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// 15. Coy to the bitter end, I see (Skywriter) 
// Story: Dream A Little Dream Of Me 
// by horizon 
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Rosetta

My darling Nostalgia,
Coy to the bitter end, I see.  This is always the dance
we do (did?)
but we both know you are not to be pitied.  You knew
the nature of this dance when it first began
from the band's first notes, when they struck up
"The Colt Who Loved the Inquisitor"
you knew this dance.
I do not know what poor soul will find your missive
while sifting through the ashes of Myinnkyun, or what
she will feel when she does
probably sorrow
that this letter will never find its mark.
She need not fret.
She does not know us.
To you, my love, I say, "Confession received."
I knew all already.
I loved you still.

* * *

The truth is this:
We all burn with needs, my love,
yours no more shameful than anyone's.
-a scout who'd ruin a merchant to prevent a war
-a politician who'd foment rage to win an election
-a dancer who'd conspire with a monster to hide her perfidy
-and a golden kelpie lurking beneath the waves
basking in the rumble of an approaching storm

* * *

Rosetta I am called, for like the fabled translating-stone
I open the doors of language.
I know and understand the lowing of the Mooken
the mad chitter of the Protean
and the seductive keen of the Siren
(a convenient gift, for my occupation;
it is helpful to know the words of the dreams that I see)
but I have also come to know that language is a trivial thing
a fine suit of clothes we wrap our needs in
So we can imagine there are higher and purer motives for them
So we can imagine we are more than beasts who feed
So we can imagine we are a greater thing than, say:

-a Protean insect, nourished by the love of a Mooken bull
(who himself does not yet realize his mate is long dead
slain by the fangs of the very beast he lies with)
who one day decides that while nourished is good
stuffed to bursting is better
and who does not yet know how the betrayal of trust
can turn sweetest love into bitter, unpalatable hate
sending her fleeing through the jungle to the as-yet-untainted well
of Myinnkyun
where she adopts a new face 
and pierces him who once pierced her, with a far different spear

So we can imagine we are a greater thing than, say:
-a golden-eyed mare, nourished by the love of a sun-blind scout
who one day decides that while nourished is good
stuffed to bursting is better
and in her eagerness to taste both night and day
forms a pact with the Protean
little realizing how high the price would become
or how deadly are the storms
that rise from the beating of insect wings

So we can imagine we are a greater thing than, say:
-a Siren, nourished by the gentle strife of a quarrelsome village
who one day decides that while nourished is good
stuffed to bursting is better
and who does not yet realize that a roaring bonfire of hate
(while warm at the time)
consumes all
and leaves nothing but cold ash in its passing.
"One death will fan the flames higher," she says
and, taking a cue from her younger blue cousin
(who seeks, improbably, to make harmony with the land-ponies!)
comes to an old, troubled merchant-mare
lured to the docks by the Protean's friendly but stolen face
and with her song makes her want the quiet of the deep, smothering water
more than anything in the world
more than life

So we can imagine we are a greater thing than, say:
-a night-colored Princess, nourished by the faint praise of a job well done
who one day decides that while nourished is good
stuffed to bursting is better
and
(you can see where I'm going with this, I think).

* * *

Everfree is in ruins.
Even now the Inquisition turns inward
trying desperately to find the distinction between
those loyal to the Night, and those loyal to its banished Princess.
(It is an impossibly narrow divide.)
I do not fancy they'd like what they'd find
should they turn their gaze on me.
Therefore will I become the smallest of poppies
complete my paperwork with a minimum of fuss
and not remark overmuch on loose ends.
(Shall I ever know how Peridot woke poor Tommyrum in the dead of night
and yet saw sun before the dark took her?
Perhaps not; when all about is chaos, closure is more dear than truth.)
So on the matter of Myinnkyun, I will write:
"Colony destroyed by animal attack."
Because it is true.
Because we are--all of us--attacking animals.
The Protean who fed on love
The Siren who fed on hate
And everyone in between who fed, alternately, on both.
I feel no guilt, because none of it will matter; 
all will be ruin before any force can be mustered.
The walls of Myinnkyun torn down, the Mooken decimated,
the two sirens swum away, one fat and gleeful, the other destroyed
and you, my love, lost forever in a literal pipe-dream
regretting such little things.
In a mind so full of burdens, I hesitate to add one more
but I will
because I, too, am a beast with needs.

This is what I ask of you:

Let go.

Let go of all that weighs you down.

Know, at the last, how small it all is.

and once, one time, before the coming of the dark,

dream a little dream of me.

--Rosetta