment and bitterness were already at boiling points, and now her friend was talking down to her like she was a careless foal – again! It didn’t help her that Pinkie Pie had been joined by a few other ponies who took the chance to snicker at her misfortune.
With her cheeks burning red – again – Twilight planted herself into her seat and hunched over as best she could, trying to push the laughter and amused stares from her mind. She felt like she were reliving one of her youthful nightmares, where she was laughed at by all the other students in school after doing something particularly embarrassing, like forgetting her homework, or getting a B on a test. She shivered despite the warmth on her face. Some of those nightmares had lasted long after graduation.
“That was hilarious, Twilight!” Pinkie Pie said, giving her another broad smile. Her scowl deepened, imagining that she was beginning to understand what the bandaged mare felt like when ponies like Twilight stared at her.
“Thanks.”
“Really, that made me laugh super hard! You’re really funny when you want to be, you know that?” Evidently sarcasm was as ineffective on this Pinkie Pie as the one from home. The realization of another connection between the two Pinkies offered little comfort, under the circumstances.
“Aw, don’t be upset, Twilight,” Applejack said, misreading Twilight's expression entirely. She dropped the used napkins in the trash and swapped Twilight’s bowl with her own full one. “Here, take mine.”
“But Dr. A.J., aren’t you hungry?” Pinkie asked.
Applejack shrugged, giving Twilight a friendly grin. “Aw, it ain’t no problem. I just don't want Twilight goin' hungry. Besides, I can always just go and get more later.”
She mumbled her thanks as she picked up her spoon. Twilight might have been angry, embarrassed, and upset, but she was still hungry. Twilight swallowed a mouthful of the red liquid. She paused and glanced down at her bowl, taking a moment before getting another spoonful. It was warm and filling, but those were the limits of its virtues.
Twilight pondered her options as she did her best to sate her hunger with the boring meal. Now that she was seated with her friends there were hundreds of questions she needed answered. Instead she remained quiet and continued to look around the room. Her cheeks weren’t as red as the soup anymore, but she still didn’t trust herself to speak. Neither of her friends would be in a helpful mood if she let out all the embarrassment and anger she was trying to keep bottled up.
While Pinkie described her day to Applejack, Twilight took the time to examine the room’s other occupants: the staff. A few nurses sat amongst the patients, helping those who needed the extra supervision, while another pair slowly circled the room to offer assistance to those that might request it. A few orderlies were in the room as well, although the ones she saw stationed by the doors seemed more like guards than medical assistants. Her eyes lingered on the ominous black clubs that hung from their belts.
The doors swung open behind the two orderlies. Twilight watched as Nurse Ratchet and her assistant Silas led a group of twenty or so patients into the cafeteria. Over the commotion she couldn’t hear them, but she could see the pink-haired nurse gesture to Silas and two other orderlies as they herded the group of patients into the dinner queue.
The sight of the cheery nurse and her silent companion brought back memories of tight restraints and terrifying photographs. Had she really been awake for less than a day? It felt like an eternity since her life had been stolen from her.
She turned her attention away from the new arrivals. The only faces there she recognized were the two ponies that had woken her up that morning, and the less she saw of them, the better. There was a lull in her friends’ conversation, marked by a resigned sigh from Applejack in the aftermath of another of Pinkie's pointless stories. It brought Twilight back to the matter at hoof: getting information from her friends.
And, she thought as she watched Applejack concede to Pinkie’s amorphous logic, I think I have a way of getting some of those answers. The idea was so simple, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it before. It was devious. Truly inspired. Applejack could ignore and obfuscate if Twilight asked her directly... but what about Pinkie Pie?
“Applejack,” Twilight spoke casually, easing herself into the conversation. “Why is it that the patients here stand in line for their food? I mean, I thought most hospitals brought the food to the patients.”
“It depends, sugarcube. Most of what we do is about therapy and rehabilitation,” she said. “It helps if they learn to be self-reliant, if they can manage to do small tasks like this on their own. Helps their self-esteem, too. I mean, it might not seem like much, but some of these ponies live most of their lives with doctors and nurses telling them where to go and what to do. Showin’ them that we trust them for little things helps a bunch.”
There was relief in her voice at being asked a reasonable and logical question with a reasonable and logical answer. The frustration gained from her previous conversations with Pinkie was still a terrible annoyance. She didn’t want to deal with more random leaps of absurdity.
Perfect.
“How much rehabilitation,” Twilight said with deliberate care, doing her best to keep a devious grin from her face as she raised her voice a little louder for Pinkie’s benefit, “can you do for the patients in your high-security wing?”
Applejack’s eyes opened in alarm. “Twilight...” she said, her voice a cross between a hiss and an attempted hush. It didn’t work.
“Woah! High-security? What, like a bank vault?” Pinkie gasped as excitement lit up her face. “Is there a hidden vault around here?”
“Wha- no! Not like that at all,” Applejack exclaimed, planting a restraining hoof on Pinkie’s shoulder as if afraid the mare was about to leap up and start acting like a jewel thief. Which wasn’t that far fetched by Pinkie Pie standards.
Pinkie frowned. “But why call a high-security place a high-security place if there isn’t any gold or treasure or negotiable bearer bonds to protect?” Applejack spared another accusatory glance at Twilight. The question had sparked a burning curiosity in Pinkie Pie, and they both knew that she wasn’t going to stop asking about it – or acting out some potentially disastrous cat burglar fantasy – until she had some answers.
Twilight felt quite proud of herself. After all, manipulating other ponies was difficult for someone with her social skills. Memories of a ‘Want it, need it’ spell flashed through her mind. She pushed them away before they soured her mood. There was a part of her that felt bad about doing it to her friends, but the necessity of getting as much information as she needed was justification enough. She had to get back to her world and her friends. She couldn’t do that until some of the blanks were filled in.
“Well, Pinkie, you see... sometimes there are ponies that do bad things,” Applejack began, trying to pick her words carefully.
“Like burglars! Burglars and thieves trying to steal all the gold in the vault!” Pinkie Pie said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Should I be on the lookout for burglars? You can trust me to catch the thieves, Doctor A.J.! I’m reallllly observant!”
The doctor rubbed her forehead with a hoof and muttered something suspiciously like “Celestia help me” under her breath. “No, Pinkie. What I mean is that sometimes there are ponies that do bad things to other ponies. And we have to put them someplace special.”
“So, like a prison,” Twilight offered in a helpful tone, ignoring another glare from Applejack.
“Wait – are you saying there is a jail around here too?” gasped Pinkie, hooves flying to her mouth. “There must be a mountain of treasure in this vault if you have so many thieves attempting to steal it that you need a prison for them all!”
“There ain’t any thieves an’ there ain’t any flippin’ treasure vault!” Applejack’s exasperated voice was loud enough to attract a few cursory glances from the surrounding tables. Catching herself before she got any louder, the orange mare took a few deep breaths. “Look, Pinkie, there is no vault. There is no treasure, and there is no nothin’ involving burglars. Do you understand so far?”
Pinkie nodded and leaned forward in rapt attention.
“Good,” Applejack said, keeping her eyes on Pinkie and ignoring Twilight and her barely suppressed grin of victory. Twilight couldn’t help it – maybe now she might start to get some answers, no matter how minor. “Now, sometimes there are ponies that do bad things, but it’s not really their fault. They might be sick, or they might have had bad things happen to them. These ponies need to go someplace safe, where they won’t hurt anypony else, and where they can get the treatment they need.”
“Wait... but that sounds like Broadhoof...” said Pinkie Pie slowly, realization dawning on her. “But, that’s not right. I mean, we don’t have bad ponies around here. Do we?” Her pupils shrank to minuscule dots. “Oh no. What if I’m in prison? What if I’m a bad pony? Oh no no no, I’m not a bad pony. I’m not a bad pony! I’m not I’m not I’m not–”
The transition was sudden enough that Twilight was struck speechless when Pinkie began to hyperventilate, her repeated assertions that she wasn’t a bad pony carrying a haunting undertone that tore at Twilight’s heart. A knife of ice twisted in Twilight’s gut, her sense of victory shattering into jagged shards of guilt as she watched tears leak from the corner of her friend’s eyes.
“Pinkamena Diane Pie,” Applejack said Pinkie’s full name firmly enough to get her full attention back, both her forelegs resting on the mare’s shoulders as she stared her directly in the eyes. “You are not a bad pony.” Her declaration carried with it all the certainty of a prophet laying out sacred law, the confidence in her tone enough to help break through the panic that gripped Pinkie Pie.
“B-B-But–” Pinkie blubbered as she teetered on the precipice.
Applejack squeezed her shoulders. “You are not a bad pony. Do you understand me, Pinkie? You are not a bad pony. You are not a bad pony. Now say it with me.”
“I’b nob a b-bad p-p-pony...” she stammered and hiccuped, her nose glistening with snot as she tried to hold back her tears.
“You are not a bad pony!”
“I’m not a b-bad pony...”
“You are not a bad pony!”
“I’m not a bad pony...”
Pinkie sniffled as Applejack wiped away some of her tears. The doctor gave the despondent mare a warm smile. “And don’t you forget it, sugarcube.”
Twilight felt like crying herself. She felt like throwing up, or begging for forgiveness, or doing all those things, in no particular order. Pinkie Pie was looking up at Applejack with a pathetic yearning, like a beaten dog desperate for its master’s affection. The despair in Pinkie’s voice when she had expressed her fears about being a ‘bad pony’ were a soul-rendingly heavy burden. She had assumed that her friend was the same eternally cheerful mare that she had known. Twilight couldn’t excuse herself.
Once again she had managed to hurt Pinkie Pie. She was a terrible friend and a horrible pony.
Applejack continued to do her best to console Pinkie Pie. “You are not a bad pony, okay Pinkie?”
“B-But I thought you said there were b-bad ponies here?” she asked quietly. “Doesn’t that m-make me a...” Pinkie trailed off, not willing to finish the sentence.
“Darlin’, ponies come here for many different reasons. I promise that you are not a bad pony. Okay?”
“P-Pinkie Promise?” she looked up through puffy eyes.
“I Pinkie Promise, sugarcube. Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.”
Twilight felt like she was shrinking away into nothingness as she watched the two embrace in a tender hug, Pinkie Pie nuzzling Applejack’s neck like a foal would its mother. Twilight dropped her spoon to the tray and cradled her head in her hooves. She wasn’t hungry anymore. Inside, her mind struggled against the rising tide of emotions, doing its best to hold onto the control she had managed for the past hour or so.
Losing control now would just prove how worthless and broken she really was. She needed to get away from her friends, before she started bawling as well.
“I... I need to go to the restroom,” Twilight choked out as she jumped to her hooves, the excuse the first thing to come to her mind. Applejack turned to give her a look of reproach and disappointment as she cradled Pinkie Pie in her arms.
“Just ask one of the orderlies, and they’ll take you to the bathroom.” Her voice was stiff and formal as she gestured toward the doors with her eyes.
Twilight wilted beneath her gaze and rushed from the table, eager to escape the judgment in her friend’s face.
She reached the doors and mumbled her excuse to one of the orderlies standing watch, her eyes turned to the floor to hide the tears that threatened to escape. “Follow me,” he said as he opened the door and walked out into the hallway.
Twilight obeyed, following meekly behind the turquoise stallion. They travelled in silence. For once, Twilight appreciated the taciturn nature of the orderlies. She didn’t feel like talking either. Instead she focused on her breathing, trying to steady her nerves before she began crying again.
Why did I do that? Why do I keep hurting my friends? The accusations cut deep, even when she was levelling them against herself. She had been so impatient to get more information from her altered companions that she hadn’t even tried pacing herself. She had leapt at the chance to get what she wanted without sparing a second’s thought for the consequences.
“You’ve got five minutes.” Twilight lifted her head to find the stallion looking back at her, letting her thoughts retreat for a moment. At his side stood a white door, a sign with the outline of a mare bolted in its center. The word Fillies was printed beneath it in slightly faded black letters.
Twilight glanced back at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you have five minutes to relieve yourself,” he replied, sounding too bored to be annoyed. “In five minutes, if you’re not done, one of the female orderlies will be sent in to check on you.” He didn’t ask for confirmation on whether she understood him, and Twilight didn’t offer any. Moving past him Twilight strode into the bathroom, letting the door swing shut behind her with a soft clack. She was alone.
There’s an understatement, she thought as she moved towards the room’s solitary sink, a simple mirror mounted behind it. Like most public facilities the sink was operated by floor pedals for sanitary reasons. Twilight caught some of the water in her hooves and splashed her face. She welcomed the cold sting, letting it wash away the few errant tears that had leaked out. Twilight stared at her reflection as the water dripped off her muzzle.
You’re not just alone because you’re trapped here in this twisted world, she accused her mirror image. You’re alone because you keep pushing ponies away with your selfishness. Applejack mentions something, and you pounce on her. Then, instead of trying to talk about it with your friends, you manipulate Pinkie Pie into asking the question for you. And now she’s crying like a frightened child! You’re so self-centered that you didn’t even consider what might happen.
The reflection met her look evenly. That’s not true. How were we supposed to know that Pinkie would react the way she did? There was no way we could have predicted that! If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Applejack’s. She was the one that used such generic language. She’s a doctor, and she should have known better. And then, even she seemed surprised by Pinkie’s reaction. If a doctor couldn’t see it, how could we?
Twilight narrowed her eyes. Don’t you dare put the blame on Applejack, you coward! The reason you didn’t know that she would react that way is because you didn’t bother asking first. You just used Pinkie like a tool! Why didn’t you wait? Why didn’t you take the time to discover more about your friends and their warped histories? She spat in the sink. No. You didn’t even attempt to be cautious. You just took an impulsive leap at the first opportunity. Just like earlier, when you tried to escape your room the second the doctor left, only to end up dizzy and tired.
Her reflection rolled its eyes. Are you forgetting that we’re supposed to be escaping this world? We’re not here to make friends and act kind. We’re here to go back to our home and our friends. And that means learning more about our prison. You can’t blame me for attempting to further that goal.
Twilight felt herself growing angrier with herself. You shouldn’t have been so rushed. You’re a scientist! A scholar! You don’t start an experiment without planning it out and doing your best to account for all the variables.
That’s all well and good, little Miss Theoretical, but sometimes you have to act when an opportunity presents itself. Sitting around playing nice with this world’s versions of our friends isn’t going to help us escape.
Are you stupid? she snapped. How do you expect to get back home without assistance? You’re surrounded by ponies who think we’re crazy. If there is any hint of truth to what Doctor Rose said, this whole world thinks that our real life is a myth, a delusional fantasy! The only ponies we can count on are the friends we have here.
Her twin watched her as she started pacing in front of the mirror, her hooves sounding like a metronome on the firm tile. You saw it too. In both of them – you saw a spark of something familiar. There is something there, inside them, that connects them to our world.They aren’t the same... but they are there. At least, part of them is.
And how does that help us? We can’t even cast magic. Or have you forgotten that they muzzled us like a rabid dog? The other Twilight sneered at her, eyes lingering on the fabric wrapped around Twilight’s horn.
She halted in place and lifted a hoof to her horn. No, I haven’t forgotten, she snapped. But we have to keep planning. Right now, whatever this is, it’s not coming off anytime soon. Twilight played her hoof over the magical silencer, tugging at the locked buckles there for emphasis. Although she couldn’t pull any magical energy into herself, Twilight could still feel the aura of magic around her. The metal buckles buzzed like bees of brass; they were enchanted.
She didn’t need just the right key, but the right spell as well.
Except for the buckles, the rest of the object was simple. A thick sturdy fabric encased a cone of metal. Lead, Twilight assumed, considering how it was dampening her magical abilities. To confirm that nothing had changed she tried to depress one of the pedals with her mind, but just like it had that morning, every bit of power she called upon slipped away just as quickly. She sighed irritably, her hoof falling back to the floor.
Her reflection gestured at the sheath. See what they did to us? They all think we’re sick, and our ‘friends’ in this world are either part of the same group keeping us imprisoned, or are patients themselves.
You don’t know that for certain! she growled and resumed her pacing, not meeting her twin’s eyes. We don’t know about Rainbow Dash, or Rarity, or-
Or Fluttershy? the Twilight in the mirror offered, mocking her with the saccharine sweetness in its tone. Oh, deep down, you know it was Fluttershy she was talking about. Who else could you imagine as the ‘Birdgirl of Broadhoof?’ Don’t try to deny it. Stop deluding yourself that the strangers in this world are just like the friends you knew. Pinkie Pie was crying – crying! – because somehow she thought Applejack was maybe-sorta-possibly calling her a bad pony. Does that sound like the Pinkie Pie we know? She might have her moments of weakness, but she doesn’t break down that easily. Or at least, she doesn’t break down that easily when she isn't a nut-job stuck in an insane asylum.
She stared at the mirror with disgust. She is not nuts! How dare you say that about our friend!
Her reflection snorted. Please, you saw her back there. She isn't our Pinkie. She isn't our friend. This Pinkie Pie is damaged. Defective. She broke down like a foal because-
"Enough!" Twilight shouted as she spun to face the mirror. Her twin recoiled as Twilight slowly advanced on it, the unicorn's visage a seething mask of impossible rage. Her shame and doubt fueled the cataclysmic fire behind her eyes. Rearing up on her hind legs, Twilight planted her forehooves on either side of the mirror and leaned in closer, her reflection staring back dumbly, frozen in shock. "Don't. You. Call. Her. Defective." Each word was spat with venom, her hot breath steaming the glass. “She is not defective! She is not damaged!
Eventually her twin closed its mouth as it met Twilight’s searing stare. Slowly it leaned in closer, its fear fading away as a smile spread across its face. Emulating Twilight’s stance it reared up and pressed its face against the mirror with a chuckle. Oh, are you angry because I told the uncomfortable truth about our friend? It hurts, giving voice to what you already know but don’t want to believe. It tilted its head as it regarded Twilight with amusement. Or is it something different? Something more... personal?
“Shut up!” she hissed through a clenched jaw. Her reflection’s smile continued to grow wider, the corners of her mouth tearing apart bloodlessly as it grew too large for Twilight’s face. Her reflection’s features ran like wax, the heat of her hate melting her reflection like a candle in an oven.
That’s it, isn’t it? it said through a grotesque smile, showing far too many teeth for any normal pony’s mouth. The sadistic glee in its mismatched eyes only grew more pronounced when she didn’t answer. Please, you can’t hide from yourself. We can taste it at the back of your mind. You’re afraid.
“I am not afraid of you.”
Oh no, of course not, it said as a skeletal smile stretched from ear to ear, splitting its face in half. You’ve defeated Nightmare Moon, the spirit of disharmony, and King Sombra. You’ve faced dragons and monsters and changeling invasions. You’re a bonafide hero! But everypony has fears and weaknesses. Even the element of magic isn’t immune to doubt and insecurity. I know what you are afraid of. You’re afraid that when you look at Pinkie Pie blubbering like a pathetic filly, you’re looking at reality.
Her reflection grabbed Twilight by the scruff of her neck and yanked her closer, her head hitting the mirror with a loud smack, followed by the tinkle of shattered glass. Her tormenter was divided into a hundred smaller reflections by the web of fractures, each one leering at her with a dead grin. Twilight’s vision blurred against the sudden burst of pain, but she could still see her many twisted reflections laughing at her. She could hear the voice in her head, its words reaching her through the pain and rage.
Deep down... you’re afraid that they’re right about you.
Her broken reflection began laughing louder as its words stole everything from her. Twilight’s anger vanished in an instant, taking with it all of her strength and self-control. The fog that she had thought vanquished returned as she was gripped by a wave of dizziness. The bathroom spun around her as her legs turned to jelly. With a pathetic mewl of distress Twilight toppled over as her back limbs gave out, her forelegs thrashing in the empty air as she tried to arrest her fall.
Beneath the laughter she could hear a pounding on the door and shouts of concern, but the crack of her head hitting the tiles silenced it all.