Reedwhisper

by Woundikin

Chapter 2

I nodded through the years. It’s funny really, how fast your childhood moves by. Here you are, thinking you have all the time in the world, all the world to explore, and then you wake up. Sometimes waking is the hardest thing to do. Just getting up in the morning, into a cold, uninviting world. Saying goodbye to your soft pillow, your own tolerant company. I grew up, I assume. I didn’t realize it. The world stayed the same, it was I who changed.

Derpy changed too. “Good morning,” she said, enervated. We slept in separate beds now. She had a blue one across the room. It was strange to have a new thing in this house. It disagreed with my own image of the place. A pony’s home is her palace, after all. Is this home? I looked at Derpy, crawling out of bed. My fellow. A smile, regard. My constant sympathizer.

“Last day of school!” she muttered, dragging herself to the door. Last day of school. The ultimate test. I rolled out of bed, hitting the soft floor with a clump. Trundling towards the door. To the bathroom. To begin my morning rituals. The holy acts. I smiled. The washroom was occupied by Derpy. She beat me. Mutely grumbling, I stumbled downstairs. Gilda was there, cooking breakfast. She didn’t change.

“Are you excited, dear?” she asked. I tried to look alive. I tried to feel alive. I was numb upon so early waking. Numb and cold. The crust in the middle of my eyes burned and crackled with each prolonged blink.

I smiled sleepily. “That’s nice,” replied Gilda. Gilderoy was gone. At work, like most adults. Constantly working, paid or otherwise. Observed or otherwise. He stayed away most of the time. Necessary obligations, all that. Five years of constant moving. He was a mechanic. A machine doctor. I’ve been to his workshop before, in downtown Ponyville. Quiet, peaceful, undisturbed, just like him. A griffin who enjoys the company of gadgets. A griffin who fixed things. Gilda turned away quickly, and continued to stir the melted porridge. A griffin who could fix most things. Sweet Gilda, holding together her adopted family with her mediocre cooking and distant parenting. Ever still sweet, though.

My breakfast was laid about across our polished wooden table. My magic caused the meal to zoom into my open mouth, without the unessential movement of my fatigued limbs. Munch, munch, munch. Burned, like usual. I partially filled my empty belly. I was famished, though. Last night, Gilda attempted to make soup with our limited ingredients. Revolting. Thinking of this, the porridge didn’t seem too bad. One chew at a time. Fine, if one just paid attention to the texture. Scrutinize the desirable traits. Selective optimism.

Derpy entered. Her mane was brushed. Straight and choppy hair. As fair and light as her eyes, perpetually uncoordinated. Much more graceful in the air than on the floor. She mostly flew everywhere, though if she attempted to do so in this house, she would inevitably scrape against the narrow walls. Gilda would have to querulously clean up the mess. Lovingly cursing Derpy’s name.

“You can use the bathroom, if you want,” said Derpy, acknowledging me. Nod, nod, nod. I was still stomaching the porridge. Gilda darted to another saucepan, smoldering. The musty aura filled the air. “I’ll open a window,” Derpy offered. She did so. Breathe in, and out. Delicious air.

I scampered upstairs. We didn’t have a shower. I tried to wash myself as best I could with a wash towel and our water basin. Awake? I ruffled the water out of my hair. Drilled a comb through it. Futile. Put it in a rubber band. It stuck out at the ends. You win some, you loose some, I figured. Not everyone can have Derpy’s smooth locks, yellow and glistening in the sunlight. Nobody would appreciate it if that were so.

Trotting down the stairs, pulling my book bag over my shoulder, rubbing familiarly against my raw flesh. I needed a new strap. My skin was developing a rash. I itched at it, trying to let it adjust, and relax. No soap. Magic? I pondered. No. Best not to add even more attention to myself. I was the only blank flank in my class. I didn’t know why, though I was expecting my cutie mark any day now, even though the arrival would be three years late. I was assuming I’d procure something silent, like a clam.

I made it to the bottom of the stairs, and there was Derpy, waiting for me. “There you are,” she said. Her voice had lowered pitch over time, but it still had that cute scratchiness. “Let’s go.” She had received bubbles as her cutie mark. I followed them out the door. She had a very bubbly personality, muted only by the clammy dank of morning.

“Goodbye, Girls!” Gilda shouted after us. “And good luck!” I’ve always expected Derpy to answer for me, but she was silent. A preoccupied mind? It was barely dawn, I noticed as we left through our mahogany door, out of my heart’s keepsake. Into the cobbled path, leading to another path, leading to town. Best to start now. Scurry quickly.

The sun was rising over the spectral forest. We lived in the opening of the mysterious timberland, constantly protected by the shadowy trees. Away from the faces of cruel, unsympathetic ponies. Away from the problems of bucolic life. Striding on the path, trying not to stumble on the cluttered undergrowth. Woodland creatures skirted around the path nervously, as if escaping an identified fate. A known enemy. A fox, maybe, or a cat.

The woods were peaceful in the morning. A peaceful, slow life. Only waiting to grow, to choose the next path that comes along. It was a slow life, a superficial one. Derpy and I stumbled through it together, merely attempting to live the happiest with what we’ve been given.

Derpy hovered above me, flapping her wings passively, in unfathomable though. The shadows of the leaves dappled across her grey flank. “Are you anxious?” Derpy asked.

I scrutinized the nettles beneath my feet, and nod nod nodded. I felt awfully sensationless for what was supposed to be the most important day in any filly’s life. I’ve been numb all my childhood, though I’ve submerged closer to the heavy earth, and my mind has sunken to its obscure depths. I felt myself with the world.

“What if…” Derpy started, docilely. She was worried, though. “What if I don’t pass? What if I get rejected?” Derpy continued to fly, her voice juddering. Being incapable of responding, I have become more like a diary to Derpy that a correspondent. We all need somepony to talk to, somepony who cares. At first, I was forced to care. Then, I began to. I cared about this pony’s reality. I’ve grown in other ways. I see the world for what it is, and not the illusion of my youth. I thought about my birth parents sometimes. Derpy would talk about hers occasionally. Her parents were dead. She didn’t know how they died, they just did. Gilda and Gilderoy cared for and raised her like a child of their own.

“I’m sure you’ll pass,” she resumed. “You’re really smart, and good at magic and everything. But me? I’ll just ruin it all! I’ll knock something over, and get held back, never be accepted. Never get a job, never be approved…” This was something she constantly thought about. She was very self-conscious. A sad, useless emotion.

I looked up at Derpy and gave her a convincing grin. Derpy just needed support to function. A simple, lovable soul. I looked up to the sky and saw the sun shining above the trees. A beautiful sight. I would walk with my head up, all the way to school. Sometimes, I wished I was a pegasus, to fly above the clouds, to soar through my fantasy. But maybe not. I appreciate unobtainable things. Something to stare at, but never have. Like the sky. You can’t own the vast, endless sky. Not even Celestia, or her dark sister of my nightmares.

“I mean, part of me thinks I’ll be fine, but another just anticipates the worst,” Derpy moaned. She flew above my eyes, putting me instantly under her shadow. I shuffled my feet. Derpy would be fine. She wanted to work with animals. As a job. We would be getting jobs, they assigned them.

I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I wanted to sit in an empty forest and read books. That wasn’t an option. Maybe I want to write books, I thought. I could actually tell ponies what I was thinking. Maybe they could understand one day. The frustrations, the loneliness, the heartbreak. The prison, a constant jail. We’re all prisoned, metaphorically or otherwise. I was a literal victim, where Derpy, on the other hand, was a slave to her worries.

“We won’t have enough time to visit Gilderoy,” Derpy said. We usually stop by his little shop next to Sugarcube Corner before school. We were early, though. School starts right after sunup for exams and career paths. We approached town. The shops, friendly and humble, were just beginning to open. The shopkeepers were eyeing us friendly like. They needed to be nice, for business. You can’t be rude to a potential customer. Rule number one of business. I’d hate a business. I wanted to be an artist, an observer. Make the most beauty out of rural life. Ponies rarely leave the city they were raised in, and I wasn’t looking to be an exception. City life would overwhelm me and my disability. If my parents cast me off for my defect, than society would undoubtedly persecute me.

Our hooves clopping on the paved streets echoed affably. Derpy began to fly faster, we would be late. We ran through Main Street and dashed out of town. The accustomed route flashed before my adjusted brain. Running up a small hill. Panting. Hair getting in my face and eyes. And there it was at the top, the school. The large schoolhouse, colored traditionally red. Last-year testing day. We ran inside the doors, ready to apologize for our lateness.

We leaped inside. Derpy burst in before me, flying into the room, skidding on the carpet to stop herself from crashing. I followed her clear path and stood behind her in the back of the classroom. I partially heard the bell ring. Panting. Twenty or so ponies stared back at us. I hate the stares.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Lionel,” Derpy started, then stopped. That wasn’t Mr. Lionel. Standing in the back of the room, next to the podium, our mister's usual spot, was a mare. I tried to glance at the features around me, pick up any traces of answers in my classmate’s faces. I couldn’t. They all blurred together. I studied the mare.

She was dark magenta, almost pink. A friendly, warm color. Her mane was bubble gum colored, and fit into organized curls. Her eyes were bright, cheerful. They were light green. Three daisies sit upon her flank. Cute, small. Otherworldly sparkling.

“Hello, girls!” she said, smiling. “I see you’re almost late, so why don’t you take a seat so we can get started.”

“Where’s Mr. Lionel?” Derpy asked. The class’s eyes flashed amongst each other.

“Who?” Asked the pink pony blankly. Mild confusion. Still smiling, though. She was very pretty. Large, sparkling eyes.

“Our teacher,” Derpy said. “Mr. Lionel.” Absolute silence in the classroom. I wanted to tell Derpy to stop. Something didn’t feel right.

“Oh, him!” she said, laughing freely. It echoed around. “Mr. Lionel, you say? He requested a transfer, and it just got through today. I’m your new teacher, Ms. Cheerilee, nice to meet you.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Derpy said, quietly.

“Let’s see,” Ms. Cheerilee said, checking her role list. Mr. Lionel never took role. He remembered who was absent. “And you must be, Derpy Hooves? And that means your friend indubitably is Reedwhisper.” She looked at me, grinning. “Reedwhisper Vaniclaw. Odd surname for a pony.”

“Our adopted parents are griffins.” Derpy stated.

“Oh,” said Ms. Cheerilee. “Now, if you two girls take a seat in your normal places, we can get started!” She never let a silent, awkward space enter conversation.

I entered slowly, staring at the faded azure rug beneath my hooves, tickling my soles. I came to my desk in the far right and took a seat. Derpy trotted to her front row seat, glancing at me worriedly. I sat nearest to River. A dark blue pony, gold-brown hair. Cut short and straight. A water-drop cutie mark. Shrewd, skeptical eyes and a questioning, unceasing mouth, pressed in a frown. A free thinker. I remember when he was a colt. He never shut up. He gained perspective away from his loquaciousness through aging. He now only talked about meaningful things. His voice was low and dubious.

“They got rid of him,” he whispered to me. I looked at my desk. Oak. Scratched with minor graffiti from other classes.

“They found out what he said and they got rid of him.” I looked into his eyes. Blue. Lighter than his flank, grayer. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Not then, quiet down everyone!” Ms. Cheerilee said. The low chatter of class immediately quelled. Ms. Cheerilee could control a class. I didn’t know how. She was never strict, or even raised her voice. She would only address us with her high, shrill tones. Everything would stop.

“Well, I have exciting news for everyone!” she babbled. Ms. Cheerilee did appear genuinely excited. “Final tests have been cancelled!”

Confusion and befuddlement. Shock and disturbance filled the room.

“What?” I conspicuously heard Carrot Top’s voice exclaim. Plain, stark.

“You’re kidding!” Rose’s voice carried above the din. Loud, egotistical.

“Why?” River said, standing up. “What is this?”

Derpy looked backwards into my eyes, a look of foreboding. Tests cancelled? What could this mean? Overreaction. The panic of adolescents not used to change.

“Now, now. Settle down!” Ms. Cheerilee said. Silence. Anxious hoof beats hindering and gone. Everyone scrutinizing Cheerilee, a strange new mentor with strange news.

“The Ponyville School Board has decided that you ponies don’t need the trouble of the final test. In fact, you just need to conceder your education fulfilled, and we wish you luck out in the real world!” Now, I was confused. We could just leave? The class shrunk under Ms. Cheerilee’s wide-toothed smile. Nopony could be that happy.

“You see,” she went on. “You should all feel very lucky to dwell in such a special town as this one. There will be very outstanding events happening over here in the course of your lifetime, and we need all the helping hooves we can out in the workforce.” That’s it? Nothing’s simple. There must be a catch.

“I will be giving you all special passes, you will return them to your employer of choice, and they’ll immediately hire you! Really, this new standard will make you all the happiest and most productive ponies you can be. Enough of all these silly tests and procedures.”

Dead silence. Absorbing information. “As long as you work hard, and be the best pony you can, nothing will ever happen. It’ll be a simple, beautiful, easy life. This new benchmark in Equestria history will definitely symbolize a turning point for the freedoms of all ponykind. You are all partaking in a glorious experiment, one which I know I’m glad I accepted.”

River cut her off. “What happened to Mr. Lionel?”

Cheerilee answered almost as quickly, “He didn’t choose to accept a role in this new analysis, so he left to go teach elsewhere.”

“Where?”

“Does it matter?”

“I would think so.”

“Here, I’ll pass out your forms.”

Shellshocked, we all waited for our papers from Cheerilee. She was passing them out of a bag, the normal earth pony way. River sat in his desk, examining his hooves.

Rose got hers first, read the text hungrily. “Now,” Ms. Cheerilee said. “Based on your previous class performance, the jobs you will be permitted to select may vary.”

Rose’s paper had two words on the front. “Florist,” she said, proudly. “Or baker.” She flipped it over, uncovering all legal text. She ignored this. Her friends, Berry Punch and Carrot top looked over her beige shoulder eagerly. From panic to excitement. One extreme to the other. What is this? What is this general acceptance? This isn’t freedom, I wanted to shout. I’ve read books about freedom. I’ve read books about flying, soaring. Books about choices and thinking. My outrage and surprise mingled together to create an unpleasant feeling. Let’s wait to be angry, I hushed myself. Let’s see what this implies. Let’s see how this effects my already empty life.

I don’t know what else I’ve ever expected. This sorting process. It’s always been the same, just now they’re being more frank with it. Ponyville was so structured, designed with strenuous accuracy. I wondered if other places were like this. I wondered how much outside ways influenced our solitary town. For the first time, I wondered about the world.

“Try to keep your papers to yourselves,” Ms. Cheerilee advised. “It’s your own marking portion in your life, and your friends will share it with you through their own adventures.”

Nopony listened to that. Blues, a mature, headstrong buck, shared with his neighbor Octavia his position as a musician. I heard their excited squeals. Even worse were the silent ones. The ones who looked at their papers and said nothing. In wonder, or in dismay? An enigma.

Even Derpy, scared and shaking could whisper to her partner, Bon-bon, “Mailmare,” in a hiss so loud I could hear her. Mailmare? Flying all day, delivering. Fly and deliver. No animals, but that’s disregarded in the moment.

River was silent. His paper was cheerfully slapped on his desk, but he didn’t even glance upon it. His eyes darted around the room. Thinking, trying to reason. He was pondering. Decisions, decisions. All your life. Eventually, he carefully glanced at his paper, and then leaned back. “Hydraulic Engineer,” he said to himself, not knowing anypony was listening. I was listening. Hydraulic Engineer. He would love to be a Hydraulic Engineer, and he knew it. This fact probably scared him.

“Once you get your job,” Ms. Cheerilee said. “Your housing and insurance will be provided with it. I know this is a bit to absorb, but be happy for this new world of opportunities!”

“This isn’t freedom,” whispered River. I didn’t know if he was speaking to me, the only reactionless pony in the room. “I’ve read books about freedom. This isn’t freedom.”

I found it funny, really. The reactions of everypony. This had always been happening, in retrospect. Society creeps up with a way of doing things, and adjusts us to it. But somehow, when we finally accept it for what it is, panic ensues. The panic of regarding the proper category, the name. What is a name? My name was Reedwhisper. It meant nothing to me. Just a name, junctions that we all make up. The realities of our imagination.

Everypony received a paper except for me. They all squirmed in their seats, thirsting for more information. Derpy whispered excitedly with her neighbors. River kept glancing my direction, as if noticing I hadn’t received a paper. A conspicuous slab of parchment in a sickly yellow coloring. I loved the smell of paper. The natural kind, straight from the trees. Such a waxy, natural scent. I would stick my nose into a book and breathe in. Ahh. Just the thought drooped my eyelids into a blissful dream.

Cheerilee returned to the front of the classroom. The class continued chattering amongst themselves. Swapping cards for quick looks, discussing their opinions of the new system. As if they mattered. If I could speak, I would use my words for doing. Not dreaming. A prison, I sighed.

“Did you get one?” River asked me quietly. I shook my head. Shake shake shake. I shrugged my shoulders and gave him a melancholy smile. This feeling of momentary dithering. Knowing the problem will be resolved shortly, but soaking in the worry of the moment. The woeful present.

I knew I was different. Different enough to be temporarily ignored. Permanently, by some. I’ve already accepted this. A concept I’ve already trusted in my premature childhood. Sometimes I liked feeling different. In a way, all these ponies around me were all the same, why would I be an exception? I wasn’t, really. We’re all the same. I chuckled darkly to myself. Prepare myself to be swept away by life again.

“Now, than.” Cheerilee said. “With this paper, your new life begins, so don’t loose it!” A few laughs around to the room. “And with that,” she continued, sparkling. Sparkle sparkle. “You may enter the world and-”

“Reedwhisper didn’t get one,” said River, defiant. I was immediately humbled. Blushing, the return of the stares.

“Didn’t she?” Cheerilee asked. She didn’t sound surprised. “Well, Reedwhisper here doesn’t have a cutie mark, so she’ll get a slip when she receives hers.” She smiled at me. I grinned ironically back. Of course I needed a cutie mark! Silly me. It’s like your signature, your hoof print. I wanted to curse the world. I wanted to drown Cheerilee in a pot of heinous melted goo that Gilda cooked up. My violent thoughts scared me.

“So, you may start working as soon as possible!” Cheerilee said. “And you may leave this classroom whenever you choose, you are now adults, and we welcome you to your new life!” Smile. Too much smiling.

I was the first to get up and leave. I scratched my chair against the floor with hopefully as much emphasis as possible. I pushed against the door with my head and felt it give way. Into the fresh air. Silently screaming. Digging my hooves into the cool ground. The cool, mindless ground. Don’t worry about ponies, I reminded myself. There is the ground. There is only the ground beneath me, swirling and spinning. I looked at the sky. The sun peaking up from the East. Scorching me in heat.

I heard other ponies beginning to open the door behind me. I decided to pay a visit to Gilderoy, my adopted father. His fur was a nice blanket to cuddle into. I ran. Run run run, nod nod nod. The wind blew through my mane, I was merging with it. It spoke to me. It spoke less as I grew, but it murmured. I’ve learned not to listen. Ignore reality. Where was I going? I remember. I took a steep turn.

I walked into town, slowing my quick pace. Panting. Ponies were beginning to come out, strolling in the light of the new day. Walk around, leave your worries behind. Or at least, in the path behind you. The buildings, each with their own creative flare and color coordinations. A lovely, artisan town. Picturesque. The provincial dreams, stacking up to build little shops and restaurants.

And then there it was. The little mechanic shop. Wooden, simple. A gear on a sign hanging listlessly and vertically. A turreted roof, with multiple chimneys sticking out in odd places. I stepped inside, and a bell tinkled. The smell of oil and metal filled the air with a warm tang. The room was dark, but the little light reflected across the various items inside. Projects, of every size and shape. Brass, steel, iron. So many different wonders, contraptions. A wide, long room with a little empty desk and register sitting alone in the back. Broken folds and separate parts littered the walls and floor, in an organized mess. The complex beauty of putting all them back together. Gilderoy wasn’t in this room. A door was open in the back, into his private study. The red door, hanging ajar.

I stepped in, making sure not to step on anything. My mind was eased. A keen interest was always sparked upon entering Gilderoy’s mysterious workshop. Constant wonder of something I didn’t understand. Oh, so many parts. How did one keep track of them all?

I trod into his studio. A little, dark room. Blinds closed, lamps glowing. The smell of fuel and feathers. Gilderoy sat behind a weathered desk, picking and prodding a golden box. So delicate and fragile for such a burly store. Elegant curves, slender top. Gilderoy didn’t notice me enter. His tired eyes inspected ceaselessly, turning the box over and over. Grey-brown fur ruffling when discovering a new dip or opening. It was a lovely thing to watch.

He found a latch which he eased open with his talons, ever so sharp. The golden cover he set aside with extreme tenderness. Than, taking a long, needle-shaped instrument, with great dexterity, he picked through the box’s contents. A prick there, a twitch here. His golden eyes darting through with his very movement. A snap, a pop. He set it down, disheveling his fur to remove excess heat. He saw me.

“Hello, little one,” he said, tired. He aged into dark, matted fur. Silky, but wispy. But his voice stayed. His treasure, his golden box. His sweet voice. I smiled at him, and trotted over to his side.

“Want to see this?” he asked, ruggedly. He returned the golden flap to its place first, and then opened the glowing case. It was a music box. A haunting tune, eerie and innocent, played out of its heart. Tinkle, tinkle. All this gold and art for a little melody. I smiled.

He set down the box again, content with his work. Placing it in the midst of the other finished work in his office. A motor fan, an eggbeater. Completed projects requested by customers. The golden music box stood out in its own precious way, as the most expensive item in the room. Simple radiance. Useless charm.

“Well now,” Gilderoy said, with a hint of paternal interrogation. “Shouldn’t you be at your final testing?”

Shake shake shake. I would wait for Derpy to explain. I took to examining the room’s other contents. I noticed a little wind-up pegasus, silver and shiny. I wound it with my magic, and it immediately took off, whizzing around the room disjointedly. Its flapping suddenly stalled and it tumbled to the floor. I levitated it back to its shelf, with the other curious items.

“Did you get out of class early?” he asked, persistent.

Nod nod nod. A toaster. I pushed up and down on the notch controlling the toast. Up, down. How interesting.

“Did you finish the tests?”

I wiggled my head incomprehensibly. I wasn’t in the mood to explain. I trotted over to Gilderoy and sat in a stood beside him. He patted my mane of hair.

“Sometimes,” he mused. “I wonder if you could speak, what you would say.” I tried to target a knowing look at him. For a minute, there was nothing else. Just me and Gilderoy, sitting alone, enjoying each other’s silent company. Smelling the scent of mechanics.

A tinkle. Derpy’s awkward running burst into our room.

“Reedwhisper!” she panted. “There you are, I wanted to find you!”

“Derpy!” Gilderoy said, standing on his forepaws. Stalking over to her. “Could you explain your school day for me, please? Reedwhisper had trouble doing so.” A smile and wink in my direction.

I decided to go look more at the silver pegasus. A delicate creature.

“Well,” Derpy said, embarrassed. “We have a new system!” she said, trying to be helpful.

“Could you elaborate?”

“Well, we have a new teacher…”

“What?”

“And we don’t have to take the final test to graduate anymore!”

“Wait, wait!” Gilderoy said, gesticulating madly. “What happened to Mr. Lionel?”

“He requested a transfer,” Derpy said, knowingly. She rocked her head foreword.

“And I assume his request was accepted,” replied Gilderoy dryly.

“How’d you know?” Derpy tried to joke, smiling coyly.

“So…” Gilderoy said, trying to order his notions. “What’s this about not taking the final tests?”

“Well,” Derpy said. “They just take your previous class performance for classification.”

“Classification?”

“Well, believe it or not,” Derpy laughed. “They give us a piece of paper with our career options, and we turn it in to our preferred employer for a job.”

Gilderoy was at a loss. He sat down backwards in a chair.

Derpy beamed at him open-mouthed, waiting for a response.

“Well,” Gilderoy finally said. “That’s… nice.”

“Nice?”

“What did you get, on your paper?”

“Well, I got either telephone operator, waitress, or mailmare.”

“Mailmare,” repeated Gilderoy.

“Yes, I wanted to choose that. I think I’d make a good mailmare, don’t you?” she asked, agog.

“Who’s your new teacher?”

“A new pony, I haven’t seen her around. Her name is Cheerilee? Ms. Cheerilee?”

“Where is she from?”

“She didn’t say. The capitol, I guess. She spoke of the school board.”

“A teacher from the capitol.”

“Yes, I think.”

“What did Reedwhisper get?” asked Gilderoy.

“What?”

“On her paper.”

“Oh,” said Derpy, glancing my direction. “She didn’t get hers, you need a cutie mark. But when she gets her cutie mark, they’ll mail it to her.”

Derpy and Gilderoy looked at me sympathetically. I tried to smile back, carefree. Their pity was evoked by different reasons. I continued to play with the silver toy.

“So,” Derpy mused. “What do you think?”

“What I think?” Gilderoy answered. He was awfully repetitive today. “It’s your life, Derpy.” He regarded Derpy with respect, as if she finally passed the road to adulthood. As if there was a fine line. “It’s your life. What I think is irrelevant.”

Derpy looked down.

“What do you think?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” Derpy said. “I just want to enjoy what had been given to be as best as I can.”

“Then that’s it,” Gilderoy said. “That’s what you do.”

Derpy tucked her fluttery wings into her sides. “Do you know why Mr. Lionel decided to leave?”

“I can guess,” he retorted.

“Is it because of the new system?” Derpy inquired.

“I believe so,” Gilderoy sighed.

Pause.

“I’ll be applying for mailmare tomorrow,” Derpy said. “This may be my last night with you guys.” She was happy, but unsurity shook through her tone.

“Already?” Gilderoy asked. He hung his shoulders and flexed his back paws. “Do what you want, Derpy. Right now, you are responsible enough to make your own decisions.” He smiled in his mild, tender way. “If you choose to leave, I will miss you, but you must understand that what I think shouldn’t interfere with your aspirations.”

Derpy’s eyes began to tear. A lush water drop rolled down her face, soaking into her smoky fur. “I’ll miss you,” she exhaled, voice convulsing.

“This isn’t goodbye, my dear!” Gilderoy, said. “This is just another path you wander down.”

“I know,” Derpy said. She leaned forward and hugged him, her face resting into the separation of fur and feathers.

Gilderoy charily patted her back. “There, there,” he murmured.

I strayed over to Gilderoy’s desk, and noticed the golden box. I cautiously opened it. The tune spilled out, providing background music for Derpy and Gilderoy’s idyllic hug. They looked back upon me, and I smiled innocently. Derpy started laughing, and Gilderoy joined in with a deep chortle. I wish I could laugh with them. I grinned and ran over to join their hug, which was already almost over by the time I entered. They were so warm. Warm, safe. Away from the cold.

“You know, Reedwhisper,” Derpy said through a mouthful of fur. “You can stay at my house, if I get one.”

I nudged her to show my attention. A rash thought, supplied by a rash pony. I was touched.

“Now, girls,” said Gilderoy. “I must stay here and finish some work and compose a letter, so you may run along and do as you wish.”

“Okay,” said Derpy. Happy again. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Yes, until then.”

Derpy and I left the workshop quickly. I tried to keep up with Derpy’s springing leap. The last I saw of Gilderoy, was him leaning over his desk, writing a letter. Dear Gilderoy. Never would he be involved with anything troublesome or unscrupulous.

We exited back into the sunny streets. I noticed some of my classmates, walking around confusedly. The usual citizens, though, had a different idea. A stream of ponies were condensing toward the town hall. A river of life. Swim through.

“Should we follow them?” Derpy asked.

Nod nod nod. I was curious.

Everyone seemed to follow everyone else, and we created a procession. “What’s happening?” Derpy asked River, who appeared behind us.

“Some new announcement,” he shrugged.

“Yay, more news,” Derpy said, glancing his way.

“Tell me about it,” he said wearisomely.

“What did you think about today?” Derpy asked, over the ruckus of other ponies. She seemed desperate to latch onto someone’s opinion.

“I try not to,” he replied.

“That’s the trick, isn’t it?” she said, attempting to stay ebullient.

“I guess. However, ignoring something doesn’t really do anything.”

“And thinking about it does?”

“Yes, I presume. Understanding is a great advantage.”

We walked in silence for a while. I did so dispiritedly. I wished I could talk with River about social freedoms and independent thinking.

We crossed over a slanted stone bridge into town square. The pompous, circular town hall stretched in front of us. There was a stage built up in front of it. On top of the stage there was a podium. Our mayor, Emerik, a weary faded green earth pony with long whiskers, stood behind the dais, ready to address us.

My group got stuck behind some tall ponies. Every image was above curly manes and pointed ears.

On the side of the stage, there was a fancy Canterlot carriage, glowing in its haughty way. Dainty golden stairs leading to the top of the stage. There must be a new official, or administrator. Derpy and I exchanged looks. River’s dark eyebrows flexed and raised.

The area was packed. The whole town must have made an appearance. Our small population, mobbed in. I recognized some faces. Others, I didn’t even know lived here. Social outcasts, like me. I probably would stay at home all day, if I didn’t have school.

“Hello, everypony. Settle down!” Emerik shouted into a magically powered microphone. The gossiping voices dwindled slightly. “Everypony, settle down, I have an announcement, which concerns all of you!”

The crowd finally chilled into a faint hush. Our mayor cleared his aged throat. “Today, we will welcome into our town, an appointee from Canterlot, to monitor our city’s tolerance towards the empire’s guidelines.”

River, his flank slightly brushing against mine, tensed slightly. “A representative from Canterlot?” he whispered to himself.

“I expect you all to treat the delegate with indubitable respect and humility. Their stay time is unknown, but we will treat them all like permanent residents. And remember,” he said, smiling. “We didn’t do anything wrong, they just need to monitor us, like they do to other towns occasionally.”

The audience seemed to sag with relief. The only time we’ve ever heard of officials coming to monitor a usually quiet town, was when to punish it. Instill the infamous discipline of our loving ruler. But we would be fine. Nothing to worry. They’re just watching our every move and habit.

“I now present to you our new ambassador,” he wheezed.

And suddenly, out of the carriage emerged a tall, white stallion. Muscular, strong, and stoic, wearing Canterlot warrior garb. A complete figure of authority. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” River breathed.

But than, another one emerged, almost identical to the first, except slightly larger, burlier. Golden, shining armor. “Two?” said River, confused. They stood, erect, in front of the path leading to the stage.

“And now,” said the mayor. “Presenting, Fluttershy!” Oh, those must be the guards.

A graceful yellow figure stepped out of the compartment. Flowing pink hair, sweet turquoise eyes. Wearing a long purple hat, confirming her foreignness. She stepped onto the stage, her head held high, her dainty, pale yellow hooves floating on the ground. Her wings drooped down her slender back sophisticatedly. Her tail dragged on the ground like a bridal train. She eyes the audience with wide, fluent looks. Who was this mare?

She stepped over to he center, and took the podium from Emerik, who stepped down graciously. He looked comical next to this lovely creature.

“Hello,” she said. Her voice was high, childlike. Soft. You had to strain to listen. “I just wanted to say, I’ll be staying here now.” She stared into the audience, and held the illusion that she was looking everypony in the eye, a captivating stare. “I also should mention,” she added. “The Princess has plans for this blissful town, and I am the first effect in her wonderful scheme.”

The guards standing in back of her made no expressions during the speech. They arranged behind her like statues, stone pegasi.

“That is all.” Fluttershy stepped down, or should I say, levitated. She passed inside the town hall behind her, and her guards deftly followed.

“Thank you everypony,” the mayor said, befuddled. “You may resume your daily activities.” He jogged into his station, following Fluttershy. Pegasus workers promptly flew from the sky and began dissembling the stage.

Ponies began walking around us. We stayed in place.

“Strange that Fluttershy’s visit coincided with our new school program,” River said, canny.

“Yeah,” said Derpy. “I wonder what it all means.”

Oh, Derpy, I wanted to say. Have you not guessed? Have you not assumed the empire is finally taking back what was already its own? Have you not noticed we are sinking back into the grasping folds of Celestia’s glorious kingdom? Are you ignoring the obvious image again, only to be angry when Celestia herself builds a wall around us all?

The town hall was cleared, populated by its usual citizens. I wondered what Celestia could ever want in such a simple town. It was personable, charming. A landscape away from national politics and shoddy affairs.

“Isn’t it funny that we’re now technically adult citizens?” Derpy asked, to River. Of course to River. Why would she ask her mute sister anything? So I could nod at her?

“Yes,” River sighed. “Everything is happening so quickly.”

“We just need to hang in there,” Derpy suggested.

“As there is still something to hang on to,” added River.

“True,” commented Derpy. “Just wondering, what did you get on you card?”

“Only a few things, I-”

As they were chatting, I quietly walked behind the town hall, out of sight. Their voices faded away. Just don’t listen. I sat behind the shadowy wall of the city building, very alone. It’s funny, though. When you can’t talk, you never feel alone. You learn how to listen to other things. The moving leaves, the crunching pavement. Your own rhythmic breathing. My firm stomach rising up and down.

I saw a gold flash in the corner of my eye. There was Gilderoy, walking into a side street, leading away from the center square. Follow him, maybe? I had nothing else to do. May as well accompany him on his unknown errand. I stood up and bolted after. I stumbled a bit, my saddlebag dug deeper into my neck. Swallowing pain. Ignore it.

His hind led me into a small, crooked lane I rarely passed through. All the houses has their shutters tightly closed. I wondered where he could be going. Did he have a client here? I didn’t know what he did in he free time. I thought he worked all the time. It was high noon. The sun cast shadows under his slim tail, providing an easy trail to blunder after. I couldn’t outpace him and catch his attention. He was looking purely foreword.

The background ponies began to lessen. The housing became sparse. I recognized this area! This was his part supplier’s street, he was probably getting something replaced. I would surprise him in the store. One can’t get enough parts, I reassured myself.

Needless to say, he walked right past the spare bits workhouse. Maybe they relocated? The kindly shops transformed into mostly run-down cafes and beat-up residentials. While staring at a store with particularly shabby wares, I accidentally bumbled into a red-haired buck. Before he could scold me, I ran around him, searching for Gilderoy. I regained sight of him before he turned around a corner.

The corner he went behind was an alley. I wonder what he was doing in an alley. It finally struck me that maybe he didn’t want me to follow him. Too late, now. Came this far. I was probably lost anyways. I didn’t want to meet the red-haired buck again.

I’m sure Ponyville alleys are much nicer than alleys elsewhere, but I didn’t like the feeling of the closed exit on my front side. I felt like it could collapse and swallow me up. I wasn’t fearful, merely apprehensive. If I felt the need to question new ideas, why not question alleys? They appear much shadier, no pun intended.

I felt strange not venturing someplace with Derpy constantly at my side. However, a slight, guilty freedom itched through my heart. My thoughts were undisturbed without her. Without Derpy, the dear mare who felt that any pause in conversation was a waste of her life. I peered deeper through the pathway. To my dismay, Gilderoy wasn’t even there. I squinted around, and spotted a door, peeping out the back of a wooden house. The only one in the laneway. And due to some freakish coincidence, the door was slightly open.

There were only two options: Gilderoy went into this door, leaving it dangling open, conveniently allowing me to follow, or Gilderoy used his mighty wings to fly over these building into another adjacent street. I can’t fly. I chose to enter the door.

The door was blue, and peeling. The inside, from what I could tell, was lit inside by several candles, though no windows. Should I enter into this stranger’s abode? Why not, I figured. I’m an adult now. I was able to defend myself, partially. I’m an adult. That sounded idiotic, even in my own perceptive mind. I was glad I couldn’t giggle, or else I would have given myself away. Giggling at my own joke. One learns to appreciate their own sense of humor when it’s their only anchor to the world.

Inside the room. Wooden floor, and walls. That must be dangerous with all the candles. Nopony in the room. Stairs on the side of the room, leading up into an unknown level. Voices. My pupils dilated in fear and I dived behind a black sofa, neatly blending in with the darkness. Why did I do this? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

They were walking down the stairs now. Two bulky figures.

“I must have left the door open,” Gilderoy said, unmistakably. I shrunk into the floor. Trying to melt into the dry ground, dusty and unappealing. It’s funny really. I knew that it was impossible for me to disappear. To spiral, tumbling, underground. Hide beneath the city, live in the sewers. Stow away until this wretched conversation is over, and then return, nonchalant, into society. I wished I could. I wished I could with all my heart, until little pearly tears formed in the corners of my eyes.

The slam and click of a lock, echoing. Neurotic pacing. I subtly heard Gilderoy’s claws scratching on the floor. His strong, warm paws.

“You’ve heard, I take it?” a skittish, male voice. I dare not look into the room.

“I don’t know what,” Gilderoy answered. His voice sounded out of place in this dank room. Strong and mild. “That’s why I came on short notice.”

“It’s starting,” his correspondent said, ruggedly.

“I know, I’ve gotten to that part,” Gilderoy shot back quickly. “But how?”

“Lionel. Did you hear about him?” His voice lacked a lively expression. Though typical to listen to at first, his tone proved to be empty and reedy.

“Incisively.”

“They took him away.”

“Who took him away?” he asked wearily.

“Them!” he said, franticness ringing through, screeching up his vocal chords. “Who else would? Gilderoy, who else have we been discussing, fretting over, anticipating-”

Gilderoy, or maybe the other, stepped forward. “Please, Thorton, not now.” I heard chairs scratching, the sound of the conversationalists taking a seat. A nervous tapping of some limb onto the clothed surface of a stand.

“So,” he continued, feebly. “Could you explain, what took place?”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Thorton confirmed cynically, bitterly. “Somepony from the capital must’ve heard the stories regarding his lectures and beliefs. Now, he’s gone.”

“When did they take him?”

“Two nights ago. Eleven at night, more or less. A few neighbors heard a slight struggle, and some ponies tossing him into a jail carriage.”

“Where?”

“Nopony knows. There’s rumors, though…” Thorton murmured darkly.

“Like so?”

“Well, some speak of, and I’m just telling you what I’ve heard, rest assured. Hearsay Celestia has… a prison camp on the moon for political adversaries,” he said, conspiratorially.

Gilderoy almost laughed out loud. “Do you honestly believe that such a thing exists?”

“I don’t know,” Thorton said evasively. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“A prison camp. On the moon,” Gilderoy mused passively.

“Some idea,” said Thorton.

“Ridiculous,” Gilderoy said, shaking his head.

“Even if they’re not sending them to… the moon, they’re sending them somewhere,” Thorton pushed aggressively.

“Yes,” he said passively. “That is true.” Gilderoy’s famous patience seemed strained and clipped around Thorton. I couldn’t blame him. Thorton was irritating, in an unexplainable way. I tried to find a loose floorboard to crawl under. Silently, wringing my hooves over the surface. Frantically, stealthily.

“But, I wanted to ask,” Thorton’s monotone voice slightly shook. “If this is the beginning, and they’re starting the process…”

“I’m sure we have nothing to worry about,” Gilderoy verified gently.

“Think about what you’re saying,” he said. His words irrupted into a snarl. I began to question if he was equine or otherwise. My curiosity towards this unknown shadowy figure was fueled by my hyperactive adrenaline desire to discover all means necessary to exit this room.

“My statement was goaded by rational thought and insightful sensitivity,” Gilderoy replied.

“They took away Lionel for his opinions. Now, all we are is a tedious obstacle in their way!”

“Think about it, I entreat,” Gilderoy said, leaning back in his chair. I could imagine him laying his nails over the table. “We are useful to the progression of this town. We’ve never done anything wrong, or mildly upsetting. Unlike our unlucky friend Lionel, our records are as clean as anypony else’s.”

“One problem,” added Thorton, fidgeting. “Ponyville. Ponyville. Not Griffinville. Not Foxville. We don’t fit into the master plan.”

“What plan?” Gilderoy said, overtaxing, trying to laugh. “Funny theories, ludicrous ideas…”

“I know you accept it,” he said, hushed. “I know that this is the one thing you fight for. I understand, but why stay submerged in denial?”

“I deny nothing,” he said stiffly. “I simply make judgments based on facts. Not rumors.”

“You want facts?” Thorton said, springing to his forepaws. “Look at Lionel! Look at Marcel! Look at Reedwhisper, for crying out loud!” I was fortunate I could not speak, and therefore they could not hear my open gasp.

“Yes?”

“Why would the empire gradually rid its major cities of useless non-ponies, I wonder? Why would it change its education standards into a simple, happy byproduct? Why would its renouncers vanish? Any answers?”

Silence. I heard a tail swishing against the floor, like a broom.

“Listen,” Thorton said, weakly. “All I want to be is happy. I just want to take in this opportunity around me and create the best from it. But look at the world around you, Gilderoy. Look at what this community has pushed us all into. You see things clearly, but you miss the meaning.”

“I see the meaning,” said Gilderoy. “But I find oppressing the atmosphere is futile. I just try to do good, wherever the empire pushes me.”

“And you won’t flee? You won’t join some… rebel alliance?”

“What alliance?” Gilderoy scoffed. “We don’t see it, my friend, but ponies are happy. They’re content with the changes, the firmer grasp. There’s nothing to flee too. I choose small battles. I choose to raise and support my family.”

“You know,” Thorton said, rocking on his paws. “I would love to choose that. I would love to settle down, with a wife, maybe a few kits of my own. But do you know what? I can’t, because this authority had driven all my kind into the wild and out of Equestria. For ponies this is great, you say? Well, for me, this is a nightmare in which I am trying to wake up from.”

“Thorton,” said Gilderoy, sadly.

“What?” he hissed. “What can you possibly say to convince me otherwise? Will you use the empire’s overplayed propaganda?”

“Thorton,” Gilderoy faltered. He thought. I heard Thorton’s rugged breathing. “Thorton, you are right.”

“What?”

“You’re right. There is nothing we can do here.”

“And that’s that?” Thorton said, shocking sliding back into his chair.

“For you, maybe,” he said.

“Ahh,” said Thorton. “Here we go.”

“I stay here,” Gilderoy said, gradually. “I remain for my children.”

There was a quiet pause as Thorton remained silent.

“They have the opportunities, the pragmatism, that I never had. But,” he halted. “But they’re still so young. They have so much to learn, and I want to be there for them, no matter the personal cost.”

“And Gilda?” Thorton asked, decrepit.

“I’m sure she feels the same.”

“Sweet Celestia,” sighed Thorton.

There was another pause as their undisturbed moment of bonding radiated through the absence of speech.

“I have to return to the shop,” Gilderoy said, suddenly. “I’m glad we could talk.”

“Sure, sure,” sighed Thorton. “Good luck.”

“As of you.”

“Mmm-mm.”

A burst of light flew through the room as Gilderoy opened the door and departed the house, or wherever we were. Thorton sat at the unlit table for a minute. The only sound was the occasional inhale of his long snout. A sough, a slight groan. Muttering to himself, Thorton stepped up the stairs. I heard a door close above my crown. I was very much deserted now. I lay on the floor for a few minutes to be careful. One can’t be too careful. It would be a shame to be intercepted, now that I’ve advanced so far, into violent and querulous territory. However, as far as you run, you cannot regain your bygone ignorance.

A draft from the bottom of the door flew into the room, immersing me in a voluble wind. Run now, it said. Run into the pale sun.

I ran into the pale sun as instructed. The warmth of the dark alley was exceptionally sunny, knowing it was a dark alley. I closed the door vigilantly with my magical knack, and paced back into the street, trying to appear flippant. Could that purple mare eyeing me possibly tell if my heart was thrashing? Submerged into a deep, sinister ambience, burning incessantly through my veil. Shall I stomp on the flame?

I walked slowly back to the town square, contemplating. What do new facts even mean? Why do we react to newly learnt information so powerfully? It is, alas, the same world as you’ve left it, only you know more things about it. What does one pony change? There is no reason to be so highly concerned. I am, in the end, just a pony after all. One slightly less ignorant pony.

Ponyville square was slightly empty when I walked back into its hear, from a slightly busy side lane. One thing I loved about Ponyville, is that you would have to be a complete idiot to get lost in it. I walked next to the river, shuffling with my saddlebag, trying to acclimate it into a more comfortable position. The nice, flowing river, spilling under the pebble bridge, warmly hugging the land around it. Protection from the bitter earth.

I strolled alongside. It was warm, and the snug daylight spilled over my flank and momentarily soothed my aching shoulders. Oh Celestia, I thought, squinting into the cloudless sky. How could such a spectacular, life-giving, halcyon orb of energy ever be a bad thing? How could the opulence of day, steadfast and faithful, one day burn us all into a crispy spit of ash?

I sat into a cool patch of grass, lazily arching my arms outward, beginning to slightly sweat. The water flowing in front of me, the grass covering me like a natural blanket. I smelled the sweet scent. I’ve never met anypony who doesn’t love the smell of grass.

I remembered Mr. Lionel so clearly. Almost clearer than I felt the grass under me, or the sun above me.

My mind reminisced to the aghast period of my first day of school. Derpy, bubbly and garrulous. Always talking. Always laughing. We wandered down the forest path, her speaking endlessly about the class. The fun. We complimented each other quite well. She seemed to be endlessly spewing. And I practically sucked in energy. The air was still around me. The frightened skepticism of one’s first day at school.

Of course, we got there eventually. We sat in a circle. All little fillies, facing Mr. Lionel. Because we had a new student, to my dismay, we had to all give our name, age, and favorite food. The circle went around gradually. I learnt the new faces. It’s much easier to remember a face than a name. The words slip, but the image stays.

When my turn arrived, I looked down at my hooves.

“Come on now, Reedwhisper,” Mr. Lionel said, urging. “We all have to raise our voice sometimes!”

“Um, Mr. Lionel,” Derpy said, stage-whispering. “She can’t talk.”

The stares. The open curiosity of the young child. We all still have that curiosity, we merely know better, is all.

“Ah, the tragedy!” said Mr. Lionel. “One who has a voice, but can’t use it!”

He let me write down my answer on a little pad of paper. When I finished, blushing, he let Derpy read it out loud. It was amazing to watch Derpy read. To watch her eyes move along with the text.

“We all speak in different ways,” Mr. Lionel said, smiling at me. He winked.

Mr. Lionel didn’t teach me to write: he forced me to. He would ask me questions as frequently as he would ask anypony else- and would show superb patience as I scribbled away on a little notebook I carried around constantly in my miserable, egregious saddlebag. I wanted to be a writer because of him. A penman, my secret talent. My incurable dream. My thoughts transformed into words easier than a leaf floating down this untroubled waterway. If I could talk, I would never say anything unintelligent. I dreamed of the possibility; I would stun and dumbfound everypony with my glossy tongue, which now solely lolls around in my mouth and swallows my phlegmy saliva.

I lay my bag onto the grass and dug through its articles. I found my notebook. It was probably my twenty-something-ish one this year. I looked to the last page I wrote in, the last conversation I had with Mr. Lionel.

It’s infuriating. I understand, was my first entree scrawled across the page, in response to some forgotten question.

Please, don’t, was my next.

Goodbye. I’m sorry, was my endmost. The rest of my sheets were blank and empty, the forgotten memories, ghosts of words I never will write.

I hugged my notebook close.

***

I opted to return towards the main shopping district and get something to eat. I venture to eat out as frequently as possible, for I consume very little with Gilda. Not only because her cooking was horrendous, but for we didn’t have ample ingredients. I saved up spare change to go to my favorite pastry shop. The sugary aura, the cooled air. Sometimes, I just liked to walk in and smell everything. Feel the soft, mushy aura of dough and glaze comfort my empty lungs.

I strolled near to the square, leisurely trotting down the pebble paths. Count the rocks, jump the cracks. Hold your breath and leap! So comforting, so reassuring. Just stay away from the cracks. Little steps, pouncing forward.

The bustle of the square, many ponies completing their shopping. I liked being invisible so I could stare at them. I saw some of my classmates, strolling through the lanes as if they owned the roads. Imagine that! The reality will crush them soon, I thought. It always does. I found it amazing how the Ponyville economy relies so much on shops. Everypony spent so much, the wealth just spun around, never settling in one place for too long.

I slowly passed the vibrant shops around me. Dandelion's Hats. Doodle’s Craft Supply. Food vendors. Fresh fruit and vegetables. My useless mouth watered. Too expensive. Shaking my head, driving onward. Cinnabar Bakery. Carmel Cafe.

Oh, here it was. Nestled between the clothing stores I never bothered to enter. Bard’s Buns. A plain, brown shop. I was about to enter. I stood quite still, anticipating the fresh scent. Wind blew through my mane, tossing black strands in my eyes. Careful, it said. Careful.

I looked in front. A tunnel of ponies, doing their business regularly. A pony running to me. I tensed. Wait, Derpy? That was her, rushing to me. Careful of Derpy? Can’t I buy a pastry?

“There you are,” she said, breathing heavily. “I thought I’d lost you,” Derpy mock scolded.

I sighed and returned back with her. Back with Derpy, my best friend. My sister.

River jogged up behind Derpy, and gave me a polite grin. I tried not to scowl back. Sometimes, I felt like River thought I was an idiot. Funny really, he always touted his ability to not deem separate ponies’ intelligence capacities. We’re all idiotic hypocrites. I was amused by my sudden despondent temper.

“So, do you guys want to get lunch?” asked River in his usual aloof manner.

“Sounds great!” declared Derpy. “Um, where do you want to go?” I was debating whether I should sneak away once more, and enter Bard’s Buns solo. Overlooked, I made an effort not to appear unduly glum.

River’s eyes suddenly fixed foreword. “Look,” he suggested.

Derpy and I spun around in union. Coming from the town square. A path was parting, ponies staring in front. Anxiety, interested. Tails swishing and eyes blinking.

And there she was. Accompanied by her two guards, on each side. An annoyed smirk on her sweet face, her large purple hat on her head. Fluttershy. Stalking down the road mirthlessly. Severe. Her tail dragged on the dusty paths. She examined the shops and buildings around her with a distant, superior gait.

When she passed in front of us, I couldn’t help holding my breath. The wind was blowing around my head madly, almost screaming. Careful, careful, CAREFUL.

An exceptionally sized gust carrying an exceptionally deafening shriek happened to blow past my face and blast Fluttershy’s hat off her lovely yellow head and sent it twirling our direction. Fluttershy didn’t grasp wildly for it as most other ponies would do; she merely stopped her walk and tilted her neck in the direction it flew. And it flew. It flew and spun in the air like a purple bird and slipped through the gust like a frisbee. The normally engaged street was uncannily eerie, the noise level and spiritedness of a cave. Or maybe the bottom of a lake.

River. Sweet, hypocritical River. He caught the hat in his mouth, gums tucked in, making sure not to slobber over the fine material. I can still imagine the tension as he walked attentively closer to Fluttershy, and lay the adventurous hat at her feet. Then returned to his stance and took a step backwards.

Fluttershy swept up her article with a graceful hoof, a fine line drawn artistically from her clean body. She placed it on her head and balanced it like a dictionary. The wind was gone. She smiled at River.

“Now, what did you do that for?” she asked. Soft, strident.

“Ma'am?” River returned, deadpan. I was mortified. My muscles spontaneously tensed and released.

“I said,” Fluttershy repeated, her smile becoming fixed. “What did you do that for?”

“I thought you’d want your hat back.” Sweet River. Careful, River. Careful.

Fluttershy’s sweet face melted away and revealed a much more unpleasant expression, which she targeted solely into River’s eyes, melting his suave reply. I didn’t like what I saw underneath, not one little bit.

Maybe Fluttershy was just in a bad mood. I figured that must’ve been it. She didn’t want to come to Ponyville, and somepony, probably Celestia, forced her to. She probably already was upset, and was searching for an innocent townspony to funnel her anger. Anyhow, she struck River across the face with a force so powerful, he stumbled backwards. Ponies backed away. Enveloping from the virulent scene. But we were all watching.

Fluttershy stepped backwards and her guards stepped forewords. They grabbed his shoulders and pushed him to the ground, evoking a loud “Oof!”

They repeatedly hit him across the face. I didn’t look. I heard cracking. Nopony spoke. I heard them drag him away. I peeked. They were pulling his hopefully unconscious body behind them, trailing a thin drip of blood, running from his face like red, thick tears. It sat on the ground. The blood did.

Fluttershy stood behind for a fleeting moment. “Let this be a lesson,” she said. Soft. “Against impertinence.”

Fluttershy quickly turned and floated away behind her guardians, covering my view of River. Sweet River. The wind tauntingly blew through my mane.

Ponies started chattering. Anxiously. Moving away from the area. Shopkeepers closed their doors and turned signs. Running away. Stay away. Was she to return? Hoofbeats. Flapping. Did she leave? Feeling flanks brush against you. A push here, a shove there.

“This is an outrage,” I heard somepony say. I was too busy looking for Derpy to realize who. “We have to go to the Town Hall and demand his release!” A few cries, a few shouts. Ponies kept on bumping into me.

Derpy? Where are you? There she is. Behind me. Turn around, silly. She looked at me, speechless, agape. She temporarily recedes behind passing inhabitants. Flickering like a candle in a windy day.

“W-what should we do?” said Derpy frantically, blending in nicely with the cacophony. I simpered. I can’t answer. Would now be any time for me to procure speech?

I jumped into the stream and pushed along with the crowd, hopefully Derpy was following me. You have to keep moving. You’ll fall and be trampled. Sometimes you pine for a reason to join to herd.

I knew just the place. Quiet. No wind, no voices. I ran across town, breaking through the mangled mass of flesh. I heard Derpy’s wingbeats behind me. Run run run. Pant pant pant.

A left here, a right there. Stay far away. Safe place. Everything was so close together. You can’t run, really. You’re trapped on an island with the enemy.

Here we are. The library. A giant tree, hollowed and fixed. Thousands of books. I slowed to a walk and aimed not to plow inside.

And suddenly, as I stepped in, there was quiet. It subdued my blaring head. Books books books. It smelt like paper and ink and magic. The dusty shelves, surrounding the looker, pages of information, and stories, little trinkets of imagination letting you break free into a world of stuff. Escape the outside. Books.

“Well?” Derpy. I heard her stand next to me.

“The library?” she whispered.

Nod nod nod. I smiled at the elderly librarian, Mrs. Pageworm behind the desk. She was fond of me because I couldn’t talk. She smiled back.

I stepped up the stairs into the upper level, holding the fantasy and adventure novels. I tautened as my calves stretched and ached. But it was cozy here. Stuffed chairs, low ceilings, high windows. Warm floors. I heard paper absorbs heat. Was that why it was so nice? I flopped into a beanbag, catching my breath. Derpy joined me, sinking in an adjoining chair. As far as I knew, we were the only visitors inside. Most ponies prefer to spend a hot afternoon outside, exercising. I subconsciously shook my head sadly. Everyday is a good book day, outside or otherwise.

“So?” Derpy said, horrified.

I shook my head.

“What?”

Shake shake shake.

“Nothing?”

Nod nod nod.

“I’m going to go out and look for him, with those other guys,” Derpy said, determined. She stood up, slightly wobbly.

Shake shake shake. No, don’t go, dear Derpy! Do you honestly expect them to release River do to a weak complaint made my the townsfolk? Why worry? If he is meant to be released, he will be released. I worried, though. I worried so much, my eyes twitched.

“Are you coming with me?” Derpy said.

Truth? I was terrified. My fear was blinding and sudden, dominating me in quick bursts. I shall absolutely not venture to an uncertain doom with thee, Derpy Hooves. I shall recline in this library and read tales of escaping heroism. Heroism that actually could make a change. Worthwhile heroism, fighting for a worthy cause. Not being a hero for the sake of being a hero. Writing is my sword and logic is my shield. My prison as well, I thought glumly. Maybe River is now being plunged into his own literal prison. Maybe he will disappear as surely as Mr. Lionel disappeared.

“Well?” Derpy exclaimed.

Silence! Can you not see my vast internal struggle? However, in the end, this was not my struggle. This was River’s.

I stood up.

Derpy turned and ran down the stairs, and I readied to preposterously follow her.

I was about to follow her, I really was. But then I saw a book.

I’m not sure what it was about, or why it even caught my eye. It was made of faded blue leather. In the medium shelf. I’ve never seen it before. It sort of diminished into the wall. I felt bad for it. I grabbed it and put it into my bag. And then I preposterously followed Derpy.

Derpy was already running ahead of me. I had to spring after her to make up for the lost time. Mrs. Pageworm glared at our heads as we leaped out. Out! Out to become a hero, to save a friend in need; an innocent classmate only attempting to sip from the cup of life, to have it splashed in his face. The euphoria was rushing through our veins, I thought satirically, and we were invincible.

We ran straight into Gilderoy. “You two,” he gasped, blocking our path.

“Gilderoy!” Derpy said. “We-”

“Not another word,” said Gilderoy, his features plastered in a stoic mask. “Go home, this instant.”

“But-”

“No exceptions, we will discuss this later. Home, now.”

For a potentially ecstatic activist, Derpy didn’t put much of a struggle into staying behind. Gilderoy dwindled slowly behind us, making sure we were leaving in the correct direction. His figure lessened and shrunk as we walked together behind a mound. He disappeared, and we were going home.

Derpy was completely hushed prior to when we entered the forest trail leading to our ivy-walled home. Her tail dropped, and she blinked rapidly. She walked instead of flew. Her feet dragged and tracked. Disrupting the leaves and stones.

“Will he be okay?” she whispered, as if I had the answer.

Nod nod nod.

The forest blocked out the heat, and the friendly coolness ensued. The light slid through the leaves, leaving pretty beams of sun on the floor, scattered in meaningless patterns. The branches of countless trees sagged and swayed in a mocking manner.

“I hope so,” she said.

***

We arrived. Derpy went inside. I followed after her. Gilda wasn’t home. Maybe she was out doing errands. Maybe she was looking for us.

Derpy said, “I am going to take a nap.” And I assume that was what she did. She ran upstairs and slammed the door, though I’m sure it was an accident. She would never slam a door. She would be afraid of hurting the door’s feelings.

She never was afraid of hurting my feelings though. She never talked to me anymore. She would just go upstairs and nap.

I sat down on an armchair in the opening foyer. A soft one, large pillows. I felt like it was swallowing me. I opened my bag and pulled out a book. I tried not to take books from the library and I’ve never done it before. But I wanted the blue book. I simply didn’t have the time to check it out, to get a clicking stamp on a card in the cover, and be told firmly to return it on time.

It was venerable. There was no text on the cover. I held it to my face and breathed. The delectable, lovely smell of an old book. It acted as a depressant and I sagged further into the chair. It wasn’t a very protracted volume. It wasn’t very thick, either. I lay it across my lap.

I turned a page using magic, circumspectly assured that I wasn’t damaging the peeling cover. The first page was blank. The hue was yellow, through years of sitting and fermenting. The opening created another release of pleasant perfume.

The second page was bank too. My blue magic encircled the next one, turning. The third page had a title. The words were dark and archaic, as if published by an original printing press.

Ancient Mythology was the title. That was all. No publishing dates, no author’s name.

I turned to the next page. It was composed of a luscious illustration of the sun and the moon, sitting together in a purple and blue sky. I ran my hoof over the paper. The display of artwork felt it had been painted initially. They were oil paints, I thought. That was why the colors were so vibrant. I read the text.

In the beginning, it read. There was three. The sun, moon, and sky.

I turned the page. There was a picture of Celestia in the sun, an unfamiliar alicorn in the moon, and an even less familiar one stretched across the sky, enveloping the air with her outstretched wings.

They lived in balance. The sun warmed, the moon cooled, and the sky held them all together. They lived in peace and harmony across the sky and all the life in Equestria was happy.

I turned. Here was an illustration of the world on fire, grass and houses and trees flowing with a burning flame.

One day, the sun was curious and decided to venture to Earth. Balance was broken and the surface burned in the sun’s direct rays.

Another turn. This time, there was a frost enveloping the land. It was night and the cold seemed to creep out of the page and chill into your own room.

The moon was curious as well and followed her sister. Balance was still not restored and another half of Earth froze in a continuous snow.

The next page showed Earth, torn apart by the two unknowing sisters, in fire and ice.

The Earth corrupted the two sisters. The sun was power and the moon was fear. They crept across the land like an incurable disease.

The paper following was a pure, blue illustration of the sky, the noble alicorn gazing down at the Earth with sadness and longing.

The third sister saw what has happening and decided to venture to Earth and restore balance, for she was the only one who could save the land.

Then there was the artwork of the sky going down to the earth, but the two sisters were burning it away.

However, the sun and moon were down upon Earth for too long and they hated the balance. They sent the third sister away, back into the sky, and their raw power kept her there.

I turned the page one final time. There was the two sisters living on Earth, a hungry fire in their eyes.

And that is why the Earth is impure, because the sun and moon are among us and not in the sky where they belong.

The End. I’ve always hated stories without happy endings. The pictures were beautiful, though. You don’t usually see colors like that.

I put the book back into my bag. I walked upstairs, wanting to sit with Derpy for a while. As I entered the room, a gust of wind met me. I ran over to close the window. I didn’t want to listen to the air’s useless moaning. I looked over to Derpy and saw her sleeping. Very still. She moved, usually. I crept over to her bed and pulled back the covers. She wasn’t there. It was just blankets propped up to create the illusion of a snoozing pony.

I rushed back over to the window and peeked out, and felt the wind ruffle my mane again. I may have seen a flash of a yellow tail fly around a tree, but it may have been my imagination. I sighed and rested my head on the window sill.

A breeze carried a faint whisper in front of me. It hung in the air above my nose. I tried to lean forward and listen to it. Reedwhisper, it said, but I couldn’t catch the rest. It seemed so close, though. I leaned out more, straining my head against the sky. A strong gust pushed against my hair, and I fell out the window. The air didn’t catch me, I toppled through the weak gale. Eventually, I had the sense to break my fall with a cushioning spell. I flopped against an imaginary pillow and bounced across the forest floor, skidding through the dirt and leaves. I finally stopped. I heard the wind faintly. It sounded like it said, sorry, but one really can’t tell with the wind. It slurs.

I decided since I was outside I’d go look for Derpy and stare at her long enough for her to come back. If I found her, she would usually come back. If I could find her.

But, I decided to do something else first. There was always something else to do. I’d give back the book I accidentally took out. I’d return in back to the library. I decided to teleport. I was usually shy of doing this, but I decided because nopony was around, all it could hurt was myself.

I concentrated, felt the familiar warmth in my horn, and then vanished. There was a minute there when you were stuck in a limbo, spinning and turning, but then you’re there. Dizzy, tried to regain my footing. Head spinning. I still needed to practice more from long distances.

I saw the library about a hundred feet in front of me. Nice and in the open, the center of a residential area. But there was something very, very wrong.

There was a pile of books in front of it. Stacked to the size of a small mountain. And they were on fire.

As I made this cool observation, more ponies, dressed as Canterlot guards, came out of the library and threw more books into the flames. There was Fluttershy. Standing, composed, in front of the pile, slightly swaying away from the smoke which trickled upwards like a gigantic version of one of Derpy’s gray feathers. They didn’t notice me, even though the street was deserted.

Such a shame, the wind said. Such a waste.

One terrible thing about teleporting is that sometimes you maneuver with it out of panic. Panic is a funny thing that can be induced by things such as burning books. It’s uncontrollable, really. You feel it and for a minute you can never anticipate how you will react to that fleeting emotional distress. I panicked and teleported to main street, to the spot where River was dragged away.

Nopony was there. I was still slightly recovering from the jump from limbo, though. I spun, my eyes felt glassy and distant. The shoulder strap of my saddlebag tore my neck and I cringed. My head was spinning. It was rotating off my head. A breeze was blowing from behind, and I ran north to try to escape it. I couldn’t run straight. I had to tell someone about the books. We needed to save the books. Fluttershy was destroying them. I kept running. Running to town hall, I realized.

There was a mob in front of the mayor’s workplace. They swarmed around it like angry parisprites. The sun was setting over the settlement, and I had to squint to see. Nothing was visible. I was confused. Somepony was approaching me. Two ponies. Gilda and Derpy.

“Reedwhisper, dear!” Gilda said, rushing to my stumbling form. Derpy’s eyes widened when she saw me. Gilda was dragging her foreword with her bird claws.

“Have you seen Gilderoy?” Gilda said, her voice cracking with anxiety.

Shake shake shake. I grabbed a post, leaning on the bridge I was standing on. It was the least I could to to prevent myself from falling over. The dizziness was fading though, Derpy and Gilda became clearer. The sunset arched behind them.

“We need to go home,” Gilda said. Derpy said nothing. She hung onto Gilda’s arm.

So we went home. We walked at a fast pace. I stumbled behind, never straying to far away, for Gilda would always snap back, “Hurry up, dear!” The normal twenty minute walk we covered in ten.

You didn’t run into many folks on the way back. Everypony usually stayed in their houses after sundown, unless there was a meteor shower. They never missed a meteor shower.

When we got home, Derpy ran upstairs. Gilda seemed about to follow her, but then strayed into the living room and started to sit on our worn sofa. I followed her in quietly.

“Crazy,” she muttered. “Everyone is protesting about River. You saw?” she asked, looking back to me. “I don’t know where Gilderoy is. I didn’t find him out there.”

I went into the kitchen to find something to eat. Hungry. Hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I saw some fruit on the table. I levitated the apple into my mouth, and munched accordingly. I probably should check on Derpy to make sure she doesn’t try to escape again.

I pranced upstairs, still eating the apple. It was sweet and juicy. It dribbled down onto my flank. I tied not to drip any on the stairs. One battle at a time.

I peeked my head into our room, and saw Derpy laying in her bed, facing the ceiling. She was breathing angrily, frustratedly.

“Is this the world we live in?” she asked my angrily. Rhetorically. “Where they can just arrest anypony they want?”

Obviously, I wanted to say. I still didn’t know what to assimilate about the blazing books though. Disappearing into the wind, the sky. Never to tell its secrets again. Such a crime. A shame.

“And I can’t even have a voice,” she whined.

Derpy exasperated my sometimes. She thought she was wise, insightful, simply correct. She wasn’t. There was something typical and phony about her. I flopped onto my bed and tried not to make eye contact.

I try to do many things. I document my participation is this trying, but not the effect. I wonder it I succeed or fail horribly.

I lay in bed and placed the door in my perseverant scrutiny. I tried not to recount on the day’s events and warp into nostalgia. I simply fight the battle at hand. Information does a lot to some ponies. Derpy, for instance, now lies in bed, thinking and pondering, and probably won’t get a wink of sleep. Mr. Lionel, on the other hand, didn’t worry. He was always carefree and strong. At least, he didn’t show it if he wasn’t. I wanted to be like him, except I didn’t want to disappear. He’ll show up, I told myself. He has to.

I decided to peek through my stolen library book once more. I grabbed it from under my bed and plopped in across my pillow. I flipped through the pages. The animated colors sparkled at me. There was a blank sheet at the end. There was red ink scrawled across it: “No sequel?” It felt satirical. Then, under it, in reply with black ink, read: “We are the sequel. “

What was happening? What this some weird coincidence I happened to grab this one book from the now ashy library? Was it simply uncanny that all these new things are happening in Ponyville, under our very noses? And had I, a completely mute pony, any say in what will happen? Shall I fight or be swept along? I wouldn’t know what to fight. Except maybe Celestia herself.

I remembered Thorton, the fox, and Gilderoy’s conversation on which I’d eavesdropped. Society was the enemy. I remembered one day, Gilda was taking my down to front street to buy a sweet in Sugarcube Corner. As we stepped inside the bright, ringing store, a pink-haired pony behind the counter said, “We don’t serve griffins,” in her cheery manner. Gilda gave me money to buy something as she waited outside. I only went to Bard’s Buns now.

And was Celestia to blame? I reminisced back to the storybook now propped against my pillow. I laughed silently upon an elementary conspiracy that entered my mind. Could this legend be real? The world of magic was a strange one. One can get legends constantly mixed up with history.

I heard a bang downstairs. I listened as Gilda rushed to the door, her actions creaking audibly under the floorboards. Listen? Why ever not? We only learn by listening.

I heard heavy breathing as Gilderoy rushed inside, and a chair sagged as he sat down.

“Well?” Gilda said, her voice muted under my bed.

“They burnt the books in the library,” Gilderoy croaked. “Every last one.”

“What?” Gilda gasped.

“I don’t know the motive, they just decided to do it,” Gilderoy answered, his tone becoming more composed, yet not any less fearful.

“Gilderoy, what’s happening?”

“What?” He was shocked by the frankness of her statement, the broadness. I could imagine Gilda staring down at him questioningly.

“What is going on? I think you know.”

“I… don’t-”

“I think you do.”

“Gilda, what is happening is beyond all of us. A plan we can only step along with and-”

“Gilderoy, look at me and don’t lie. Please. You know something.”

“I…” He seemed at a loss for words. “I think…”

“Yes?”

“I think the empire is looking for something… or someone.”

Suddenly, I heard a knock on the door. My parents tensed.

“Who could that be at this hour?” Gilderoy asked, almost accusingly.

“Gilderoy, I,” she started. “I have something to tell you.”

“Yes?” More knocks, impatiently. Impending, treacherous.

“I…”

“Do you know who is at the door?”

“Yes,” Gilda seemed close to tears. I could hear her backing up, slowly.

Gilderoy stood. “Gilda,” he said softly.

I heard the door smash down, and hulking figures run inside. Derpy awakened after the first bang. She jumped, and then stared at me. Our mutual fear bound our silence.

I heard a crash, a yell. Gilda’s yelp of panic.

“May I help you?” Gilderoy’s voice. Collected. His image in order.

“Are you Gilderoy Vaniclaw?” A deep, gravely voice. One used not to talking.

“Yes, that is I.”

“We need to withdraw you for questioning. You can leave peacefully or forcedly.”

Gilda’s wail. “You can’t, there must be some mistake.”

“No mistake… Ma'am.” He addressed her with a sneer. I could imagine his arrogant features. Cold. Prejudiced.

“It’s fine, Gilda,” Gilderoy tried to soothe her. “It’s just questioning. There is nothing to upset over.”

“You don’t understand,” she said quickly, loudly. “There’s been a mishap- they think-”

“It’s fine,” he said. “It’s fine, I’ll go.”

“No, please!”

“Gilda, please remember the children.”

“We need to leave now,” the new voice. A new guard, presumably. There were non-speaking characters behind him. I heard their breathing. Heavy. Angry. Buzzing.

“All right.” Gilderoy said, following them. Gilda was sobbing. Her bawls were hushed yet spastic.

They were at the door. Then, they stopped. Gilderoy added one more sentence. “And…” A pause. “Tell Derpy and Reedwhisper that I’m still at work.”

A slam of the door previously broken down. Gilda’s crying became fiercer, louder. She pushed her head against a pillow, letting her tears loose. Other than this, the house was silent. Slight commotion outside. A carriage pulling them away.

I looked over to see Derpy next to me, the moonlight glittering through the window, melting inside her buttery eyes. “Did you hear that?” she mouthed.

Nod nod nod.

“Why would they…?” her thought trailed off and never returned.

I shrugged.

I was empty. A pit inside my stomach was opening. Swallowing, heaving. Gilderoy would disappear. He will. So will River. But they were somewhere. I could find them. I could find Mr. Lionel.

I had to leave, I had to go. But first.

I pulled out my book. Blue cover. Old, leathery.

“Is this the time?” Derpy whispered angrily. Angry Derpy.

Blue, old. Ancient. Archaic. I held, turned it around in my hands. Blue. Hollow. I slid my hooves under the cover. There was a pocket. There was a piece of paper in the pocket.

“What’s that?” Derpy asked. She would find out soon enough, if she asked or not.

It was an envelope. There was one word written on it: Thorton. Black ink. I dared not open the letter. Thorton. To Thorton.

Derpy was silent. “I’m going to go back to sleep,” she said. “He might be back in the morning.” She murmured weakly. Doubtfully. She stumbled over to her bed. Jumped inside.

My heart was charging, I’ve never been more awake. I knew what I would do. I would deliver the letter to Thorton. Simple. He could tell me things. More information.

Be careful of your actions inspired by fear. I stumbled to the window. I was covered in the dark air, and it burned. I levitated down into the back yard. Find Thorton.

It was so bright for nighttime. So scalding. I couldn’t look at the moon, it hurt. Hurt like ripping open a wound. It was watching me. The eye. I felt it. But I knew where Thorton lived. I stumbled out of the forest. Ignore the twitters. Ignore the animals, rushing throughout. Ignore the moon. Out in the open, unsafe. The blue book was pushed under my arm, beside the letter. Thorton.

Oh, curse it all! I was draining, weakened. I’d reached the edge of the town. I wanted to stumble in the open, have somepony rescue me. But I couldn’t. I must persevere. But I couldn’t.

The pure moon. The wind. Hello, it said.

“Hello, wind,” I said. I had dropped to my knees.

I am not the wind.

“Then who are you?” I asked.

I am Luna.

“Luna?”

Yes.

“Where are you?”

Here.

I looked up. I was on a black cloud. I was cold. I shivered on the smooth floor. Maybe I was on ice. A frozen cloud. The night sky was pitch dark. There was a strange greenish moon in the sky. That’s no moon. It was an eye. Two eyes. Luna. She shined with her own radiance in a lightless place. Her mane burst out of her back, imbedded with thousands of stars, flickering in a cold fire.

“I see you have a letter,” she said to me. Her voice was confined but powerful. It echoed in an infinite wall of space.

I had my letter under my blue book. I nestled it close. Pages trap heat. Warm. Nothing was warm.

“May I have it, please?” Luna asked. Her expression was blank, though her features were particularly fierce. She seemed nice. I don’t know. It was hard to tell, really. She didn’t try to hurt me or anything.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because that letter you are holding is in possession of one of Equestria’s greatest secrets, and it must be destroyed for everypony to be happy.”

I squirmed. “Sometimes the output of secrets can be an remarkably marvelous tool to society.”

“And sometimes the truth destroys it.”

I shrugged. “Only the weak are destroyed by the truth.”

“Celestia was destroyed by the truth, and she is strong.”

“Maybe she is lacking a different variety of strength.”

Luna sighed. “What is the truth, really? An asset? A virtue? A point to enlightenment? The only truth lies in your own point of view and receptions to simple information.”

“I believe information is freedom.”

“But, alas!” said Luna. “It is a prison! With truth comes lies, and with lies come hate.”

“What is this truth you speak of?” I asked, curiously.

“A prison,” said Luna.

“Everything is a prison,” I said, irritated.

“Everything is truth,” added Luna.

“True,” I commented, smiling.

“You say everything is true to one’s perspective?” Luna asked.

“I believe so, and therefore it is true.”

“Would you believe me, if I told you something so outlandish, so ludicrous that you would think the thought engendered from some madman’s imagination?”

“Not necessarily,” I said.

“Well, I’ll speak of it regardless,” she retorted, smug.

“Continue, please.”

“Our universe only exists to entertain small children from a parallel dimension.”

“I see.”

“So?”

“Could you embellish that statement please?”

“The one referring to the parallel dimension?”

“Precisely.”

“I’m afraid that’s all there is to tell.”

“So,” I said, distrustful. “Do these children from a parallel dimension watch us from a magical portal occasionally? Is that it?”

“No; our lifes are currently being produced into something called a “Television Show,” and will be broadcasted on their national networks.”

“And this is happening as we speak?”

“No. It’s a process beginning now. We’re currently preparing Ponyville for production, and it will start in one week. It will feature six ponies, and document their adventures through…”

“Through what?” I inquired, interested.

“Through the magic of friendship.”

“Well, that’s… neat.”

“I didn’t come up with it,” Luna said darkly. “It was Celestia’s idea.”

“So, what does this have to do with the public beatings, the spontaneous questioning, and the discreet racism of recent life?”

“Well, we have to keep everypony in line, I suppose,” she said, passively. “We have to support our image for the children of elsewhere!”

“Of course,” I added, bewildered.

“And, this image,” Luna said slowly. “Is unfortunately matched with directions from an ancient prophecy, which mostly calls for ponies. It’s strategic placement really.”

“And that justifies all the suffering?”

“When it’s the only meaning to your universe, why not?” Luna said, waving a blank hoof.

“You are destroyed by the truth,” I said, a glum accusation.

“Pardon?” said Luna, sadly.

“Really. Even if this strange dimension theory is real, it doesn’t mean a thing. We have the choice, the meaning is irrelevant.”

“I don’t think you understand, dear,” Luna said. “I’ve had an eternity to think about all that. I know.”

“Than what’s the point of complying with this insane ideology? The cast members would be living a constant lie for negative reward!”

“Negative reward?” Luna scoffed. “I do this for a very simple reason, beyond all your silly young thoughts!”

“And what could that be?”

“Power! Really, Reedwhisper. You’re a clever girl. You’ve probably must’ve unmasked the verities and reasons for advancing by now. It’s all a game of power and fear! Harnessing the meaning to destroy onslaught and gain immortality. If there is a meaning, behind all this parallel reality horeshit, it is that and that alone.”

“And I’m sure love or perusing happiness has nothing to do with it,” I said sarcastically.

“When you’ve been alive as long as I have you’d know,” Luna moaned. “Immortality changes everything.”

“True,” I said. “But whatever shall the mere mortals, such as myself, do?”

“Gain immortality by becoming a cast member,” shrugged Luna. “It’s not like you’d have any other task important enough to defy the meaning of your universe!”

“There is no meaning!” I said, waving my hooves in the rigid air, making sure to grasp firmly my book and letter.

“I assure you, there is,” Luna said, dejected. “I despise meaning.”

“Then renounce it!”

“There are some things one cannot renounce.”

There was a pause in our conversation. A burst of wind rose from below us.

“Have you ever read this book?” I asked Luna, gesturing to my blue volume.

“Yes,” said Luna. “My sister and I wrote it a few thousand years ago as a bit of a joke.”

“It it truthful?” I asked.

Luna gave me a long, sad stare. “I’m probably going to kill you anyways, so there is no hurt in revealing the answer. Yes, the basics of that story are correct.”

“So you and your sister belong up among the stars? You are supposed to leave the meaningless planet to the mortals?”

“I presume so,” said Luna. “I’m just not sure how to get there. My third sister and I haven’t spoken in years.”

“You know, Skyla is pretty much my best friend. She talks to me a lot. I could hook you guys up.”

Luna stared at me blankly. “What?”

“Skyla. Your sister? She talks to me in the wind.”

“Does she?” Luna asked.

“Yes. I think she wants you and Celestia to go home.”

Luna sat. Her mane fluttered and sagged. “I would like to go home,” she stated.

“We all do.”

“I haven’t been home recently. It almost explains my despicable behavior and self-centered thoughts, doesn’t it?”

“You’re awfully sentimental for the pony who is supposed to be the master of fear,” I said, attempting to stuff out a joke. I pitied Luna. I really did. She was a poor, innocent filly. We all were.

“I can show you fear,” she said, she sounded close to tears. Her greenish eyes dimmed. “I can make your silent mouth shriek so terribly into a moonlit night that the sky will melt like lava into your open mouth and consume you until your soul is devoured and your mind is as impure as the deepest sheen off of an immortals’ heart.”

“But you just want to go home,” I added.

She nodded.

“How reassuring. That divine statement just heartened my understanding of universal themes and metaphors.”

“Themes and metaphors are just conjectures of our imagination,” Luna said.

“And therefore true,” I said, smiling.

“I think I will tell Celestia of this,” Luna said. “I think that she will be pleased,” she sounded meek.

“Did Skyla speak to you?” I asked, recognizing a familiar distance in Luna’s eyes.

“Yes, she’s talking to me right now.”

“I wonder why she decided to finally talk to you here, in a weird limbo where I have gained a voice box.”

“Probably for the sake of some farcical metaphor.”

And then I woke up inside a hole in the middle of the woods.

***

It’s very strange what came on next. Celestia and Luna disappeared. Nopony knew what happened. Fluttershy and her guards left, back to Canterlot. Mr. Lionel, River, and Gilderoy were all released with no questions asked. Derpy and River eventually got married.

But, other than that, everything stayed the same.

THE END

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