[Content Warning: (inaccurately depicted) obsessive mental illness]

“C’mon, Twilight. It’s time for supper!”

Twilight Velvet peeked into Twilight’s study. The young mare was hunched over her notebook, her pen dancing across the page in long, curled strokes. Velvet walked over to get a closer look. “What are you working on?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m just writing,” Twilight replied.

“All right. Well, when you’re finished, come on down, okay? Supper’s just about ready.”

Read More

Her hoard is radiant; the scalding fragility of the sun and the diamond-hazed mystery of the moon, both cajoling for her reflection.

Read More

"We're almost out of time," said Twilight.

Pinkie waved a hoof dismissively. "Time's just a product of equine perception. An illusion caused by entropic direction."

"Exactly!" said Duck. "That's exactly what I've been trying to say."

Ember stared at the piece of parchment in her hands.

"This is stupid," she said, puffing coils of smoke from her nostrils. Lying beside her, Twilight giggled into the piece of the duvet she had pressed against her muzzle.

"Only if we're playing antonyms," she replied, her voice dripping with delight.

"Well we're not," snapped Ember, folding her arms. "So it is."

Read More

"I sometimes wonder whether I need absolutes in my life." Ocellus fixed her everything on the horizon beyond the window, her chest a mere flutter of existence in the otherwise stillness of the room. "You know, like the—"

Read More