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// Prologue: Fever Dreams Of A Disturbed Mind 
// Story: H.P. Hoofcraft: Shadow Of The Sun 
// by Inkwell_the_writer_horse 
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I lay in my bed, my throat dry and my head aching, a bitter cold filling the night air of my home. My eyes are dry, they sting and the skin around them begin to tighten, it becomes harder and harder to keep them open. I force dry gulps of air down my throat, without the aid of my nose, I undoubtedly would have choked. I step out of my bed and light an old lantern with the book of matches resting beside it on my nightstand. I grab the lantern in my mouth and leave my room, descending the stairs and passing a diagonal line of photographs on the wall to my left. Photographs. Memories. Memories almost lost to my own foolish reclusion and my work, leaving me shunned by the others, the inhabitants of Ponyville. My eyes sting as tears form atop them. I gently place my hoof upon an old photograph, yellowed, crusty and cracked through time. I tilt my head forth and my tears of nostalgia fall to the ground from a single blink of my reddened eyes. 

“Goodbye, mother.” 

For the second time, I bid her farewell, and for the second time, a whisper, accompanied by tears I know she can neither hear, nor feel. I notice my front door, barely open, a small sliver whistling as the wind blows through it. I walk to my door, opening it, slowly, hoping that the door being open was only a momentary absence of mind on my part, and not some cosmic horror whom I had summoned in my studies of the occult or, worse still, a pony, a familiar, grey, doctor, with a warrant, looking to send me to Arkham or a servant of the old ones, wishing me to join their ranks. A strong gust of unnatural wind summons the door forth, outwards of my small cottage, and, revealing to me a pony. 

The pony stood there, close to ten feet away from my home, shrouded in a large, beige trench coat which billowed in the strong wind, and, atop their head, a fedora, as beige as the coat, staying on their head against all laws of gravity. The hat shrouded the ponies face in a dark shadow, the only part of their face visible being their eyes, yellow and seemingly glowing through the darkness and thick smoke surrounding their head.

I slowly walk forward, getting all but five feet away from the mysterious figure before placing the lantern at my hooves.

“Nog ron shagg”

It speaks a language, neither foreign to my ears, nor familiar. Memories of fever dreams fill my head and I understand.

“No.”

I reply, coldly to the creature and my ears fill with loud, rhythmic banging. The world around me dissipates and the glow of the creatures eyes become a separate entity of the pony form it had formerly possessed. Both eyes becoming a single blinding light, stinging my eyes as the banging become louder and louder and the light becoming brighter and brighter, the stinging of my eyes becoming burning on my flesh. Hotter and hotter, louder and louder. I scream as it all becomes too much, my grey flesh becoming redder and redder, before blistering under the intense heat. 

Abruptly, it all stops, my burning flesh, the loud banging, echoing in my ears, only the blinding light remained. slowly, my eyes begin to adjust to the light, my curtains, wide open revealing to me Celestias bright, scorching sun. My surroundings become clear to me. I lay atop a bed, dampened from sweat that still sticks to my hair, my mane, heavy and draping my shoulders as an impatient knock reverberates through my humble cottage. I quickly make my way to my front door, pressing my eye against the peephole and evaluating the creature that had disturbed my disturbing slumber. It’s a pony, again, but fortunately, now without the unnatural glowing eyes. I open the door and greet the the stallion standing on my porch. The stallion is tall, with a slicked back purple mane and a dark pink coat, complemented by a bright pink tie worn on his black collar. 

“Why, hello. Is there anything I can do for you?”

I wear a warm, inviting grin on my face as the stallions face contrasts it with a cold, expressionless face.

“Ma'am, I’m Going to have to ask you to come with me.”

I adopt a more formal expression and reply in an even tone.

“May I ask where?”

There is something else on  his collar I notice.

“Canterlot, the royal crown requests your presence.”

A small badge, silver with a blue outline.

“This is such short notice, May I even ask which crown?”

A crescent moon.

“The crown of the night, princess Luna requests an audience with you.”

In little time, I found myself sat beside the stallion in a chariot, black with a blue interior, pulled by two heavily armoured pegasi, inconspicuous in spite of its regency. Through a dark night, we quickly arrive at Canterlot. The chariot lands atop a small structure extended from Canterlot palace. As we step off of the chariot and onto the cold stone of the palace's extension we are greeted by a tall, slender figure, draped in a brown, tattered cloak. The royal boom in her voice allowed me to deduce that this was in fact Princess Luna.

“Ms. Hoofcraft, I’ve been expecting you, please come.”

She turned, waving me into her den atop Canterlot Palace.