One's Dreams and Correspondence
I was tired—more so than usual. The office clock reported fourteen past three; figures, I’ve lost track of time again. Were I a more responsible adult I would have left my work for the latter part of the day and have gotten some sleep by now.
But I couldn’t bring myself to even walk away from my desk, I bet that sleep wouldn’t come to me even if I was in bed right now. No, the anxiety was eating at me far too much to even allow me to relax. A quick look at my desk calendar acknowledged that today was going be the day of the interview: The first interview that would delve deep into nature of humanity, how they lived, what made them human and, hopefully, why they drove themselves to extinction. And it would’ve been the first in a series of interviews! Who in their right mind wouldn’t feel restless?
It had been more than sixty years since the last human walked on this world. Well, the last human who hadn’t gone through the conversion at least. Hundreds of thousands of Equestriani were humans once. They were uplifted to a simpler, better and happier plane of life. No remnant of their cities, technology, or of their existence remained except for those individuals who converted and their descendants. Whatever sensation of shame and regret over the loss of a people, no matter how large, had dwindled in face of their actions. It was them who had created their difficulties and crises; they were on a path of self-destruction, and we saved them.
Yet for reasons that escape me there were many who resisted, fighting until the last conversion and death.
I’ve asked some of the newfoals —some of whom actively defied the Conversion Bureaus as humans— before I took up history, though their answers have never satisfied me. They all found their new life far better than their old one; even they had no concrete answer besides ‘I didn’t know better’.
Even my grandfather on my mother side, Summer Sun, was a newfoal. I remember that I often asked him how it was like when he was a human when I was but a young colt. He recalled of dark times; their great civilizations had begun to fall apart from economic collapse and hostilities, both inwards and out, leading humanity into a dark age, a far cry from earlier times.
Unfortunately I had never been able to get much out of Summer since my mother was always on my tail, telling me ‘not to trouble my grandfather with bitter memories’. Of course, like any well-behaved colt, I did as she said. It was just very unfortunate that Summer Sun passed away not too long ago, just when I’ve started my historical work; I would bet that he would have no problem retelling me the story of his ancestors.
To me as it was, the humans who fought back must’ve been mad; they were a bellicose people, and have had wars throughout their history. They embraced vices such as greed and hatred, they destroyed, they enslaved their own, and they killed their own. They had grown unable to live in harmony with each other. Humans were much like the old pony tribes of ancient times. Had history been kinder to humanity like it had been to us all those years ago would they have been more like we are now?
It’s a question that I couldn’t hope to answer. It was all in the past and there was no sense in dwelling on it, since it is unchangeable. I only wish that I could understand their reasons for refuting our helping hoof.
I studied human ways, and almost all of what I have learned made me queasy: World wars, terrorism, torture, slavery, genocides, bigotry, hatred...
“Why?” I asked nopony in particular. Only the walls of my study heard my query and replied in silence.
“Why did you do this to yourselves? How could you?”
Tears welled up in my eyes as I strained to make sense of the witness accounts and unofficial reports of the subject before me. As I’ve mentioned nothing but the ponified humans remained of their culture and history. All I had were tabloids of dubious origins and intents as well as unsanctioned recollections of ponies who had seen their world when it still existed.
It was all bad.
But you couldn’t be all malevolent! a voice in me argued. There must’ve been some form of redeeming quality for humans to have been saved by us. Otherwise what sense is there to live in a life where you are always persecuted?
What of those who willingly converted? They couldn’t have been malicious at heart if they saw reason. What worried me was how few seemed to see said reason. Were they really so intolerant? So unkind? So ungentle? So ignorant? So blind?
Even griffons and the canid populations, as hostile as they are, would have accepted our help without hesitation if they were in the same predicament: Change and be able to live in a world free of their perils and risks, or die. Why would such a choice be so difficult for a human to take?
Confound these humans! Questioning their ways will drive me insane…
And yet… that’s why I find them so fascinating, so intriguing. Finding the answers I seek wouldn’t be simple and they might not even exist as far as I was aware. The dome was to be blamed for making my search so much more difficult. Good thing I always enjoyed a good challenge.
However, I wonder what would befall if I did find the answers: Would they be the definitive explanation for humanity’s mannerism? Would I even want to know the truth?
I shuddered for a moment as I considered the possibility that what I already knew was the least of the horrors of humanity; if I learned of anything worse any chance of writing a comprehensive work on man would be dashed, no way would any publishing house worth their salt accept a work like that.
Eyes feeling heavy I again thought over sleeping; I really wasn’t used to being up this late, I suppose that it had to do with ponies being diurnal creatures. Sleep is so stupid, I moaned, we’d get so much done if we were awake all the time.
As if to prove me otherwise my right frontal leg, on which my precious head rested, slipped. My jaw slammed on the desk—hard.
“Gah!” I yelped. “Horsefeathers!” That stung.
Okay body, my mind ceded as I gingerly rubbed my tender jaw, message received loud and clear: I’m going.
A short moment to mull over whether or not I should’ve cleared up my workplace a bit, I decided to postpone it till after I woke up. I dragged myself to bed, grateful that my office —if one were generous enough to call it that— doubled as my own bedroom. Thank Celestia that my parents decided to buy me a small apartment; the mere thought of having to walk through a hallway or two to reach my bed terrified me at that moment.
Whilst my bed was nothing more than a mattress with sheets and pillows it constantly served its purpose well: I was always one of simple tastes; I never needed the fanciest toys or the most exquisite gourmets that the Capes cuisine was famous for. Tonight though that lump of cloth and feathers looked fit for royalty.
I slinked into the bundle of sheets and made myself as comfortable as possible. Even though I was not a pegasus, thus meaning that I had no experience with cumulus furniture, this felt as close as to a cumulus bed as I could imagine it. I was in heaven.
There was some worry that I’d have difficulty falling asleep with the interview later in the day still fresh in my mind. But it was of a pleasant surprise when I was embraced by Luna’s dark veil.
I wished myself a good night; I’m going to need it.
“So you see,” the unicorn interviewee said, her matching dress reflecting the summer colors, “humans were very… misled: they had been since the dawn of their species.”
“How so?” I asked, pen and paper at the ready.
The unicorn, now wearing a top hat and monocle, stopped for a moment to think of the words. “They were like stray sheep,” she finally said, suddenly speaking with a deeper masculine voice. “Without a shepherd to guide them they wandered aimlessly and had to fend to themselves. Considering that they’ve managed to prosper for thousands of years is admirable, but despite what they’ve told us, they have always been surviving, never living to their fullest. You have their aggressive nature to blame for that.”
“Interesting…” I mumbled as I engraved my notes on my stone slab with a hammer and chisel. “Would you say that there was perhaps a chance to change their destructive ways?”
The pegasus looked bemused. He wiggled his moustache and let out a small chuckle. “Me dear lad” he chimed, now sporting a strong accent, “if we evarr had tha chance tah change thar bloomin’ ways, we woodn’ haff develop’d tha see-rum; we jus’ didn’t haff enough toime tah teach ‘em how tah be propah beings loike we did wiff dragons an’ griffins, tha magical barrier expanded too quickly.”
“So it was the only way to save them?”
“Sì!” the earth pony exclaimed in a new accent and straw boater hat, gesticulating wildly with his forehooves. “Those poor humans could not shutt-a up about their ‘pride’ and ‘freedom of-a choice’ though; not many of them agreed to-a change.”
I stopped scribbling with the crayon on the sand paper, puzzled. “Wait, ‘freedom of choice’?”
“Ja,” the interviewee replied, taking a quick swipe of her cider mug. “Zhey were real dummköpfe, anozher idiocy zhat zheir aimless straying had brought on zhem. Very individualistic.”
“But surely since the Princesses and the Bearers encouraged the conversion the humans must’ve understood that they were wrong to believe otherwise?”
The pegasus tipped his ten gallon hat. “Y’all would think that right? Ah s’pose the fact that they had no Celestia or Luna to guide ‘em would’ve rendered ‘em mighty suspicious of any bein’ higher an’ mightier than ‘em.”
I blinked. “That’s… very sad.”
She shrugged. “Don’t beat yerself up over it, mate,” the unicorn said encouragingly, rolling up the sleeves of her outdoors vest, “the humans, in spite of our offah were destined tah die. Nothin’ ya could’ve done about it.”
Probably not, I realized, but I do not believe that anything that lives can be destined to die. Something’s missing here. I don’t know what it is, but I can tell that it is crucial to understanding humans.
The pony looked skywards, uttering a gasp at the sight of the sun. “Blimey, how long have we been talking for? The sun’s already reached its peak!”
Shifting my attention to the sun I found myself as taken aback as the earth pony, not so much because it was at its zenith but rather because it was more resplendent than usual.
In fact it seemed to be growing brighter.
In any situation looking directly at the giant ball of fire was not recommended, but even as I turned to face away from the light it did not diminish. It was beginning to hurt. A lot.
I shut my eyes in reflex but my lids proved useless against the piercing glow of the sun as the brightness proved to be just as much of a blemish to my eyes as knives are to skin.
“What is happening?!” I screamed, burying my head with my hooves—anything to hide myself from the light.
A new voice, different from all of the previous ones spoke. It was very articulate, warm and oddly familiar.
“Perhaps,” it calmly spoke, “it is time to face the truth.”
After that I passed out.
Light intruded into my field of view, through my lidded eyes. Just a dream, I came to realize even as the memories of said dream faded away. I’ve just been sleeping.
I shifted in my bed to make myself a bit more comfortable when suddenly it struck me: why was there so much light?
Delicately opening an eye to take a peek I noticed that the light was uncharacteristic to usual morning light. In fact, it seemed as if the sun had already ri—
My eyes shot open in spite of the inevitable pain, now with the sudden and urgent need to take in my surroundings: Same bed, same desk, same clutter of papers and pens, same window vie—
No, not the same window view. The exterior scene that it depicted were the rising cliffs dotted with scattered buildings…
…And a strong blue sky.
“Oh no,” I breathed, looking upwards to my skylight; I had to avert my gaze due to the sky-high sun.
“Oh no!”
A quick glance at the wall clock proved my worst fears: it was two past noon. I missed the interview!
The next few seconds were a flurry of panicked movement, mostly consisting of my efforts to get out of bed and rushing to make myself presentable. It was only after the fourth failed attempt to put on my necktie did I slow down to collect myself, regulating my breathing. Deep breaths, Crystal—deep breaths.
“Okay…” I mumbled as I gauged the situation. Calm down. Missing the interview isn’t the end of the world, I’m sure Autumn Mist would be more than willing to reschedule our appointment. It’d be terribly unprofessional of me but I had little doubt that a compromise could be agreed upon.
Besides, I had other ponies up for interview for this entire week. Even if I wouldn’t have an interview with Mist I still had other meetings to fall back on.
With the few remaining clouds of concern ebbing away, I went with my habitual morning rites; albeit belated, a shower and a light snack fancied me as I was a creature of routine. Undoing the mess of a tie on my neck and tossing it unceremoniously on my bed I made for the bathroom right next to my office/bedroom. Much like my room it had only the bare minimum necessities, and they were not top quality either: a sink with a mirror, a tub, toilet and a small cabinet for medicine and other supplies underneath the basin—all that a residential bathroom needed in my mind.
I turned the tap on and splashed my muzzle with some frigid water, shocking me into full consciousness and washing away the surviving cobwebs of sleep. Droplets of water soaked my dark teal coat, dripping away from the strands of hair, as I took in the reflection in the mirror.
The unicorn before me was a mess: His ivory mane streaked with vanilla strips was completely frazzled from an uneasy sleep and his eyes had noticeable shadows edging from below. He let out a deep sigh whilst I closed the tap. Get a grip on yourself, Crystal, a mare’s voice scolded, sounding eerily similar to my mother’s. What kind of a researcher are you if you can’t even follow your own schedules?
Temporarily dismissing the thought to the back of mind I went for the tub. My thoughts were too befuddled; I needed to clear my head of conflicting ideas and set the table to plan the rest of the day and a shower would freshen my mind anew.
A torrent of warm water washed down along my body. I sighed once more, this time with a small sense of pleasure. That’s the ticket.
My shower was done within minutes and I proceeded to dry myself and quickly tidy up my mane. Once done I admired my hoof work: The teal unicorn looked considerably better and seemingly rejuvenated. Slap a tie on me and I’d be fully presentable for any occasion.
Right—first order of business: food.
Heading for the kitchen I began to consider my next course of action after the snack: A letter of apology offering another date for the appointment would be the most appropriate response for my improper conduct. The overall message came to me while I prepped some tomato slices and lettuce leaves for a simple sandwich. Usually I would have a bowl of oat mixed with some milk for breakfast, however, seeing as late as it was, I opted for something a bit more solid.
The letter wouldn’t need to be overly formal as my first; when Mist replied back her letter adopted a very casual approach, so I assumed that she would be fine if I were to drop the formalities.
With the sandwich plated I returned to my office and set to writing the letter while occasionally biting sizable chunks of bread and vegetables.
Dear Miss Mist…
I took a second to consider the opening greeting. Maybe it was too formal? Scratching the line I started again:
Dear Autumn Mist...
It sounded better now, warmer and friendlier. I nodded and proceeded.
Due to unforeseen circumstances…
I paused. That isn’t necessarily true, I told myself. Feeling apprehensive I scratched the words and thought for a second before writing a new line. Just get to the point.
As you know, I was unable to come since I unfortunately lost track of time.
It was to the point and relatively relaxed in wording, but it sounded awkward in my mind. My experience from writing class seemed to be working against me, the formality instilled in me as a student clashed with the more casual writing style that I was going for. Regardless of the odd tone, I left it in.
I am very sorry for not telling you that I wouldn’t be able to meet you at the Stallion’s Star for the interview. I was hoping to reschedule the interview for a later date…
Hmm… the last bit still felt too formal. I took another bite of my sandwich as I rewrote that bit.
I was wondering if we could do the interview at another time. I am free this weekend during the afternoons, so if you’re fine with that, just say the time and place and I’ll schedule us another appointment.
Once again, thank you for your attention,
Apologies,
Crystal Clear
Finishing my meal I reread the rough draft. I felt that perhaps it was slightly apologetic and formal, but it was far more relaxed than what I usually wrote. Judging it passable I got myself a clean scroll and wrote the final letter, carefully forming the letters and avoiding any grammatical errors that plagued the draft.
With the finishing signature done I looked over the perfected letter; it was anything but perfect and were my Equestriani teacher to read this she’d find faults all over it, but it would suffice for somepony like Mist.
Hunger temporarily satisfied and with no essential chores in need to be done at the moment I decided to mail this so it’d be out of the way. Enveloped and ready to be sent, I made for the front door. Just before opening it I noticed some papers placed underneath the door—mail.
Well I can take a moment to take a look, I told myself as I levitated the small stack of letters to eye level. I sorted through the bills and publicity until I found a letter that stood out: it was a personal letter…
From Autumn Mist? Uh oh.
My first thoughts suggested that it was an angry letter demanding why I hadn’t shown up at our meeting. But then I realized that it couldn’t have been the case: We were supposed to meet at half-past ten, and the mail mare must’ve passed before noon because I didn’t hear her while I was awake. Even with an hour or so to write and send a letter the mail service always took at least a few hours to deliver.
So it may have arrived early this morning, I reasoned. Maybe she wanted to tell me something before the rendezvous?
A quick look at the delivery date proved that it was actually from yesterday evening. Maybe Mist was unable to meet up with me after all! a voice in me hoped.
Under different circumstances the possibility would’ve irked me since it would have meant rescheduling. In this case I was beginning to feel relieved.
Curiosity rising in me I opened up the envelope and took a look at Mist’s message.
Dear Clear,
Regrettably I have to cancel our appointment for tomorrow morning. I have been reassigned to Stalliongrad by the Royal Court, thus I cannot come to do your interview and I doubt that I shall be able to any time soon.
My sincerest apologies, I hope you may find somepony else for your interview.
Sincerely,
Autumn Mist
The words rolled in my head for a moment while I considered them. She was being reassigned?
In our correspondence Mist had mentioned that she did hold a place in the court, something about being an advisor to the local mayor or something along those lines. In a sense I was glad that this happened, yet I was aware that this was an hindrance to my plans. Stalliongrad was a continent away from the Capes and I didn’t have the money to afford myself a trip of several thousands of leagues just to get some information for a book. The investment just wasn’t worth it.
I cursed: A tad ironic, considering that I was hoping for what had just happened no more than a minute ago. I let out a disappointed sigh. I’ve still got several other ponies up for interview for this upcoming week, I convinced myself. A meet up with Mist is problematic but it isn’t a deal breaker.
Still, bearing in mind that she was a political official, so her input would have indubitably been a great insight to the times before the conversion. If only…
Blinking myself out of my meditative tangent I put away my letter to Autumn and quickly went over the remaining mail in the wad levitating in mid air before me:
Bill…
Advertisement…
Bill…
…hm. What’s this?
It was another personalized letter addressed directly to me, much like Autumn Mist’s letter, but it had an air of formality about it that the other lacked. It was of some surprise when I saw the name Iron Heart, my father, on the envelope. He lived North of the Capes in Hoofshire along with my mother at our old family home. I would still be living with them had I not been accepted at the Perlino Royal Polytechnic Institute in the Capes. Despite the distance between us, my parents and I have kept in touch via correspondence frequently enough, mostly with mother’s letters asking how I was doing, still unsure whether or not I was fully independent yet. Her motherly love and care was reminiscent of that which she provided me with when I was but a young colt.
I smiled at that thought: Even though I always nagged her to stop treating me so, nowadays it acted mostly as a reminder of simpler times. The days where I hadn’t a care in the world, where bills were unheard of and food and a comfortable bed were a sure thing.
Focusing once more on the letter I saw that it was about four days old; the last letter between me and my parents had been the exciting news that I had managed to get several interviewees to write my book about a week back. Most likely this was my father’s reply to that letter, iterating how proud he and my mother were of me, probably adding a word of encouragement or two as was his style.
I opened the letter with a grin and began to read it. As my eyes zipped along the lines the confident smirk shrank, giving way to a mask of confusion. By the time I was finished reading it a grimace took the place of the earlier smile.
The words, no matter how often I reread them, wouldn’t change. The message still bore the same grim news, leaving me at a loss. “What…?”
I shook my head to clear any uncertainty and read the letter once more, out loud this time:
Dear Crystal,
Your mother and I are very glad that you’ve achieved your first step to writing that book of yours. Your journey to become an established writer lies before you. Don't let this opportunity slip, and you will have the life that you’ve always dreamed of. Seize the day.
However I must tell you that we’ve received some very sad news from the Azures island just as we got your letter.
There’s no proper way to say this, so I’ll just go straight to the point:
Your grandmother Lyra has passed away.
Her friends have contacted us telling that a funeral will be held at her home at Grazeiosa within a few weeks, and asked us to attend it.
In the envelope there is a ticket for the ferry to Port Delgate; meet us at the Lush Hotel and we’ll see how things are.
Your mother and I will be looking forwards to see you again.
Sincerely,
Iron Heart
The apartment had fallen to a quiet stillness. Whatever sounds there were had thawed to silence as my mind tried to make sense of this; a multitude of questions flooded into my head, all of which branched from one uncertainty:
Who was Lyra?
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Been working for a while. It's late. Sleep is required. Will respond to any questions or concerns tomorrow morning.
G'night everyone.
"canid populations"
Oh you just know the world building is going to be exceptional when in the writer is more creative with the dogs. It really does make more sense to write the Diamond Dogs as a specific tribe or gang of dogs or just a nickname for them and then use something better sounding. reading on I'm continuously surprised by the level of world building as it's subtlety laid out. Are you using a map or something? Everyone likes to complain about the misanthropy but it's the lack of imagination in the world building that is the real crime. The one thing that I did enjoy from Chatyance's fics were the stories expanding the world of Equestria beyond Ponyville but then the bizarre construction of her Equestria as a never ending plane of desert, while interesting to an extent, just ruined the stories themselves and made them feel just as artificial. But I'm rambling now. Back on topic, I love the expanding of the fictional world. More fics in general should do this.
"Who was Phone Lyra?"
And here we are with Lyra's name being thrown out. I almost mentally rolled my eyes to the idea of the researcher on humans being related to Lyra, but what's this now? He's never heard of her? Now we're left wondering if it's some kind of code. Is someone trying to secretly contact him? Did his grandfather not get along with his grandmother and they split, probably because she was pro-human and he wasn't the same after conversion? You've succeeded G.I.U.L.I.O.. You've captured my attention and left me wanting answers without relying on cheep tricks. I swear everybody is leaving their biweekly chapters on cliffhangers this week. This one works though. There isn't enough for me to care for the character's well being this early, yet you were able to lay out such a simply and subtle thing to keep me reading. Nice.
Reassigned to Stalliongrad, hm? Something's up...
And Crystal Clear is Lyra's grandson? Not surprising.
HANDS!
Right, had about seven hours of sleep. Now I can look over the chapter properly...
Ah-hah! Caught two mistakes that nobody pointed out!
754540
Lotsa speculation here. All I'll say is that you've got one thing bang on but I'm not telling which!
World building, I feel, is easily one of the most important aspects that TCB authors should develop properly for a good story to work. Luckily in terms of using a map, I'm using the same one that most people in the world use: ours! What I'm actually doing is renaming real places and cities into something more pony-ish (i.e. The Azores -> The Azures or Graciosa -> Grazeiosa) or coming up with a new name entirely. As for Equestria proper I'll likely keep it vague when I do get to it. Expect little mention of Ponyville though.
755034
Interesting you should say that, especially considering that I've never read any Lovecraft story (closest piece of work was a biographical graphic novel of Lovecraft). Crystal's narration style is mostly akin to the manner I write in most pieces. He is definitely scholarly, or at least he tries to be. In many respects he shares many similarities with Twilight, mostly in scholarly terms: the desire to know; some slight compulsive behavior (though nothing like Twi's OCD) and the want to teach.
'Course he does have his fair share of differences, though I cannot disclose them yet, top secret.
Comment away!
86 favs and 66 likes? Woah, wasn't expecting my means to vent my frustration of the TCB universe to be a great hit. Y'all are crazy. Crazy I tells ya!
Hesitantly tracking, then Lyra. OK, you have my attention now. Let's do this.
755034
Zed, I'll have to disagree with you here and claim it has more of a memoir vibe, as Lovecraft employed more of a stream-of-consciousness style with huge monolithic paragraphs and interruptions in his own narrative. This is much easier to read.
I'm enjoying the press of the generation gap here, as Crystal Clear has to record the stories and input from ever-dwindling numbers of true newfoals before all firsthand accounts of the conversion days are gone forever, in a rather stark parallel to the passing of the WWII-era generation in our own time. The setup is ripe for delivering powerful moments, much like the one given in the prologue. Onward!
Yes! Finally someone who shares my view of ponies being diurnal!
I mean, seriously. We know they're not nocturnal, but there has to be some reason they've got those huge eyes.
Nooooo! Best pony! Why did you have to die?! dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/misc_Lyra_cry.png
Anyways, great chapter! You do, however have some spelling and occasionally grammar mistakes, but nothing too major.
Interesting. I too sense a conspiracy. Lyra... something's up there. They've got something for him there. And that dream was... eerie. can't wait for more!
758685
Curses, I'll have to fire my editor!
*Looks around*
Wait a second. That's me!
Mind telling me what I missed?
Again, if anyone wants to be an editor/prereader just shoot an PM my way.
758701
Well, for instance, 'newfoal,' is one word. Also, you quite often word your sentences a bit awkwardly. Are you, perchance, not a native speaker of English?
758768
Considering that I grew up in a country where Portuguese is (one of) the official language, that Italian is our household language, and that I have learned French for about four years...
Yeah, even with my ~7 years experience of English I do get my grammar structures and syntaxes mixed up for another language. Usually it doesn't show but sometimes awkward sentence structures manage to slip through.
But regarding 'newfoal', it doesn't seem to exist in any dictionary, not on my Word or any online dictionary. Is the term one word in the TCB universe?
758792
Every single Conversion Bureau story I have read so for, uses 'newfoal,' and not 'new foal.' Also, 'new foal' implies that they're a new foal, as in a foal who is new, which they're not.
758807
How odd that nobody used 'new foal' before this...
Alright, I'll quickly fix 'em up.
EDIT: Annnd fixed.
>>BG
It's not the Misanthropy that we complain about, it's the way they don't take everything about a human in account. We as a species are morally grey to everything. Sure we did some screwed up shit like the segregation and internment camps, but we also did plenty of good things as well.
To say all humans are evil would be a lie, so would saying all humans are good. We are good mixture of both. Hell, I'll admit this, I'm a nice guy until you fuck with me, or anyone I care for! That's what makes me human. Also, to hate what you are? Seriously?
img14.imageshack.us/img14/1521/475569.jpg
765072
In a way it is still misanthropy, but you're right.
Unfortunately for some they take their cynicism to an extreme level and claim hatred of their own kind. Not much we can do about those sort of people besides point out their lack of acknowledgment of well-rounded humans (both good and bad, bonus points if characters are a mix of the two).
This was good. There was a lot of naval gazing in this chapter, but you compensated for the lack of action by building up a solid mystery. You've set the hook for the readers perfectly. All in all, good chapter.
lyra is dead?
Never heard of his grandmother Lyra? Of course he hasn't... Everyone forgets her!
After all, she's just a Background Pony...
That is a lie! We've been 'living' since the start of the 20th or 21st century!
756454
I would have loved to just fly a helicopter in front of him and touch down when he's on the road and open it then walk out to: