//------------------------------//
// Prologue 
// Story: Summers of Change 
// by Silver Letter 
//------------------------------//

	There is a beach house built on the dunes only meters away from the beautiful seas that break upon Equestrian soil. The view is gorgeous; from large paned windows, a visitor can look to the north and see the far flung bluffs where the old lighthouse still stands. But the owner of this house isn’t enjoying the view or the house itself. It’s a million bit home of technological marvels and it gives her such little pleasure that she sits in the dark instead of basking in its immense warmth. 

Pixel Wavelength does not yearn for the sea or the crystal air of night. For once, silence is more than enough. She honesty believes that she wouldn’t be melancholy to never again see the bright blue light of technology or to hear the tone that a voice she can only see has arrived at her two hooves. If it did come, she would know who it is in an instant. As she sits outside on her balcony, she turns a bottle of wine in her hoof so she can look at the label. She could have guessed that it’s his favorite. The same pony that she last spoke to. The one so resourceful as to have something like that waiting for her at her doorstep before she even arrived herself. That’s who he is, the kind of pony that can give her anything she pleases without a second thought. But that is no longer enough. In fact, the darkness is making her understand how little it means to her. 

She can’t remember the last time one of her old friends had visited. She has never had them stay overnight because her house has a server room but not a guest room. Her technological bastion is best suited for parties with its bar and modern furniture from the city. Conversations and memories then become so fleeting like a sandcastle on the beach, the kind she likes to see foals make. Depriving herself of her own technology and she can barely recall the faces of her guests much less their telephone numbers. She wouldn’t want to call them anyway. The company of seagulls is good enough for a mare like her; the kind that has others tell her what kind of wine she would love. She won’t open it. Not until he’s in her company which is exactly what he expects. A note for her makes it clear that she will love it as much as he does. 

The wind pushes against her and it feels chilly. But she would rather stay out than go back in where it’s nothing but dead air. At least from the balcony, she can see the lights of the city. Each twinkles in the distance, unassuming and plain. But closer still, each home has the blue light of her technology. None can escape it. When she thinks about how softly it can beckon, it reminds her of the sea. The tug is gentle at first but then it becomes so much more until one reaches a point where it’s impossible to escape. Even now, the sea reflects the moonlight as it breaks on the shore but beyond is a vast grey expanse. 

The guilt becomes so strong that she wants to drown it out by crying. The edges of her eyes are already darkened as if smudged by grease. It’s impossible to forget those she has hurt even if she can’t see them. She should be angry but it can’t come to that. Who would want to add more anger to the world? So then, what can a mare with such guilt do? She feels like it has deprived her of her independence and she hates it. If only she had been more careful. But blaming herself for not seeing the future is hardly productive and she knows it. 
It is ultimately her problem and if she is going to do something about it then it isn’t going to be in the house built upon her mistakes. But if she left then she would need a message of her own. She looks at the bottle and for once, fancies herself a drink. But this time, her own magical powers opens it.