//------------------------------//
// Fashionable Twice 
// Story: A Route Obscure and Lonely 
// by JapaneseTeeth 
//------------------------------//

	 “Of course it’s a nightmare!  I don’t need to be dream expert to know that. I want to know what that weird shadow cloud darkness blob was!” Spike grumbled as he trudged towards the playpen.  The lifeless aura that surrounded the taffy machine had vanished, but he didn’t feel particularly inclined to stay near it. He carried Luna’s head, still chocolatey and malformed, under his arm.

“I already told you, it is not just a nightmare, it is a Nightmare.” Luna sighed the sigh of a teacher who couldn’t get her students to pay attention. “This will require further explanation. You may want to sit down.”

“Sitting down sounds nice,” Spike answered. “I am bit tired. Which is weird, since I’m still asleep.”  He sat carefully against the side of the Cakes’ playpen and set Luna’s head in front of him. “So, it’s not a nightmare, but it’s a… nightmare?  What’s the difference?”

“Spike, do you know the origin of the word ‘nightmare’?” Her tone of voice made him feel slightly embarrassed for not knowing.

“Uh, well, dreams are usually at night, and… sometimes they’re about mares?” He shrugged. “Although usually that’s a different kind of dream.”

Luna rolled her eyes. Or rather, she rolled one of them. The other was too squashed to do more than wiggle slightly.

“An adequate guess,” she said, “but no. I suppose I cannot blame you.  According to my sister, no true Nightmares have been seen in Equestria since before my banishment.”

“True nightmares?” Spike asked nervously. “How are those any different from regular nightmares?”

“Bad dreams were not always called nightmares,” Luna said wistfully. “They were simply that: unpleasant dreams.  The name ‘Nightmare’ was reserved for something worse.  The first Nightmares were a race of Abstrovorous creatures.”

“Abswhat creatures?”

“They were Abstrovores, beings who subside not on food, but derive their sustenance from abstract concepts and emotions.  Such creatures are not as common as they once were, but I am sure that you are familiar with some of them.” She raised an eyebrow. “Windigos, for instance.”

“Oh,” Spike nodded as if he had already known that and momentarily forgotten. “Or Changelings!  Right?”

“Yes, Changelings are also Abstrovores.  Specifically, they are Amovores, while Windigos are Descovores.  Nightmares, on the other hoof, are Phobovores.”

“Phobo…vores…?” he said. “So that means they feed on…”

“Fear,” Luna said. “They preyed upon anyone unlucky enough to fall into slumber when they were nearby.  While dreams may be unsettling purely by happenstance, the Nightmares delved into the memories of the dreamers, twisting and manipulating their mind in order to create more fear to devour.  The terror of those dreams was often so great that those who suffered through that they were loathe to sleep again.”

Spike swallowed before speaking. “That bad, huh?”

“I can safely say that while you may have had bad dreams of your own, these dreams were worse.  The Dream Wars were a scourge upon all of Equestria.”

“Dream Wars?” Spike asked. “I have no idea what those are.”

“You wouldn’t.  They occurred during quite a turbulent time in Equestria’s history, and few historical records from that period remain.  Celestia and I were working on compiling what documents we have and fashioning them into useful history, but other matters came up.”

“Well, if you get around to it, could I get a copy for Twilight. I’m sure she’d be interested.”

Luna chuckled mirthlessly. “She would.  I must admit it is hardly my favorite period of history, but that does not make it any less important. I only wish that they had remained confined to the history books instead of resurfacing now.”

“Hey, look on the bright side.” Spike tried to smile. “At least we know who’s behind this attack.”

“Yes, I suppose there is that.”

“So now that we know that” —he cracked his knuckles— “what do we do to get rid of them?” 

Luna’s eyes wandered for a moment before they looked back at Spike.

“That is a very good question.”

“Wait, you mean that you don’t know? Didn’t you defeat them and, I don’t know, seal them inside something?”

“Contrary to popular belief, we do not deal with every threat to Equestria by magically sealing it away.” Her eyes were surprisingly cold for being made of chocolate. “That would be simple procrastination and I do not make a habit of it unless there is no other option.  In the case of the Nightmares, they proved a most devious enemy.  Unlike Windigos or Changelings, Nightmares seemingly have no physical forms, at least not that we know of. They appear to exist solely in within dreamscapes.  It makes dealing with them quite complicated.”

“Really?” Spike asked anxiously. “How did you fight them then?”

“Much the same way we are combatting them now, though on a larger scale,” Luna answered. “Using my own powers to enter dreams, Myself, my sister, Star Swirl the Bearded, General Firefly, and a number of others mounted a counterattack. As luck would have it, it turned out that feeding upon fear makes one craven.  Once they realized that we would not be cowed, the battle turned in our favor.  We can only hope that they have not grown braver while I was away.”

“Yeah, I hope so too,” Spike said.  “So what happened to them?”

“When they realized that we meant to fight, they fled, likely to seek easier prey.  We pursued them, and many of them were defeated by the Elements wielded by my sister and I.  But we could not capture them all.  There are places between dreams where they hid, and even I could not find them all.”

“And now they’re back.”

Luna nodded. “It seems so.”

Spike closed his eyes.  Normally, when an ancient enemy reared its head after a thousand years, Twilight and her friends would take care of it. “In that case, what do we do?” he asked.

“We continue as planned,” Luna said. “It is really all we can do.  Even though we know our enemy, there is little else we can do.  We must continue gathering information and attempting to awaken more ponies, not only to weaken their spell but also because we will need allies if we wish to defeat them once more.”

“Okay,” Spike nodded, then held up a claw. “Wait a minute. If we keep messing around with everypony’s dreams, won’t they notice?”

“There is a risk of being found out, yes. But we do not have any other options.  We either take the risk and have a chance, however slight, of winning this battle, or we stand by and let them proceed with whatever their plan is.  At the very least, I can safely say that the spell does not monitor the dreams directly, which is good news for us.  Now, all that remains is to select our next target and set about freeing them.  Are you ready to do so?”

Spike thought for a moment. “No, but that’s never stopped me before.”

“I suppose that will have to do,” Luna said with a slight smirk. “Now then, shall we decide which of your friends we are going to rescue first?”




The Clock Tower read 5:02 to as Spike approached his next destination.  He still couldn’t quite believe it. Exploring the dream, fighting the taffy machine, listening to Luna give him a history lesson, discussing who they were going to rescue next, all of it hadn’t even taken two minutes.  He didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

He looked past the clock tower at the moon. It was only a thin crescent, halfway hidden behind a cloud.  Had the sky been cloudy when he first went to Sugarcube Corner?  He hadn’t thought to look.  As far as he could remember, it might as well have been hours ago, but despite that it felt like time had stopped.  Ponyville remained still as a stone.  He couldn’t even hear the chirping of the grasshoppers that always filled the warm summer nights.  There was nopony but him.  Well, him and the Nightmares.

He tried not to think too hard about about that. It would be better to be alone in the world than to be alone with them.  Maybe he was alone. Maybe Luna was right and the Nightmares didn’t really have bodies, and as long as he was awake, they couldn’t do anything to him.  If they could, he would still be asleep.

“Nightmares, Schmitemares,” he muttered to himself, hoping that they couldn’t hear him. “I’ve eaten burritos that give me worse nightmares than these things could!  And there’s no way I’d ever be afraid of a burrito.  I mean, burritos are delicious!  Especially with hot sauce.  When we’re done with all of this we should celebrate by going out for burritos.  Wonder if Luna even knows what those are?  Did they even have them a thousand years ago?” He stopped. “Looks like I’m here.”

He knocked on the Carousel Boutique door and waited for a moment. “Wait a minute.” He shook his head.  Of course nopony was going to answer the door.  He let himself in.  Rarity had to still be here somewhere; this year she didn’t have to help decorate the town hall and had instead used the time to make sure she was presentable for the Princesses.  Sure enough, she was there.  Despite the circumstances, Spike couldn’t help but smirk.  Even in the spell’s grip, Rarity had managed to gracefully drape herself across a pile of fabric.

He reached for her hoof, and paused. All dreams are made out of memories, so if I go into her dreams it’s like reading her mind.  No, I can’t worry about that now.  All of Equestria is at stake here.  And… He looked at her face. She was frowning. Nightmares.  I can’t leave her like that, no matter how awkward it might be.  He reached out and took her hoof.

I’m going to save you.





“Whoa.” Spike blinked.  At least this time there wasn’t any ambiguity about whether or not he was dreaming.  The inside of Rarity’s head looked nothing like the outside.  He stood in a corridor that was loud in every sense of the word.  Everywhere he looked was gilded and shined to a mirror finish, glittering brightly in the multicolored lights that poured from the most ostentatious crystal chandeliers that Spike had ever seen.  They rattled sharply, shaken by the rumbling music that filled the air like a fog.  

“Huh, I never expected Rarity’s dream to look like this…” he muttered as he rubbed his eyes. “I thought it might be a little gaudy, but this is something else!”

He examined the… he wasn’t sure he could even call it a hallway.  The general size and shape reminded him much more of a cave or a tunnel.  A wallpapered, carpeted, and otherwise fully furnished cave or tunnel, but a cave or tunnel nonetheless. The roof seemed to curve up around him, and the walls were too irregular and lumpy.  The floor, which was covered with multiple layers of ornately woven carpets, was just as uneven.

“Rarity?” he called as he started down the corridor.  He could hardly even hear himself through the music.  Even if she were standing right next to him, she wouldn’t hear his call.  The music began to get louder, growing from an indistinct jumble of low notes into a thumping beat.  The corridor seemed to be sloping downward as well, winding back and forth like an oversized rabbit hole.  He inspected the walls as he went.  They were covered with a patchwork of patterned wallpapers and adorned with crookedly-hung frames.  

He paused to examine them more closely.  None of the frames seemed to have any paintings in them. The nearest frame was made of dark brown wood, carved in with minute detail into the likeness of ivy clinging to a trellis. But instead of a painting, it contained only a piece of splotched paper, stained by what looked like a coffee ring. It was tattered around the edges.  Rather than any sort of painting, scribbled on the paper in rough lines was a sketch of a dress design. No surprise there. Spike thought.

He narrowed his eyes at the sketches as he continued down the hallway. “There’s something weird about these…” he muttered to himself. “Oh well, no point in worrying about that now.”

The nearest sketch looked a bit more… “sketchy” was the only word that Spike could think of.  Something Rarity would only have drawn if she were forced to rush through them.   The paper was smudged with repeated erasures and redrawings, and despite the corrections they lacked her usual precision.  Some of them were so distorted that they resembled caricatures more than anything else.

Spike turned away and focused back on the hallway. Last time he had stopped paying attention to where he was going he had walked right into a door.  At least this time around time everything was mostly to scale.  The brightness at the end of the tunnel seemed to be getting bigger at an appropriate rate for the speed he was walking.  If there was any clue to as where Rarity was, it was probably there.

He stepped through the arch at the end of the hallway and froze. “What the-?”

At first glance, he couldn’t even tell what he was looking at.  The edges of the passage ballooned out into a cavernous chamber.  Like the first passage, it was gilded beyond all reason, with enormous tapestries draped against the walls.  From the ceiling hung a veritable mess of lightning implements, everything from chandeliers to disco balls to an entire spotlight array blasted the room with every conceivable color of light.

The floor looked like it was moving. The lights flickered across it, making it ripple like the surface of a lake.  Weaving in and out of the prismatic glow were...  Spike rubbed his eyes to make sure they weren’t playing tricks on him.  Empty clothes meandered to and fro as if they were being worn by invisible ponies. Spike recognized some of them as designs from Rarity’s shop. But some… they didn’t look like anything Rarity would even allow herself to be seen near. The colors were garish and the shapes were haphazard. Some looked incomplete, and others had too many sleeves or were clearly patched together incorrectly.

The far end of the chamber was dominated by an enormous set of curtains that hung above a stage.  Spike gasped.  It wasn’t just a stage, it was a runway, and on the very end of it, in the very center of the room, was a cage.  Inside the cage was a familiar pony.

“Rarity!”

Spike charged forward, ignoring the ambulatory suits and dresses that wandered the floor.  A moment later he realized that he probably shouldn’t have.  No sooner had he dashed past than one of the empty dresses, a green frilly affair with with an enormous bow on the back, than it whipped toward him.  The fabric wrapped itself around him and before he knew what was happening he found himself wearing it.

“What’s going on!?” he gasped. He could feel the garment pulling on his limbs, attempting to resume it’s aimless wandering. “Hey! Stop that, you stupid dress!” He tried to take a step towards the cage, but the dress got in his way. It was ill-fitting and bunched up in all the most uncomfortable places.  It wanted to walk in the other direction.  It wasn’t particularly strong, but it was just forceful enough to make him stumble and land flat on his face. “Ugh, this is not going to work.” 

He tried to get back to his feet, but it was too late. The dress continued to move on its own, carrying him along, away from the cage.  He kicked weakly towards the floor, trying to push himself back toward the center of the room, but the garish piece of clothing wouldn’t let him.  Instead, it took him to the edge of the room, and began to pace him along the wall like a marionette.  He sighed and stopped resisting, letting the dress hold his weight.

“At least there’s nopony around to see me like this,” he grumbled.

“Your luck is not so good, I’m afraid.”

Spike groaned. “You always have the worst timing, you know that?”  With great effort he wrestled the dress around so that he could see where Luna had materialized. This time she had appeared inside one of the hanging sketches.  Her face was scribbled on the paper much the same as the sketches.  The way she moved reminded Spike of the stick-pony flipbooks that Pinkie Pie sometimes drew.

“I am no expert on fashion,” she said, “but I do not believe that color is very flattering on you.  It is too bright.”

“I’m not wearing this thing because I want to,” he grunted as he struggled to keep the dress from dragging him away. “This thing grabbed me when I tried to get to Rarity!”

“You’ve found her already? Splendid!” Her smile took up nearly the whole frame. “Did I not tell you that once you acclimated things would go more smoothly?”

“I don’t know if I’d say that it’s going smoothly,” Spike said. “At least, I wouldn’t think that having Rarity locked in a cage that’s guarded by a bunch of living clothes really qualifies as ‘going smoothly’.”

“But you do know where she is.”

“Yeah, but that kinda doesn’t help me much if I can’t get there.” Spike dug his claws into the carpet. They left furrows in the rug as the dress slowly pulled at him. “I have to get this thing off, and then I have to figure out how to keep them off me while I get her out of there.”

“I see.” Luna nodded. “Well, if nothing else, you have a set of well-defined goals.  As to freeing yourself from that garment, might I remind you that you are a fire-breathing dragon?”

“I, uh.” Spike looked sheepishly down at the dress, which suddenly resembled more like a ball of kindling than anything else. “I knew that.” He spat a small jet of flame at the obnoxiously large shoulder frills.  It caught immediately, and the dress began to dissolve into ashes.  It began to flail wildly in response, but he wriggled out of the burning fabric with ease.  As it crumpled to the floor, he gave it a few good stomps for good measure, leaving nothing but a burned patch on the rug and a few charred scraps of fabric.

“That is more like it!” Luna said happily. “Now you must only formulate a plan to reach Rarity without being made to forcibly cross-dress!  Not that there is anything wrong with indulging in such a habit, but now is not the time.”

“Oh, I already have an idea.” Spike grinned.

“Excellent.  What is your- Hey!” Luna glared at Spike as he lifted the frame from the wall.

“Don’t worry, I’ll hang you up somewhere as soon as I get to Rarity.  I need a shield, and this way I won’t have to fight my way back over here.”  He turned back to face the room.  If he ran, he could be at the cage in less than a minute, assuming he didn’t get dogpiled by dozens of rogue outfits.  “Here goes nothing!”

He charged forward, doing his best to run through the gaps in the false crowd.  A pale yellow suit started to trot toward him, but a hefty thwack with the heavy wooden frame slowed it down.  He dodged a few more evening gowns and found a flouncy ballroom dress in his way. It was so hefty and loaded with extra ribbons that it barely moved. He snorted a flame at it and sped past. As he approached the end of the runway, the throng grew thicker and thicker.  He smacked away at the suits and dresses as he moved, spitting the occasional fireball to make sure his way was clear. 

The crowd of eveningwear continued to grow thicker, but Spike kept pressing forward. They couldn’t, or at least didn’t try, to grab onto the picture frame, and his flames kept the rest at bay.  At least for the moment. For each one that he managed to shove out of the way, another appeared. The were so thickly packed that he could barely push his way through.

“I don’t believe you’ve thought this all the way through,” Luna muttered as Spike took a swing at at an orange leisure suit. “It seems that you are about to be overwhelmed.”

“Shut up!” Spike gasped between breaths of flame. “We’re only a few steps away!” He spun around and immolated a navy blue cocktail dress. “Hold on tight!” He held the frame above his head and spun, spewing fire in all directions.

“Spike, I am beginning to get dizzy!”

“Yeah, me too!” he said as he ground to a halt. The clothing had backed off, leaving a sizeable ring around him. “Brace yourself!” With all his might he hurled the frame onto the stage and charged forward.  The clothes immediately rushed inward, crowding toward him.  He shot a fireball at the purple tuxedo immediately in front of him as he ran.  At the very last second, he leaped with all his strength, landing with a thud on the edge of the runway.

“Whoops. Guess I still need to work on my hang ti-Whoa!” He looked back over his shoulder.  Half a dozen separate ensembles had latched onto his legs and begun to pull.  He grabbed onto one of the legs that supported the cage and held on for dear life.  For beings that lacked any muscle, they were surprisingly strong.  He craned his head back and tried to roast them, but his neck refused to turn far enough. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the various sleeves and ribbons winding themselves around his legs and tail like a bunch of silky tentacles.

“Oh no you don’t!”  He released one claw’s grip on the cage and pushed against the runway, twisting his body as hard as he could. He spun on his other claw as he flipped over, lying on his back, his lower body hanging over the edge.  The clothes hung on, but now their appendages were all tangled into a single knot.

“I don’t have time for this,” he grumbled before breathing a jet of flame.  The fabric snapped and he dragged himself the rest of the way onto the stage. “I wish I could’ve come up with some sort of cool line to say.” he muttered as he dusted himself off. One final bit of ribbon lay on the edge of the stage, twitching and writhing like a worm. He flicked it away. “I bet if Pinkie were here, she would’ve been able to come up with a great pun. Oh well.”

He turned his attention to the cage.  It looked like an enormous birdcage. A birdcage made for an immaculately fabulous bird; it curved like an hourglass, and every inch was gilded and encrusted with gems.  Then he looked between the bars, and any pride he felt at his momentary victory evaporated.

“Rarity, are you okay?” He grabbed two of the bars and tried to squish his face between them.  “Rarity!”

Sure enough, Rarity sat at the center of the cage, but she barely looked like herself.  She was hunched over a small sketchbook, scribbling furiously. Her mane was far past disheveled, knotted and matted up in ways that Spike could barely even believe.  She stared forward as she doodled.  Every few seconds, she dropped the pencil, ripped out the page, crumpled it and tossed it aside to start on a new one.  Her eyes were bloodshot and heavy bags hung beneath them.  Her cheeks were stained with patches of mascara. A stream of words poured out of her mouth.

“Nonononono this is not right at all the colors don’t match and it’s what they ordered and it’s a Rarity original and now is not the time Sweetie Belle I swear I made it myself and of course I didn’t choose the color but if that’s what you want and I have a deadline tomorrow we can play later and of course I’ll do it what are friends for I’m sorry but I’m afraid that isn’t possible but I can do my best-”

“Rarity! Are you alright!” He tried to reach through the bars, but she was too far away. “What’s going on?”

If she heard him, she didn’t respond. She simply continued to ramble. “I didn’t mean to do that Sweetie Belle I just need a little more time and it’s not an imitation of that pattern you know how it is when I have to work around you and it was meant to be inspired by that design and I’m sorry about the delay but I can give you a discount and it was an accident Sweetie Belle and everything will be just fine if I tweak the design a little-”

“Great.” Spike slumped against the cage. “She can’t hear me.”

“Mmmf mf mmmmpf!” 

“Huh?” Spike looked up. Luna’s picture frame still lay facedown on the stage. “Whoops!”  He scurried over and picked her up, leaning the frame against the cage.

“Thank you,” she said. “I do wish you would be a bit more careful, even if you can’t cause me any harm in this form. It really is quite aggravating not being able to see anything.  I see you successfully made your way through that.”  She nodded at the suits and dresses, which were back to aimless meandering.

“Yeah yeah, I did. But that’s not important right now.  I found Rarity, but I she can’t hear anything I say.”

“That is unsurprising,” Luna said. “Would you mind turning me around so that I can see exactly what we are dealing with?”

“Sure.” Spike picked up the frame and held it up to the cage. “See?  We can’t just leave her in there!”

“We certainly cannot,” Luna said in agreement. “And we ought to hurry, for her sake.  I do not envy her predicament.”

“Huh?” Spike spun the frame back towards himself. “I get that we need to get her out of there, but is being stuck in a cage really worse than being attacked by a giant machine?  I mean, if it were a particularly rusty cage, I could see why she’d be that miserable, but this cage looks pretty nice.”

“You must understand, Spike,” Luna began; he could tell that she was putting on her lecturing voice, “that there is a world of difference between childish fears and adult fears.  The dreams of young children are often straightforward, full of monsters, darkness, and other such things. While adult dreams are not entirely devoid of such content, the fear tends to skew in a more… existential direction.”

“Exi-what?” He had heard Twilight use the term before, but the definition eluded him.

“Feelings that are rooted in emotion and meaning. The fear of being ignored or forgotten, fear of not being loved, fear of loneliness-”

“Oh, that kind of thing.”

“Fear of losing one’s reputation, fear of losing those you love-”

“Okay, I see what you mean.”

“Fear of uselessness-”

“I get it!” Spike interrupted. “How do we get Rarity out of that cage?  I guess I could try melting it, but I don’t know if that would work. It’s probably a lot tougher than regular gold.”

“You are quite correct. It is a metaphysical representation of her deepest fears.  Breaking through it will not be quite as simple as physically destroying the offending object.”

“Why not?” Spike set the frame back down and began to examine the cage.  Twilight had told him what the melting point of gold was at one point. Was it it 1490 degrees, or 1940?  Or was it closer to an even thousand? “It worked well enough with the taffy machine.”

“That worked because the machine was, so to speak, itself,” Luna said flatly. “It was a simple fear; they were simply afraid of the machine and it appeared in no greater capacity than that.  In Rarity’s case, I doubt that it is the cage itself that frightens her. It is what the cage represents that holds her captive.” 

“Yeah so… how do we get her out?” Spike asked again.  “If we can’t break the cage, what do we do?”

“I believe the situation is quite simple.” Her face vanished into a whirl of sketchy lines. “How else would one open a cage?  You unlock the door.” The lines materialized into a crude facsimile of a key.

“A key? Seriously? I thought you said that it wouldn’t be simple.”

“Well, it is not a literal key.” Luna’s face reappeared, and she looked very tired. “Just as the cage its not what is really imprisoning her.  Dreams are a reflection of waking life, that is true in the case of both children and adults.  The fears that cage her in are the same fears she faces in her waking life, only exaggerated to a horrific extreme and without access to the coping mechanisms that normally allow one to face those fears.”

“So you’re saying that the key is her method for dealing with whatever fear is keeping her trapped here?”

Luna nodded. “I believe so. In her waking life, there are many factors that can keep one’s fears at bay.  Rational arguments, hobbies, books, music, loved ones, I have even known some whose deepest fears were kept in check by coffee.  But the Nightmares know how to strip all of that away. Only by restoring her ability to deal with her fear can we wake her up.”

“So I’ve got to find that key, then.”

“Yes. Or else you could attempt to pick the lock, but I do not think you will have much luck.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Spike examined the lock. It was a massive chunk of rough metal, so rusted over that it didn’t look like it would ever open, even with a key.  Just looking at it risked tetanus. “So, any idea where this key might be?”

“Unfortunately, I do not,” she said. “As a matter of fact, you may very well know better than I do.”

“What?” he gasped. “Why would I know about that? You’re the dream expert.”

“You know Rarity better than I do. Not only does this mean that you better understand her fears and anxieties, but you better know where she draws her strength from.  That is where the key will be found.”

“Right, in the parts of the dream that are built out of her good memories of her friends and family.”

“Now you are getting it.”  Luna nodded around the room. “You may have to do some exploring throughout the various places in this dream in order to find them, but they must be here somewhere.”

“So I basically have to dig through Rarity’s memories to find the ones that will help her get over her fear.”

“Precisely.”

“Oh.” Spike looked down at his hands. He clicked the tips of his claws together. “I… uh… that’s really the only way?”

“Why do you ask?” Luna asked. “Is there a problem?”

“Well, it’s just…” —he began to twiddle his thumbs— “...going around and poking around in Rarity’s memories. Aren’t those supposed to be private? I don’t know if I should be looking through those.”

Luna looked at him for a moment.  As she fixed his eyes, the scribbled lines that made up her face smoothed out slightly. When she began to speak, she did so slowly and deliberately.

“I will not mince words,” she said. “You may very well come across memories that Rarity would rather neither you nor anypony else see.  You might find memories that you yourself do not wish to have seen.  In dreams a pony’s innermost thoughts can rise to the surface.  It is why I prefer a light touch when dealing with such things.  I know full well the damage that can be caused when those boundaries are crossed.”

Spike swallowed. “So…”

“However, because I know of such things, I am that much more sure that intervention is necessary.  The Nightmares are already here. They have already unearthed the deepest, darkest memories of not only Rarity, but of everypony in Ponyville.  And they will use them only to generate as much fear and as much pain as they are capable of.  Yes, delving into the memories of your friends is an invasion of their privacy.  I will not pretend that it isn’t.  But I will say that we have no other recourse.  Her privacy has already been invaded, and it is better that you explore her memories out of a desire to rescue her than allow the Nightmares to violate those same memories to make her miserable.”

Spike was still for a moment.  Luna certainly had a point, but that didn’t get rid of the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“I guess that’s true,” he mumbled.

“I know it is a great responsibility, and I regret that I must ask it of you.  But I would not ask you to shoulder it if I did not think you were capable and trustworthy.”

“And it’s not because I was the only person available?”

Luna paused for a moment before answering. “If I did not think you would be able to help, I would have attempted to solve the issue on my own.”

Spike thought for a moment. “If you say so. I guess I don’t have much of a choice, so I’ll get going.  I still feel a bit weird about going through Rarity’s memories.”

“Well, if it is any consolation, the fact that you are wary shows that you have a healthy perspective. If you were ready to rush in and begin rooting through her mind with gusto I would have been rather reluctant to let you do so.”

“Thanks,” Spike said, not really feeling much better. “I’m just not sure I really want to look.  I have no idea what I’ll find.”

“It is a risk you’ll have to take.”

“Yeah, I know,” Spike sighed. “Alright.” He pointed at at the far wall. Half a dozen doorways of varying sizes led out from the stage chamber. “Which one should I search first?”

“Hmmm… It is up to you.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why I asked.”





The patrolling guard-clothes had barely even managed to touch him as he escaped from the stage.  He vaguely imagined that once all of of this was over, Rarity would be downright embarrassed by how incompetent her dreams were.  Not that she would care too much about it. If anything she would be far more mortified at the aesthetics.

The passageway that Spike had chosen resembled an enormous closet or storage room more than anything else.  Half-used fabric rolls and old decrepit mannequins were propped up between stacks of moldy, taped-up cardboard boxes.

“So, uh, where should I start?” he asked the painting under his arm.

“Anywhere and everywhere, I suppose. There’s no telling where the relevant memories might be.” Luna smirked as Spike leaned the picture against the wall. She watched him open one of the boxes, stare into it for a moment, and scratch his head in confusion. “Irrelevant memories, on the other hoof,” she said, “are everywhere.”

“Are you serious?” Spike lifted the box and flipped it over.  Several dozen raw potatoes tumbled to the floor with a symphony of wet thumps. “Why would Rarity have a box of potatoes lying around?”

Luna shrugged. “I have no idea.  Presumably at some point in her life, Rarity encountered some potatoes and for whatever reason that memory turned up in this dream.”

“So when you said I would have to search her memories…”

“I meant all of her memories.  You did not think that dreams draw only from significant memories, did you?”

Spike began to rummage through the next box. “I know that now.” He reached into the box and drew out a clawful of sand. “I guess this must be from… a beach vacation?” He began to sift through the sand. “It’s pretty rough sand though. Maybe-” He froze for a moment, his eyes as big as saucers. “Or maybe it’s not from the beach. Ew.” He delicately put the box down and began to wipe his claw on the rug.

“What seems to be the problem?” Luna asked. “It is just sand, is it not?”

“Well, uh… Rarity owns a cat.”

“A cat?” Luna furrowed her brow. “What does that have to do with… oh.”

“Yeah.” Spike held up his claw and spewed a flame over it. “That should clean it off pretty well.” He turned and began to open another box, this one more carefully. “I don’t suppose that there’s any rhyme or reason to how the memories are stored?”

Luna shook her head. “The lack of such logical organization is a defining characteristic of dreams.  Certain memories may rise to the surface to dominate the general appearance of the dream, but aside from that, all the rest tend to be distributed quite randomly.”

“Random is right,” Spike said as a balloon with a glittery bowtie emerged from the box and floated up to the top of the passage. He looked into the box. It was empty except for a fishbowl filled halfway up with hairpins. “So I guess I’m just going to have to search aimlessly until I find it?”

“Most likely, thought there is a small chance that the location of the key may not be entirely random.”

“Really? Great!” Spike tossed the fishbowl aside. “Where’s that?”

“Do not get too excited, young dragon,” Luna said. “I never said that it would be to your advantage.  You recall that the Nightmares manipulated the dream, correct?”

Spike nodded.

“It is entirely possible that they not only brought Rarity’s fears to the surface, but also that they took the key to overcoming them and hid it in a place where it would be unlikely to surface.”

“So in other words, it’s going to be wherever I’d be least likely to look.”

“Yes.”

“And I’m assuming that the Nightmares realize that, and put it somewhere else.”

Luna thought for a moment. “Most likely.”

“But if I look there, they may have anticipated that and not put the key there either.”

“That is also quite possible.”

“So if I’m getting this right, I’d probably just be better off searching randomly rather anyway?”

“...Perhaps.”

“Ugh. Why did you even bother getting my hopes up in the first place?” Spike grumbled as he tossed another box over his shoulder.

“Well, judging by your previous demeanor when I failed to fully inform you of everything, I thought it would be prudent to inform you now rather than wait and see if it became relevant.”

“Thanks for trying, at least,” Spike said. “I don’t suppose there’s any other information you could give me about nightmares or dreams that might come in handy?”

“Oh, certainly.  There is quite a wealth of information that may be useful.  I suspect that the majority of it will probably not be.  It would be a tiring and most likely futile effort to inform you of everything regarding dreams. My knowledge of such things is quite extensive.” She watched silently for a moment as he continued to root through refrigerator-sized box that was emitting a cloud of green bubbles. “Would you like me to give you a general introduction to the nature of dreams? Though I must warn you that many ponies consider the subject quite dry, particularly where the development of dream theory is concerned.”

Spike snorted. “I think I’ll be okay. I’ve taken notes for Twilight for years! If you’re talking about stuff that’ll actually be useful, I think I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so,” Luna said. Spike couldn’t see the knowing smirk on her face. “The first serious studies into somniac mental processing was begun by Clover the Clever, shortly after the unification of Equestria…”





Spike was good at making mental notes.  Keeping track of Twilight’s schedules was a surefire way to get a lot of mental exercise. So he made one very important mental note: never let Twilight study with Luna. If they did, they might very well enter a research singularity and never emerge again.  For the first few tunnels, it hadn’t been all that different from listening to Twilight, if a bit denser.  But Twilight usually had to take a break, if only to use the bathroom.

Luna had no such limitations.  There weren’t any clocks in Rarity’s dream, but he couldn’t imagine that less than several hours had passed. Several extremely dense hours. He had given up on trying to absorb everything Luna recited.  A few hours in, she had started drifting into the realms of theoretical dream physics, and he couldn’t make heads or tails of it.  Occasionally she dipped back into comprehensibility and he started paying attention much more, but it was rare.

Which was just as well.  He needed to focus on finding that key. Unfortunately, it eluded him just as easily as the finer points of Luna’s lecture.  

The two of them had uncovered some rather interesting memories in the course of their search.  He had never known that Rarity knew so many recipes for Vichyssoise.  Their hopes had risen upon finding what appeared to be a safe, but all it contained was a number of photographs of Rarity’s teenage “straight mane” phase and some baby pictures of her wearing an aggressively bright yellow and pink bonnet.  Then they had stumbled into her pile of leftover memories from school and spent a while sorting through cabinets full of half-remembered mathematical formulas and historical dates.  But still no key.

Spike emerged back into the stage room and sighed. There was only one more tunnel left. If the key wasn’t in there, he wasn’t sure where else they were supposed to look.  The knot of cave-maze-tunnel rooms twisted in on itself like a ball of yarn.  He didn’t want to even think about the possibility that some little side tunnel had escaped his notice.  His head was already starting to spin.  If he had to re-search everything, it would spin so hard that he’d bore a hole in the floor.

The final passageway was narrow, low-ceilinged, and empty except for the occasional cardboard box by the wall.  He cracked his knuckles and headed for the nearest box.  He set Luna down against the wall.

“...of course, this standard dream structure is merely an abstraction,” she was saying. “While it is quite useful to speak in general terms, it becomes progressively less accurate in specific situations, though it remains useful as a basis against which to compare non-standard experiences. This is particularly true when observation, however discreet, occurs, as an observers’ presence will necessarily act as a variable in dream formation.”

“Can you run that by me again without the jargon?” Spike asked. “I know I pick up a lot of technical terms from Twilight, but I don’t exactly have a Ph. D in Dream science.”

Luna sniffed. “I was simply pointing out that specific individual dreams must be different due to the different circumstances in which they form. For example, in our current situation there are a number of abnormal factors at work.”

“By ‘abnormal factors’ you mean the Nightmares, right?” he asked absently as he picked up a small box, one the size of his hand.  He reached in and drew out a single piece of dark green fabric.  As he pulled, it grew longer, as if he were retrieving it from a fabric roll.

“Yes, that is the greatest and most influential factor, of course.  But it is not the only one.”

“It isn’t?” His ears perked up as he piled the fabric on the floor.  He had already withdrawn at least half a dozen yards’ worth of it, and the box wasn’t any emptier.

“No. For example, our presence here influences the dream, though in a far more subtle fashion.”

“That’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?  I mean, this dream is built out of Rarity’s memories, but it’s not like we can really do much other than move some stuff around.”  He kicked another box over, then groaned in frustration as he found that it was full of pins and needles. 

“Actually, while our influence is certainly limited, we do have slightly more influence than simple physical manipulation.”

“What, like your manifestations or something?” Spike picked up the frame and stepped carefully over the pile of sharp objects. “Isn’t that limited to your magic though?  I can’t change stuff like that.”

“Not like that, no.  But you do have some subtle influence over what appears in the dream.  Or rather how things appear.”

“I do?” Spike tilted his head. Or at least that was how it looked to Luna. She couldn’t tell if he was turning his neck or just holding her crookedly as he headed deeper into the passage. At the very least at least he was paying attention now. “I didn’t think that any of my memories would pop up here unless it’s my dream?”

“That is true, but there is… perhaps you might call it a loophole.”

“A loophole?”

“Yes. While the substance of the dream is built out of Rarity’s memories and her perception determines how the dream appears.  However, whenever a dreamer becomes lucid, their own perspective begins to influence the dream as well, and it does so whether or not it is their own dream.”

“Wow, really?” Spike grinned. “That’s awesome!”

“Do not get your hopes too high.  The effects are quite minimal, and it is quite difficult to purposely cause any changes.” She raised her eyebrows. “But it is true that your mere presence in this dream changes it, however slightly.”

“That could be handy, I guess.” He stopped. “Crud.” The hallway had looked a lot longer a few seconds earlier, but it ended abruptly with a flat wall.  “Dead end.” He groaned.  “I guess we’ll have to look somewhere else. Or find somewhere to look that we haven’t searched already.”

“Not necessarily,” Luna said. “We ought to examine a bit closer.  Is there anything odd about the wall that blocks our path?”

“Is there anything odd?” Spike rolled his eyes. “What isn’t odd in this dream?” He turned back to the wall. “It’s… it’s a wall! What am I supposed to say about it? It’s just a perfectly normal.... wait a second.” He looked closer. “What is a normal wall doing in a dream like this?”

He put his claw against it. Nearly every wall he had seen so far had been uneven and lumpy, like the walls of cave. This one was perfectly flat, cutting straight across the passage. And while it did have a frame hanging on it, the picture within didn’t quite fit in with the others.  It was badly drawn, but all the others were the bad drawings of an experienced artist whose skill was skewed by stress, fatigue, or hurriedness.  But this one… it looks like whoever had drawn it simply had no idea what they were doing.  As a matter of fact, it reminded him of something…

“Is that…?” —he squinted at the picture— “That’s like something Sweetie Belle would draw!” He knocked on the wall. “It’s made of cardboard!  Did the Nightmares really think that a cardboard wall was going to stop us?”

“Well, it very nearly stopped you,” Luna said with a hint of pride. “Though it’s possible that the Nightmares are not responsible for it either. Rarity herself may have made a subconscious effort to maintain control of her memories.”

“Really? She can do that?”

“Not consciously, no.  But it is entirely possible that this is the result of her desires to protect the memories that she considers especially important to her.  If that is the case, there is a chance that the key may be there.  We need only to get through this false wall.”

“Oh, I can handle that, no problem.” Spike dug his claws into the wall, feeling them pierce through the thin barrier.  “It’ll take more than some cardboard to keep me from saving Rarity!”  The cardboard crinkled and tore and Spike pulled on it.  A huge chunk of it came away, leaving a dark hole in the wall.  He crouched and peered into the darkness. “Whoa.”

“What is it?” Luna asked.

“See for yourself.” Spike picked up Luna’s frame and shoved it through the gap.

The room beyond was dark.  Rather than flashing lights and strobes, a few candelabras cast a warm, flickering glow across the floor.  The pounding music suddenly sounded distant.  In its place, a soft and fuzzy piano melody filled the air, emanating from an antique victrola that against the far wall of the room.  The walls, barely illuminated by the candles, were draped in dark violet curtains. 

Aside from the record player, the room was mostly empty.  A familiar looking fainting couch was placed against one wall, and a dresser sat across from it.  Spike took a few steps forward and turned to examine the wall that he had broken through.  He found another picture frame. This one didn’t contain any sketches.  It contained a photograph.  Rarity was at the center, surrounded by her friends, all wearing their gala dresses.  But they weren’t at the gala, they were standing on the display stage at Carousel Boutique.  Spike recognized the picture. He had taken it.  After their impromptu fashion show for Hoity Toity, Twilight had insisted on immortalizing the moment.

“Well, that is a change of pace,” Luna said. “I assume that this space is indeed a creation of Rarity’s positive memories, is it not? You would know better than I would.”

“Yeah, this is definitely Rarity,” Spike mumbled. “I’d know that couch anywhere.  And that dresser is definitely hers, too. I helped her move it into her room.”

“Really? I did not think that you would be able to lift such a thing.”

Spike glowered at her. “Well, technically Twilight put it in her room, but I helped her make sure that it was straight.  Lots of moving it back and forth by an inch or two.”

“I see,” Luna said. “Now that we have established that this is indeed something of a sanctuary for Rarity’s memories, you must be particularly thorough in your search for the key. If this is where she has set apart her special memories, there is a good chance that it is here somewhere.  However, I would not get your hopes too high. It may only be a distraction.”

“It had better not be. I’ve spent enough time searching.” Spike strode over to the fainting couch and stuck his head underneath it. “Nope. Not under here.”

Luna watched in puzzlement. “I would’ve thought that you would check the drawers first…”

“That’s too obvious!” Spike said as he searched under the pillows. “You’d be surprised what you can find in a couch. I looked through our couch once and found like ten bits, a hairbrush, and Twilight’s copy of Daring Do and the Shrine of the Silver Monkey.”

“And did you find anything in this couch?”

“Not yet.  You ever find anything interesting your couch?,” —he paused— “Or throne, I guess. Do you even have couches?”

“In our private quarters, yes.” Luna thought for a moment. “Now that I think about it, Celestia claims she once found her crown between the cushions, though I am not sure how serious she was.”

Spike looked up in shock. “Celestia lost her crown?  I didn’t think she was the type to lose something like that.”

Luna snorted. “Believe me, you would be surprised at the things that my sister has managed to misplace.  When we succeed in rescuing her, perhaps you can ask her about it.”

“Oh, right.” Spike face fell for a moment. He wasn’t sure how he had forgotten about that. “I’ll make sure that I do. And if she gets mad about it, I’m telling her it was your idea.”

“Very well.”

“Doesn’t look like there’s anything useful in the couch,” Spike said as he replaced the pillows. “I did find a tube of lipstick, and the trophy that Rarity won at the Manehattan fashion show. No key, though.”

“So, the dresser, then.”  

Spike shrugged. “Sure.  I bet if she hid that thing anywhere, it’s in here.” He strode over and pointed to the jewelry box that sat on a doily on the center of the dresser.  He recognized it quite clearly.  It was carved from some sort of rare wood from a country whose name Spike couldn’t even pronounce, and it had an exceedingly intricate carving etched into the lid, portraying a sun and moon.

“You really think so?” 

“Of course! It’s where she keeps all of her most tasty jewelry. Unless it’s the Grand Galloping Gala or something, she never wears this stuff!  If she’s going to hide some precious memory, it’ll be in this box!” He held it out for Luna’s examination.

“If that were the case, wouldn’t it have a lock?” she asked.

Spike stared at Luna, then at the box, then back at Luna.

“That is weird, now that I think about it.” He shrugged. “This is no time to be worrying about that, anyway.”  He flipped the box over and dumped the contents on the dresser.  He listened for the sound of a key clonking onto the wood, but he didn’t hear it.  All he heard was some rustling.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Luna said slowly, “but the key does not appear to be in the box.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Spike grumbled. “What is this, more pictures?” He began to shuffle through them.  

Some of them he recognized: the group photo from Rainbow Dash’s qualifying run for the Equestria Games, Rarity and Sweetie Belle holding the 2nd place trophy from the Sisterhooves Social, one of the promotional shots from the Hearths Warming Eve pageant. But the other weren’t so familiar.  There was one of Rarity as a filly sitting in a rowboat next to her father, most of her head hidden by an enormous straw hat.  Another showed Rarity and her mother shrieking at the sight of a frying pan going up in flames.  Yet another showed a baby, who Spike could only guess was Sweetie Belle, chewing on a young Rarity’s tail while Rarity wrinkled her nose in displeasure.

Then there were some that he couldn’t understand at all.  One photo seemed to simply depict a large rock, and not even a particularly interesting rock either.  Why Rarity had lumped that in with her most precious memories, he couldn’t imagine.

“Oh come on!” He kicked the dresser, and immediately began to hop around on one foot. “Ow ow ow! That was stupid.”

“It really was,” Luna observed.

“You have to be kidding me!” Spike shook the box. “Where is it?”

“Not there, apparently,” Luna said.

“Very funny.” Spike tossed the box onto the couch. “That key has gotta be in here somewhere. Maybe you were right about the drawers.”  He grabbed the first one and yanked it clear out of the dresser, dumping it on the ground.  A flurry of more photographs poured out.  He proceeded to the next drawer, only to find it filled with more pictures. “Seriously?” He moved from drawer to drawer.  The pile of photographs at his feet grew.

“Spike, you should remember that there is a chance that the key is not here…”

“I don’t want to hear that,” he snapped. “We’ve already looked everywhere. If it’s not here somewhere, we’re never going to find it.”

“We will find it.” Luna glared at him. “Even if it means that we must continue to search everywhere all over again, with even more attention to detail.”  She paused. “Though I hope that will not be required.”

“Yeah, same here,” Spike put his claw on the handle of the final drawer.  “I don’t know if I can take much more of this.  Here we go!” He gave the draw a yank and it popped out of the dresser and clattered to the floor.

Luna watched intently as he shuffled through the contents.

“Heh, I remember this,” he said. “I kinda wish I didn’t, though.” He held up a picture of himself.  Even at a distance Luna could tell that he was several dozen times larger in the picture than he was in reality.

“Ah, yes. My sister told me about that incident.”

“Go figure,” he grumbled. “The one time I actually show up in her memory, and that’s the one that comes up.  The time where I turned into a giant monster and laid waste to Ponyville.”

“Such a memory would certainly be prominent.”

“Obviously, but that’s like the only memory of me that I’ve seen!” He kicked the empty drawer. “The only other time I saw myself in here was when she came to rescue me after I went on my dragon migration, and that wasn’t my finest moment either.”

“I would not put too much stock in that,” Luna said carefully.  “You must remember that a given memory’s prominence in a dream is hardly a reflection of how much the memories are valued.”

Spike snorted as he turned the drawer upside down and shook it.  “I thought this was where she hid all of her most valuable memories.  Couldn’t she have at least saved the ones where I tried to save her from the Diamond Dogs, or when I gave her that Fire Ruby?”

“Even if this is a hiding place for her memories, that hardly makes it a perfect indication of her perception of you.”

He looked at her and frowned. “I thought that dreams were a window into a pony’s mind or whatever.”

“You underestimate how complex minds can be,” she said. “Spike…” Her voice softened. “It is true that you can learn a great deal about somepony from their dreams.  But that is not the same as knowing them.  I know about Rarity from this dream, but you know her from your day-to-day life.  You cannot let what you find in a dream make you forget who she really is.”

“You’re just saying that,” Spike grumbled.

“I am saying it, yes,” she said sternly. “I am saying it because it is true.  I would think you would trust me when it comes to matters involving dreams.”

Spike stared at the massive pile of photos that now littered the floor. “I guess so.  It’s just… I would’ve thought that I’d have been in her memories somewhere.  And not as a giant monster who tried to kidnap her or some kid who ran away from home.  Why couldn’t she have any good memories of me.”

“I’m sure she does,” Luna answered. “They simply are not here. And there are a number of reasons why that might be. Off the top of my head I can identify at least eight.  Would you like to hear them all?”

“No thanks. I’ll just take your word for it. I’ve been listening to you talk about dream stuff for like, six hours now. Let’s-”

“It’s closer to eighteen hours, actually. In dream time at least.”

“What?” Spike’s eye twitched. “How could it be that long?”

“You’d be surprised at how quickly time can pass when you do not physically tire or have to stop to use the bathroom.”

Spike threw the drawer down. “How can we search for that long and not find anything? Where else am I supposed to look?”

“Where we have already looked, only closer.”

“C-closer!?” Spike sputtered. “I’ve been looking so close that my eyes are starting to hurt, and they aren’t even real eyes!  And you want me to go back and look over everything again? I can’t take much more of this!”

Luna sighed. “Spike, I realize that this experience is a trying one, but unfortunately we have no other options.  As much as I would love to give you a chance to rest yourself, we do not have time for that at the moment.  There is no one else who can—”

“I know that already!” he snapped. “Can’t I at least take a break?  It’s not like I’m being chased or anything. Besides, you said that time moves really fast inside the dreams anyway.  I want to save Rarity, but my head is going to explode if I have to go through this whole dream a second time without a break. Can’t I take a dream nap or something?”

“In theory, yes, but you seem to have forgotten one important fact.”

“What?”

“It is true that time moves at an increased rate within the dream.  However, Rarity is also within the dream.  She may not be aware of the dream, but she experiences it at the same rate that we do.”

“Wait.” Spike turned to face her so quickly that it looked like he snapped his neck. “You mean that Rarity has trapped in a nightmare for as long as we’ve been searching?!  For a whole day?”

“Longer, actually. Ever since the spell put her to sleep, she has been trapped in the midst of her fears.  It would take some time to calculate exactly how long it would be from her perspective, but it has almost certainly been several days at least.”

“You mean that Rarity’s been stuck in her nightmares for that long?” His voice cracked as he spoke. “I thought that it only lasted that long if you were, you know, awake in the dream or whatever.”

“Well, the lack of lucidity would make it difficult for her to keep track of the time, but—”

“Why didn’t you tell me that!? You’ve been lecturing me about dreams for hours and you never mentioned that during all that time Rarity is caught in the middle of a nightmare?”

“I had assumed you realized that. I am quite sure that I mentioned that any consciousness in a dream will typically experience the passage of time at comparable—”

“Whatever!” Spike interrupted. “I’m going to go find that key and get Rarity out of here!”  He made for the gap in the wall. 

“Spike, wait!” Luna called after him. “You must—”

“Ow!” Spike cried as he tripped over the drawer.  He tumbled forward and slammed head-first into the wall.

“...watch where you are going,” Luna finished.

“Ugh.” Spike sat up, just in time for the framed photo on the wall to fall on his head.

Luna watched silently for a moment as Spike say prone. “It is a good thing that your dream self cannot suffer any permanent damage.”

“Yeah,” Spike mumbled, his voice muffled by the frame, which now lay on top of him. Then he made an odd noise. “Pfffha.”

“Spike? Are you alright?”

He made another noise. For a moment, Luna thought he was crying.  Then it began to get louder.  She could hardly believe her ears. He was laughing.

“I should have given him time to rest after the first six hours,” she muttered. “The stress has finally gotten to him.”

“I’m such an idiot!” He snapped as he kicked the picture frame away. “Why didn’t I think of looking there?!”

“Spike, what are you talking about?”

“I found the key, that’s what I’m talking about!” He held up the picture frame and spun it around.  On the back of the picture, written in what appeared to be lipstick, were the words “Hoity Toity Show, #2.”  Underneath the writing, held to the back of the photo with tape, was a key.  It was, naturally, gold, and set in the handle of the key was a fire ruby.

“Ah. We neglected to check the frame.” Despite her own frame being monochromatic, Luna blushed. “How embarrassing.”

“Who cares about embarrassing?! We found the key! Let’s get Rarity out of that cage.”

“It is wonderful that we’ve found what we were searching for,” Luna said quickly, “but you really ought to—”

“There’s no time to lose!” Spike interrupted. “Let’s go!” He grabbed the key and tore it from the back of the frame. 

Luna flinched.

For a few seconds, everything remained normal, or at least as normal as the dream could be.  Then the lights, which had covered the full spectrum, suddenly limited themselves to the warm side of the color wheel. The beam of light that shone through the hole in the wall was a harsh red. The copious bass in the music vanished, leaving only a whining drone that sounded not unlike a siren.

“W-what’s going on!?” Spike clamped both his hand around the key like his life depended on it.

“The Nightmare seems to have designed countermeasures for—”

“We don’t have time for that!” Spike grabbed Luna’s picture frame and began to shove it through the hole in the wall. “Can you give me the short version?”

“When you grabbed the key you set off some sort of alarm and now the Nightmare will be actively attempting to stop you.”

“What do you mean?” he asked as he jogged down the passage back towards the stage. “You mean that they weren’t trying to stop me before? What else are they going to” —he turned a corner and skidded to a halt— “do?”

The answer stood in front of him.  The empty suits and dresses that had been meandering aimlessly around the stage were now lined in ranks across the end of the hallway.  The coloration was inexplicably darker, and most of them now had pointy bits that Spike did not remember seeing before.

“That can’t be good,” he said, in a voice far more calm than he felt.

“What can’t be?” Luna said. “I can’t see anything from down here!”

Spike held up the picture frame, not unlike a shield.

“Oh.”

A flurry of motion swept through the foremost row of clothing and a metallic shimmer shot through the air.  Spike stumbled backward as a hail of sharpened sewing implements landed around him.  As he turned to run headlong down the corridor he could tell that Luna’s picture frame was riddled with needles and the occasional pencil.  He rounded the corner just in time to avoid a large pair of scissors that whizzed past his head, embedding itself in the wall.

“What should I do!? Should I head back to that secret room?” he gasped.

“No. It is a dead end and no longer secret. You must—” Luna’s words were cut off by another barrage of pointy objects. The clothes were following him.

“This isn’t fair!” Spike shouted as he sprinted down another passage.

“Why should it be?” Luna answered. “I am quite sure that the Nightmares adhere to the old adage that if you find yourself in a fair fight, your strategy is—” A tearing sound replaced Luna’s voice.

Spike looked over his shoulder.  An enormous pair of shears had torn through the frame, ripping the painting nearly in half.  The lower portion hung by a thin strip of canvas.

“Luna! Are you alright?”

“I- -fine. --ly a project-” Her voice cut in and out like a radio with lousy reception. “-orry about me. -lock the cage! It- -top the—” The canvas snapped and the bisected picture went blank.

“Cage! Got it!” Spike dropped the empty frame and clutched the key with both claws. That was doable. He could stick a key in a lock.  That would be easy.  Getting to the lock on the other hand…

Why are these things suddenly so fast? The clothes were flying after him, literally. Most of them weren’t even bothering to pretend that they contained bodies and were simply hovering along, pausing only to launch more sharp objects. I just need to get back to the— he turned the corner and groaned.  He wasn’t the only one who realized that the passage had an opening at the other end. 

A bright pink leisure suit shot forward and before he could even react, it wrapped him up like a straightjacket.  He tried to breathe flame over it, but a second outfit already had a heavy scarf around his neck. The flames singed the edge of the fabric, but he could barely move his head. He teetered back and forth as more and more outfits layered themselves on top of him. 

“Whoa!” He attempted to shuffle forward to keep his balance, but a single large stocking had forced itself over both of his feet.  He fell flat on his face. “Ugh. At least the carpet is soft,” He mumbled. “I’ve gotta get out of this stuff!  I have to get that cage open. And Rarity would kill me if she caught me wearing this stuff, even if I don’t want to.”

He closed his eyes and pretended that he was back at home, standing in front of a mirror. “Lookin’ good, Spike,” he muttered as he flexed every muscle in his body.  The tip of his tail waggled slightly, but the rest of his body barely moved.  “Okay, so I guess that’s not going to work.  Maybe if I…” he scrunched his body up, doing his best inchworm impression.  With great effort he managed to arch his back for a few seconds, but the suit was too strong. He landed back on his face, the clothes holding him rigid as a board.

“Okay, plan B… I don’t have a plan B!  Maybe I can cut through this stuff with the key.”  He tried to move his claws, but as soon as he started, the sleeves began to tighten. “No, that’s no good. If I try to move any more I’ll drop the key.”  He sighed deeply into the carpet. “Ugh, I need a breath mint.” Then an idea sparked in his mind. “Wait! Duh! Carpet!”

He took a deep breath, or at least the deepest breath that he could, and exhaled a wave of fire onto the floor.  The flames spread into the carpet.  The ranks of garish clothing that stood around him drew back as the patch of fire grew. He could feel the fabric’s grip weaken around him as the fire caught.  He flexed again, and this time the fabric fell to smouldering pieces.

“Whew, that’s better. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that sooner!” He dashed down the passage, spitting fireballs ahead of him.  The enemy clothing darted away, not daring to venture into the burning patches of carpet.  “If this keeps up, I’ll be able to make it back to the cage with no problem at— whoa!”  A large razor embedded itself in the floor next to him.  The clothing couldn’t reach him, but the flames weren’t going to do anything against projectiles.

“Good thing I’ve got scales.” He grinned as some needles rattled off of his back.  “As long as they don’t throw anything too big, I should be—” Half a second later he realized that he should’ve kept his mouth shut.  

A portable sewing machine crashed into his back, sending him sprawling.  The key slipped from his claws and bounced along on the floor.

“Noooo!” He grasped futility at the key, but it was out of his reach. It skidded across the carpet and slid under a nearby sofa. Spike leaped to his feet and braced himself for the inevitable attack.  It never came.  “Huh?” He glanced back and forth.  “Where’d they all go?”

The ranks of haute couture that had begun to close in on him were nowhere to be found.  Off at the end of the passage he could see a pale blue nightgown shuffling into the distance. Wait a minute, I thought they were all red and yellow and evil looking. And now that he had a moment of relative quiet, he realized that the light and sound had reverted back to music and disco lights.  

“Everything is back to normal?” he asked no one in particular. “Why would the Nightmare suddenly stop attacking me now? They even managed to make me drop the key, and… duh!” he smacked himself on the forehead. “Of course, it’s the key! That whole alarm thing went off as soon as I touched it, so when I dropped it, it shut off.” He thought for a moment. “That’s kind of a lousy alarm system, but I guess I shouldn’t complain.”

He crouched down. “Of course it went under something.  Just my luck. Wonder if that’s what Luna was talking about when she said that I influenced the dream somehow.”  He felt around underneath the sofa.  As his claws found the key, the light went red and the sirens started up again.  He pulled his hand back and everything snapped back.  Then he smiled so widely that his face hurt.

“This is going to be easier than I thought.”





Spike clamored onto the stage.  Making his way back through the corridors and through the throng of clothes had been almost embarrassingly easy.  Part of him even wanted to feel sorry for the Nightmare who had designed the thing.  Then he saw Rarity cowering in the center of the cage, murmuring to herself.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to infringe on your design and it was an accident of course I didn’t want to hurt her I was just frustrated and the deadline crept up on me and I had to cut a few corners and I didn’t want to but I had no choice and it’ll all be fine…”

Spike’s sympathy for the Nightmare evaporated.  He began to unwrap the folds of fabric that he had hidden the key in, being careful not to touch it.  The last thing he needed was to get mobbed by every enemy in the dream at the same time.  

“I really hope this isn’t a fake…” he muttered as he slid it into the lock. The key matched the cage well enough, but the lock itself looked like something that had been recently unearthed from an archeological dig.  “Here goes nothing.”

He twisted the key with all the strength he could muster.  It stuck for a moment, then turned with a clunk.  The shackle that held the cage door shut detached completely from the rest of the lock, which fell to the floor and shattered into a pile of metal bits and pieces.  Spike reached for the cage door, but stopped. 

The cage began to wobble as if the whole thing were made of clay.  The gems encrusted in the edges of the cage cracked and shattered.  The whole cage began to twist, as if an invisible hand was trying to tear it open.  The cage groaned from the tension, and then burst like a balloon, raining shards across the stage.

“Rarity! Are you okay!” Spike leaped forward to where Rarity lay. He reached out and gently put his hand on her hoof. 

“H-huh?” She raised her head slowly, as if it had an enormous weight on it. She blinked at him, yawned, and shook her head as if she were trying to shake off a deep sleep. “Spike?” She rubbed her forehead. “I just had the most awful dream…”

“You’re okay!” Spike grabbed her in a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re alright!”

“Y-yes, I am,” she squeaked out. “But may I please ask what- what…”

“What what?” Spike asked.

“What is that?”

Spike turned to look where she was pointing. The shards of the cage had begun to evaporate, sending up lines of thin smoke, like that of a recently extinguished candle. The strings of smoke tangled together in the air in a strange, ethereal knot.  The amorphous shape hissed like steam. Spike swallowed. He had no doubt that the sound was directed at him.  Then it hissed again, this time making a noise like air escaping from a balloon.  Then, with a pop, it vanished.

“W-what was that?” Rarity repeated. “And come to think of it, where am I? What’s going on?”

Spike opened his mouth to answer, then realized he had no idea where to even start.

“It is a long story,” said a voice from below him. 

Both he and Rarity looked down to see that Luna’s face had materialized in the pattern of the carpet that now sat where the cage had been.

“P-princess Luna!” Rarity gasped and then toppled over onto a fainting couch that hadn’t been there a moment earlier.

“Do you like sneaking up on people?” Spike said, rolling his eyes. “And can she even do that? Fainting inside a dream?”

“Apparently so,” Luna answered. “You ought to wake her up. We have much to discuss.”