The edge of the forest stood sentinel before him, tall and imposing. Though the hot, summer day was partly blocked by the selfsame trees, no inviting breeze came to dispel the heat he felt. He panted short, heavy breaths in effort to recover from the gallop that brought him all the way across Ponyville.
He wiped his brow, calming down. The hidden trap door entrance lie covered in a patch of grass before him, the handle barely visible. He picked it up with his magic and pulled, popping it open with a pneumatic hiss.
Whatever happens, nopony is at fault, he told himself.She might not remember me, but if I stand by and do nothing, she will never remember me. And that...
The crystals lining the walls were dimly lit, a few flickering in an effort to remain so.
But Lyra, please remember…
The echo of his hoofsteps bounced low; this hallway, which was once home, felt like a tiger ready to pounce. He acutely felt the tightening of his skin as his senses went on full alert. Every dust speck that floated in the air seemed like an arrow, every shadow an enemy.
As he tip-toed, a light, sweet tone mingled with the dust. That's Lyra's voice… he realized. She's singing.
The words were indistinct, yet the sound calmed him. He could never make out the words, for whenever she sung that tune, she sung it when she thought he couldn't hear him. Behind closed doors, while she thought he was asleep… but he never said anything.
The words, he reasoned, were not important to him. It was the reason she was singing; for that, he let her keep her secret.
He smiled despite himself. I never had secrets I knew and withheld, he thought. What can you do when you've been around for only a month or so?
The soft, dirt floor adequately muffled his hoofsteps. Even so, he stepped as if it were glass. As he finally approached the living room, the singing had grown fully distinct; he caught the final line as the tune petered out.
"...feel forgotten, feel worthless~"
A lump formed in his throat as he recognized the words. It was the final line of the first poem she had ever wrote, borne of her time and hardships she faced after her mother had taken her own life.
He whispered the first line unconsciously, a familiar tingling sensation from his Cutie Mark prickling his flank. "I live to love and carry on..."
He stood barely within the shadows, a lightly flickering fireplace casting a dim shadow before him. He saw Lyra's shadow extending into the hallway, freezing at his utterance. His ears stood at end as he looked onward, waiting for a sign.
After a moment of tense silence, she finally spoke. "...W-who's there?"
He hesitated for a second, then stepped forward. "...Please don't be afraid. My name is Pennaprose... do you remember me?"
He took a few more cautious steps, lowering his head. She said nothing, but wore an expression of great disturbance. He could tell she did not.
"All right," he said after a few seconds. "You do not, then–"
"H-how do you know those words? How do you know this place?"
He glanced back up slightly. In her eyes held a tinge of indignity, but it lie plastered in a layer of fear. He keenly felt the chill of her gaze, and knew the weight of the consequences of whatever he could say next.
"T-there are things you have forgotten now, but–"
"Don't patronize me! I know I don't know much, but that doesn't answer my question! Who are you?"
He balked, taking another step back. Coughing, he shook his head and advanced one more time. "If you cannot remember my name... then I have nothing left to tell you. I have precious few tales to recant of this world."
He heard the fireplace crackle and spit embers, filling the unnerving silence. Lyra backed up, never looking away as she did.
"But I know you, Lyra Heartstrings. This is your home."
He felt a fell breeze flow in from behind him, a relic of the open door he left. The fire in the hearth wavered and weakened for a second before roaring back.
She stood frozen, any trace of indignity or anger vanishing. All that was left was consumed by fear. Another lump formed in his throat, this one far more painful.
"And I know those words... because you once told me, Lyra. Your first ever poem."
She backed up even further, nearly tripping into the fireplace. "Y-you know I am...?"
"A poet? Of course. You found your Mark in this place, left by a gracious, unknown donor. You spent a week here, doing nothing but reading the books that lie nestled here... and emerged with your purpose," he said in a rising tone, tears pooling behind his eyes. "One thousand, four hundred, eighty six times you had recited that last line to yourself before finding an inner strength to go on."
Suddenly, a glint of steel broke the air and came between them. "You... stalker! Leave this place! I'm not afraid to use this!"
Djiingoh was pointed squarely at his chest, the fear in her eyes given way to a crazed certainty. "You don't belong in this place...! Leave!"
He paused, feeling a steady stream of tears fall down his cheeks. The lump disappeared, but he let no sound escape his lips. Without another word, he turned around and walked back to the doorway.
"No fault of either of us. None... at all," he uttered hollowly. "Your blade has not swung at me, yet your words have pierced my heart all the same. Wherever your path leads, remember the shadows you cast. For I will always be there. ...I am sorry, Ly."
He broke into a rushed gallop, feeling the tears fly. I had told myself to be prepared for the worst case scenario...
The multicolored crystals cast light into his watery eyes, drowning the world around him into a cornucopia of color. His breath fell short as he wheezed and sputtered through the hallway at breakneck speeds.
Neither I nor she had done nothing wrong...! So why has this happened to us?
The blinding daylight pierced the relative darkness of the corridor. He squinted through the tears as he reached the entrance.
This nightmare I've descended into... This absolute...!
The image of a single pony came to his mind amongst the chaotic brew of thoughts and feelings in his mind.
Bassino... this is his doing! But...
And yet anger did not come to him. He was not sure what he was feeling, but he was certain anger was not a part of it.
The day was hardly over, but he curled up at the trunk of an Everfree tree and tried to calm himself, to fall asleep. Yet no matter how he tried, he could not return to dreaming so easily.