//------------------------------//
// Entry Twenty-Four 
// Story: Diary of an Aspiring Tyrant 
// by SugarPesticide 
//------------------------------//

So this is that scrapbook Mother’s been writing in, I see.  Not a full month gone by, and already so tattered! It seems she rarely lets it out of her sight, scribbling in whatever thoughts come into her head. Admirable, though it seems a rather common thing to do. Is she a teenager? Of course not. Nevertheless, my curiosity is piqued. I suppose there is no reason to see what sorts of factual tidbits she has scattered throughout this intriguing book.

… I find it odd that she thinks of the Nightmare fiasco as “her little mistake”. What is so little about the great gap that separated us for a thousand years? I am a grown stallion, of course, and I am fully able to take care of myself; but being apart from my mother is … damaging, I think. Not just for me, for at least I had Auntie Celestia and Cadence for company. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for her, trapped in her own mind for so long. I know I would’ve gone crazy, certainly. How on Gaia’s green earth would I manage to bathe myself? No, that way lies madness. If she thinks to turn to disgusting monsters again in her quest for “glory”, I will most definitely tell her that it isn’t an option.

Hm. Why has the word “fear” been crossed out and replaced with “love” here? It must have been a slip of the pen. Surely this is a true “little mistake”, with no secret meaning. I remember being a young colt before the Crystal Expanses, learning how to read and write and often making errors in my haste to put all my thoughts to paper. I got over my difficulties in it, of course. Can you imagine what it would be like for the Prince of Equestria to write the wrong word every other line? Ridiculous.

Wait. Why am I writing in this diary at all? Surely it’d be easier to just read it. Is there an enchantment here that I missed? I would believe so, if not for the fact that it came from Auntie. She might be our secret nemesis, but she is nevertheless nearly as honest as Mother. A true upstanding royal, she is. 

Oh. Oh dear. I think I hear somepony coming. If I’m quick enough, I might just be able to wri~~~

Try as I might, I cannot fathom why dear Blueblood has chosen to desecrate this precious diary. Does he not know that in the future it will be a tome of great significance? Alas, there is no spell to undo his transgression, and thus I remain here holding the book, as it were. I suppose I should have hidden it with greater care, as I will be sure to do in the future.

I have, of course, sent him to his room. He shall not be permitted to step forth over the threshold until the wretched sun has finally set, and when he does, he shall apologize in the most thorough and heartfelt manner imaginable. Then I shall set him to brushing my mane, without the use of his horn. It is a proper punishment, I feel, for thinking only of himself despite my insistent requests to the contrary. Once that is accomplished we may return to good terms once more, free to indulge ourselves in the art of Nitroglycercute-blasted tunnels once more.

Let me peruse his defilement, to see what he felt so compelled to write. What does he mean by this? Blotting words from the diary? I have committed no such act. It is a simple thing to write the word fear love on such paper as this, and I

What? What is this? I cannot remember crossing this word out, though it was mere seconds ago. Perhaps to try again would be therapeutic. The word fear love cannot evade me so. Where is the difficulty doing that, I wonder? I shall now check my work and see that there is no reason to

There it is again! For whatever reason, I find the word “love” replacing the F-word. It seems that using a euphemism does not trigger whatever this is. Could synonyms cause a similar result? I shall discover immediately. Terror, worry, nervousness, anxiety, despair, terror, disquietude, dread, fright. Fright! Not even “fright”, despite its similarity, creates such a paradox!

fear love fear love fear love fear love fear love fear love ...

… Nightmare?

Perhaps I should talk to Sister Dearest about this

Now I am being absurd. Sister Dearest is a kind and loving soul, but even she has her limits. It seems a foolhardy thing to approach her with this anomaly, especially while I am so far from my dictatorship. What if she supposes that, despite all evidence proving otherwise, I am still Nightmare Moon? Her love and care would be forever elusive. Yet I cannot even write the word fear love, even when I am not actively considering what I write. What will I do?

I am checking previous entries. They all appear to have similar instances of this puzzling occurrence. Even derivatives such as fearful loving have been replaced.

Is my mind fractured still? Sister Dearest did mention that the Magics of Love and Self-Awareness were jostled by my first defeat at the hooves of the Elements of Harmony. Perhaps another lost Magic has failed to be healed at my second?

Something is wrong with my mind. This is the only logical conclusion. The shadows seem to creep around the edges of my vision even as I write this. Is this sudden revelation enough to push me from the pedestal of sanity?

I have made up my mind. I cannot let miscommunication create another incident between us. I absolutely must tell Sister Dearest about this immed