You poor thing. I remember what you were like you know? You were brilliant once. Somewhere in there I think you are brilliant still. I’m not sure if I ever told you just how much I appreciated your friendship. You showed me a better way. I always thought I could not be myself without being alone. You and your friends helped me see the light.
I don’t have any friends.
Oh, you poor thing.
I’m not sure what that is.
It’s not your fault you know.
They are words.
But I suppose deep down you know that. That’s not your problem, is it? Sometimes ponies simply break.
They have meaning. I can understand the meaning. It’s like a dozen different pieces all spontaneously coming together by pure chance.
I wish I could do something for you, I really do.
I think it is a voice.
But your mind… It is the last bastion of chaos in this dreary wasteland. All of this destruction is nothing but order in its purest, bleakest form.
It is definitely a voice.
I want to do something for you, I really do… But I think you are the only thing keeping me alive.
It’s not mine. It’s not coming from me.
Even if I wanted to help though, there is not much I can do. All the shelves are gone. I can’t replace those. I can’t make something out of nothing.
“The manipulation of probability?”
How did you figure so much out about my magic anyway? I thought I had been clever. But then again, I suppose you always were a clever pony.
I recognize the voice. I’ve heard it before. But it’s not coming from the outside. It’s whispering into my mind.
I’m sorry. I really am, and… No! I can’t leave a friend like this.
All around me the wasteland is filled with books, scattered about. I look around and see that I am the only pony here. Dust billows in the air.
I can’t do much, not with the shelves gone. But I can help a little.
A wind swirls around me, opening all the books and they flip through their pages. As I look at the cloud of dust I think I see it forming a face.
Ahh, yes. I’m afraid a solid form, even a mismatched one is too much for me now. Ponies are a source of such chaos. They fight; they argue. Ponies love and hate. They are inconsistent and change their minds. They are even capable of believing in two contradictory beliefs at once. Ponies are so beautiful in all of their complexity. But once a pony is dead? It is just dead. There is nothing else. No chance, only the slow rate of decay with minor variation at best.
“Discord.”
Very good, little Twilight. Let me give you an award. I think I’ve found the books you need.
I watch as the dust seems to lift up various texts and sorts them into piles around me. The field of books is still there. Most of them are still scattered and untouched, but the piles are within hoof reach.
I know they are all just going to get jumbled up again the next time that you fall. It’s impossible to really sort them without the shelves. But maybe just for a little while you can be more like your old self, and maybe it will make my little sisters happy.
A word pierces through my haze. “Sisters?”
Nothing for you to worry about. Ah, I should probably move these books somewhere else. I don’t see how they can help you now.
I see a few nearby texts fly far from me, landing out with the books near the edge of my vision. As they land against the ground with a thud, it seems like the cloud of dust is growing less substantial.
I am afraid that helping you sort through this mess has taken a lot out of me. I think even a random cloud of dust is too much now. I suppose I’ll let all my bits scatter on the wind to the ends of Equestria. Eventually some of my particles will find one another again, and what a lovely moment of chance that will be.
The dust is blowing away. But it is hesitating. It is waiting for something.
Finally Sunbutt is here. I was wondering how long it would take her.
The cloud no longer has form.
I suppose I really overdid it this time. Hopefully I’ll see you again in a few hundred years, though I don’t know if you’ll notice the passage of time. But maybe we’ll run into one another in only a few months. That’s the nature of chaos after all. Ahh, I can feel all of my parts going every which way. It is glorious…
The voice was gone.
“Luna, I found her.”
It was a different voice. A voice from the outside. I recognized it and felt that it was important that I understand what it was saying.
I can feel some sort of warmth enveloping me, and pressure on all sides. I don’t know what it is, but it feels good. I like feeling warm.
“Oh, Twilight, don’t you go wandering off on me.” Was the voice crying? “I was so worried.”
I can sense the word, but it does not crash against me this time. I lean into the warmth, but look down.
The cloud has left me a stack of books and I want to understand. I begin to furiously page through the books around me while I enjoy the warmth. Somewhere I would find meaning. This is an important riddle. I need to answer this one.
“Please Twilight, you need to promise me. I didn’t mean what I said earlier. I won’t ever leave you alone again. Just promise me you won’t scare me like that again.”
I want to make the voice happy. I want to make the voice stop crying. This is the most important puzzle she has ever given me.
I put my hoof down square in the center of a page. I found the words I was looking for.
“Celestia, I’m sorry.” I finally manage to say.
+++
Approval Rate Drops
For the fifth straight month, polls have shown a drop in the approval rate of the majority party’s administration.
When questioned, most ponies seem to blame Minister Glowing Radience's reluctance to expand Equestria's sphere of influence and inability to find a solution for the current crisis plaguing Equestria.
In the last week, wildfires have been burning outside of Trottingham. The origin of the fires has been attributed to cutbacks in local weather regulation and a failure in Equestria's response.
Said one source, "Something should have been done about this as soon as ponies knew it was a problem. Instead, we are just now talking about mobilizing rain from Cloudsdale?"