//------------------------------// // Entry Thirty-Three // Story: Diary of an Aspiring Tyrant // by SugarPesticide //------------------------------// September 29, 1000 ANM So far, the Dream project bodes well. I have perused the shelves of the library, particularly delving into the forbidden section, and by doing so I have come across a variety of summoning spells that found particular usage in the Somber Era. It seems apparent that a sufficient selection of markings on the floor, when used in conjunction with specific spell matrices, may open a door into another dimension. Or, I suppose, open a door into our own. It is entirely dependent on the point of view, and I suppose I must consider how Evral and the Dreams might view the situation in their quest to find a better life. No, not Evral now. Chrysalis. What a strange name. It implies a transitional state of dormancy and passivity, which puzzles me. Is she not only now emerging into the light as a proud leader of a broken people? I would have imagined her preference would lean towards a more intimidating moniker, indicating her vision of the future. I suppose it has no real significance. After all, what manner of creature could possibly undergo a state of chrysalis that moves, speaks, and schemes as easily as breathing? It is of no consequence, I suppose. More importantly, we have continued to bombard Micah Jayfill and her atrocious automatons with terrible films. I am dismayed to report that they have become less prone to sobbing over the course of watching these films. Perhaps they have developed a coping mechanism? No, that would be absurd. My experience has taught me that the mind caves eagerly at madness’s touch, and the pony mind is twice as susceptible as all others. “Now Mother, that’s unfair,” Blueblood remarked when I expressed this fact to him this afternoon. We were watching our little prisoners while in the Bat Cave, and our best attempts to pretend we were winning this little war were rather useless. “You’re implying that other species are anywhere within five miles of the common pony’s shocking neuroticism.” “You have a point,” I lied. Poor Blueblood is so naive in some respects. But I humored him for the moment, as I was too busy scrutinizing our bumbling captives to pursue the matter further. “And I want a furnace for Hearth’s Warming!” Raven was saying in a highly affected manner. I would have assumed they were being facetious, but I cannot fathom how that could possibly help them in their current predicament. “A furnace? To warm your hooves?” Gem Torque inquired cheekily. “No … to burn everypony else’s!” There was an awkward pause. “I want a monkey,” Jester added helpfully. He is a snakelike cyclops abomination, and is less than apt in many ways, but I suppose one must take whatever company one can. “All right,” said Micah Jayfill, adding in their Hearth’s Warming wishes to the lengthy letter. “I think that’s everything. What about you, Your Enormities? D’you have any secret desires for Santa Hooves?” “Ignoring the fact that your sentence could be taken in entirely the wrong way,” Blueblood sniffed, “Santa Hooves is but a legend and a myth. His entire existence is an illusion designed to make foals well-behaved, which is an entirely useless goal.” I sighed. The time for seriousness was at hoof. “Blueblood, there is something you must know.” “What is it?” “I am afraid that … you are incorrect. There is a Santa Hooves.” His eyes bulged. “What?!” “‘Tis so,” I said. On the screen the automatons were exchanging bits, but I ignored them. “He is a being of astonishing power, the likes of which even Gaia and Iris have little information about. He resides at the Northern Edge, the last and greatest of all reindeer. I have spoken with him. He is an amiable fellow, albeit one who could benefit from a hefty serving of fatty food.” “... But he’s already fat.” “On the contrary. I fear that … I love that I may have spread that image of him over the past millennia. He won a pie-eating contest against Sister Dearest, and I have never let him live it down since.” Blueblood twitched. One of his pupils shrank to a pinprick. “What a silly colt I have raised! I thought I taught you better than to doubt Santa Hooves. What could possibly have caused your change in mind?” “The last thousand years,” he muttered, still staring off into space, “he never gave me what I asked for.” “And what was that?” He did not answer, despite my proddings. Micah Jayfill and her minions suddenly looked sympathetic, for reasons which I cannot fathom. Why are these ponies acting as if his little Hearth’s Warming wish should be obvious? I shall forget that nonsense without delay. Instead, I must relate an event of greater interest. Upon visiting the Dreamscape the previous night, I spoke with Evral—that is, Chrysalis—while the Dreams bustled about making preparations for their exodus. What those preparations are, I cannot guess. They seem to be rather self-reliant, despite their queen’s efforts to persuade me to the contrary. “When my poor Dreams are separated from this place,” she explained, “they’ll be cut off from its energy. I’m only guessing about this, of course, but I feel it’s better to be safe than sorry. I doubt that they’ll be able to eat physical food, so they’ll have to get their energy from somewhere else.” “You speculate too much,” I said happily. “Nevertheless, I will humor you in your delusion. Doubtless even the loving and tolerant ponies of Equestria will be hard-pressed to part with their food, so the Dreams would have been unlikely to partake in such sustenance in any case. On my part, I suggest something that they will never be depleted of, such as fear … such as love.” “Hmm.” She tapped a hole-riddled hoof to her chin. “Love energy. Now there’s an idea. One of the most powerful of all magics, isn’t it?” “Indeed. Although my niece, Mi Amore Cadenza, wields it as a special talent. She is also a chief antagonist against my glorious uprising, so there may be difficulties where that is concerned.” “Leave that to me,” she said. “She will be of little concern. I will tell my Dreams to start working on a way to derive this energy for ourselves. In the meantime, continue looking at the summoning spells, why don’t you? The sooner we can strike against Celestia, the better.” I agreed, but with some reluctance. Who is she to order me about? Is this takeover not my idea? She may impart suggestions if she wishes, yet her intended position is behind me. I will have to make certain that her loyalty is for me, even as she strives to better the lives of the Dreams. It seems that being tyrannical requires some degree of inflexibility, which I will have to keep in mind. Still, her suggestion is reasonable. I shall return to my studies after supper, during which time I plan to peruse through many a forgotten tome of forbidden lore. With any luck, I may discover the answer to my questions before the week is out!