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// J’en exige plus ! 
// Story: Why did the Cutie Mark Crusaders cross the road? 
// by Kryssi 
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Spike leerily stepped down from his wooden stepladder, rung by rung.

Within an hour and a half, he had completed his intricate building. The resulting structure surrounded the young dragon, forming a square-shaped bastion that covered two pony-lengths in height. Steeples, placed in each of the four corners, stood valiantly atop the roof, reaching half a pony-length more. Attached to both sides of the walls were smaller towers with miniature windows and doors, the latter of which was not openable, of course.

Throughout the construction phase, the dragon had taken brief respites to craft origami of ponies (and himself, of course) using paper of every hue. The denizens populated the area enclosed by the bastion, and he imagined them mingling, chatting in whimsical small talk, catching up with long-lost friends, and gossiping about decreases to the harsh tariffs that the villainous Queen Celestia imposed.

It was like the Ponyville Market on a day unstricken by disaster and woe, where ponies could mingle without fear of invasion by bugbears, manticores, changelings, or all of them at once.

He admired his majestic pièce de résistance with his arms akimbo, marvelling at the picturesque setting, before a loud vociferation interrupted his moment of pride.

“Hey Spike, I’m home!” Twilight blared from the front door.

Unfortunately for Spike, amplified earth pony strength was a prominent trait of alicorns, and such power was reflected in the extraordinary capacity of their lungs, as Twilight had studied weeks earlier for her thesis. Combined with the fact that the crystalline castle walls were amongst the most effective in the deflection of sound into echoes (which she incidentally also studied), any echoes created were lengthened into an extended clamour.

Spike could only gape at his œuvre falling inwardly before his very eyes, horror plastered on his face. The resulting avalanche buried him in all twelve stacks of playing cards, but flimsy material slid harmlessly off his scales.

He collapsed forward, his face contorted, twisted into a ghastly expression. Water swelled in his eyes and trickled down his cheeks until it settled upon the pile on the ground.

“Spike? Spike!” the alicorn cried, but the dragon only wept softly in response.