• Published 24th Oct 2017
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Mimetos - flipwix



Twilight Sparkle gradually realizes that something else is living her life.

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Cecity

The streets of Ponyville were relatively quiet that evening, save for a lone mare who appeared to be balancing two rather dissimilar tasks—walking and reading, though the latter task was clearly of far more interest to her. To her credit, the mare seemed to be doing a rather good job of navigating the dark town in spite of the book she had her nose in. The soft glow of the moon was the only light she had to read by besides the street lamps she passed under, but this didn’t bother her; she’d long grown accustomed to reading in the dark, and her eyes were rather good at adjusting to such conditions. Besides—it provided wonderful atmosphere for the murder mystery novel that she was currently too invested in to put down.

As she trotted along the empty streets, she paused a moment to stretch her muzzle back and adjust the straps of her saddlebags, as they’d slipped a bit from their proper place. This was the unfortunate consequence of being somewhat lanky but not quite enough to properly fit the next size up; so many of her things seemed to fit too loose, but when the alternative was to cut off all circulation she supposed she would take what she could get. Had she known a good tailor, perhaps this would be something she could have easily gotten fixed—but alas. She knew no such pony, or at least not close enough to ask for favors. Heavens knew she couldn’t afford to get all her things tailored, and were she to only have one or two things fixed the incompleteness of it would surely drive her completely up the wall.

But these were not thoughts she should be troubling herself with when there was a mystery novel to be focusing on. Shadow Spade’s adventures always did fill her with a sense of such intrigue and suspense, even if she personally thought the author could have done without some of the long costume descriptions at times. Nonetheless, they were wonderful stories in all other respects, and great inspiration for herself when she was feeling particularly unmotivated. Not that motivation necessarily mattered a great deal, she supposed—discipline was a far more important thing in most occasions, and she found that proper scheduling worked wonders when it came to making sure she did things when they should be done. Still, motivation helped.

She let herself become totally absorbed in the book for a while, and in figuring out just who might have been responsible for the griffin ambassador Giovanni’s death. With her mind as focused on the book as it was, the mare hardly noticed her surroundings any more than it took to take the correct turns as she travelled—so it wasn’t exactly a surprise (though still an annoyance) when she suddenly collided with another pony, one who had been going markedly faster than she had, causing her book to go flying as she tumbled to the ground rather gracelessly.

“Ow,” Evening Star muttered, face down in the earth, before she felt another pony’s hoof prod her side.

“You alright?” came a vaguely familiar voice, tinged with concern, though it was not one that she especially recognized. Groaning in assent, she took a moment to pick herself up and try and shake some of the dirt off of her coat. “Didn’t mean to go runnin’ into you like that,” said the other pony apologetically, and as Evening Star finally looked at her, she recalled that she was one of the ponies who worked out on the nearby apple farm. Not anypony she particularly knew, though.

“It’s fine,” she muttered, noticing with a mournful sigh that her book—her new book, that she had just purchased today—had not only been damaged superficially in the fall, but had also closed when it landed. Now she’d have to find her place again!

“You should really get inside, though,” the farmpony (she did not recall her name) continued, as if she hadn’t noticed Evening Star’s annoyance at all. “Don’t suppose you noticed how empty the streets are? A cragadile’s gotten loose from the Everfree Forest, and it ain’t safe to wander none until we can clear it out.” Seeming to notice the mild shock in the other mare’s eyes, she gave her a kindly pat on the shoulder. “You should be fine if you go straight home. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to catch up to my friends. See ya ‘round!”

Without waiting for her reply, the farmpony galloped off, and as she turned to watch her go, Evening Star saw five other ponies watching from just down the street, apparently having stopped to wait for their friend. She did not know any of them personally, but knew one of their names at least—but then, everypony did. The Princess of Friendship stood among her friends with a benign smile on her face, nodding as her friend rejoined the group and then taking off to lead them towards their foe with a few graceful flaps of her wings.

That was just typical, she supposed. Ponyville seemed to have a new manner of threat every other day, whether it was large or small. Rolling her eyes, Evening Star turned to keep walking, lifting up her book with a hoof and sighing again as she started searching for where she had left off.

Before she knew it, her hooves had carried her home—or the closest thing she had to it, she supposed—and, frowning slightly to herself, she retrieved a bookmark, marked the place she’d gotten to, and then tucked her book away into her saddlebag. Trotting up the steps, she rapped twice on the door to announce her arrival before she dared open the door—she’d learned her lesson after she’d been chewed out for walking in on her roommate in a particularly compromising position once, when she’d gotten hold of one of Evening Star’s more trashy, sappy romance novels and been in the middle of a good cry over it.

“Come in!” called the voice from inside, and Evening Star entered the wagon without a second thought. It was, admittedly, rather cramped in here—or, well, a lot cramped. But there was, at the very least, enough space for two mares to sleep (despite some discomfort at the lack of space), and that was good enough for her. The close quarters did mean Evening Star woke up sometimes due to being kicked—the unfortunate result of having a roommate who moved around a lot in her sleep—but that was fine, too; she could always use the free time to work on her writing, anyway. Not that she could do it inside, with how small it was. But that was beside the point.

“Hi, Trixie,” she sighed, letting a bit of her exasperation seep into her voice without entirely meaning to. Her roommate seemed focused on some new manner of magical trick she was practicing in the small scale—and Evening wondered briefly if perhaps she should leave the wagon for a while in case of any … accidents. As soon as the thought had crossed her mind, however, the light at the end of Trixie’s horn went out, and she turned her attention to Evening Star with one eyebrow raised.

“What’s got you down in the dumps?” she asked, crossing her hooves in front of her and tilting her head expectantly. “You know you can tell Trixie what’s wrong.” Evening Star suppressed an eye roll at the patronizing tone her friend had used, reminding herself that it was just the way she was, and moved over to sit in the corner of the wagon near her, her saddlebags dropping to the floor.

“Honestly, it’s nothing,” she said wearily. “Just another monster wreaking havoc in Ponyville. I swear, these crises are happening more and more often lately.”

“Wow,” replied Trixie somewhat disdainfully, raising that single eyebrow even higher. “That is nothing. Honestly, Evening, this must be the hundredth time by now! You can’t really be worried anymore, can you?” She laughed a little, giving her roommate what seemed to be a good-natured prod on the side as if to punctuate her words. Evening Star didn’t feel like going to the trouble of pointing out that it wasn’t fear or worry that made the constant disasters bothersome, but instead her own annoyance that they would be happening at all.

“Of course,” she mumbled. “You’re right.” She felt for her book in her bag almost entirely out of habit, pulling it out and staring at it for a few moments instead of actually reading it.

Trixie broke the brief silence then. “Want me to put that on your shelf for you?” she offered with that air of superiority she always had, grinning and gesturing to the shelf they’d installed high overhead near the very top of the wagon as if Evening Star didn’t already know where it was. With the lack of space in their living quarters, she’d had to get inventive when it came to storing her books, not that she had many more anyway.

Before she could answer, Trixie had already lit up her horn, apparently eager to demonstrate her growing magical prowess. Evening Star forced down the sudden and inexplicable envy she was stricken by at the action, wondering where it had come from. “Thank you, Trixie,” she said quietly. She didn’t have the heart to tell her roommate that she could have easily shelved it herself (as it was no trouble for her to reach the shelf if she flew), nor did she mention that she’d actually been planning to read it before bed tonight; as it was, she wasn’t sure she could focus anyway. As she watched, the unicorn levitated the book up and slid it onto the shelf with a little squeak of delight. At least one of them was pleased.

It was more or less time to turn in for the night, but even after Trixie had put away her things and curled up to do so, Evening Star could not stop her mind from going back to what she had said earlier. Honestly, Evening, this must be the hundredth time by now…! She had called her Evening, and her heart twinged a bit in melancholy at the knowledge. Her own name had never felt quite right, she supposed … but she recalled a time when Trixie had called her Star, when they’d been closer. Perhaps they’d never been best friends, but --

Well. It didn’t matter anymore. Trixie had met Starlight Glimmer, and then Evening could not be Star anymore, not when Trixie’s best friend was clearly more deserving of the title. She didn’t know why it hurt so much, but it did.

She was being silly, she knew. She’d never been one to fret over silliness like that before. She’d always been more concerned with literature than she had been with a social life, and she had never had any regrets for that. Her books sold well enough, when she could push herself hard enough to write them, and wasn’t that enough? To the ponies who read the works she put out, she was important.

So why didn’t it feel like enough anymore?

She didn’t understand. She had never had any friends, not besides Trixie, and even that was more of a friendship of convenience than anything, as she’d helped Trixie with marketing in exchange for sharing her wagon while she wrote and sold her books. The travelling, she knew, was useful experience for her own writing.

But then why had she stayed when Trixie had more or less decided to park the wagon in Ponyville indefinitely? They hadn’t moved on to a new town in what felt like ages. So what kept her rooted to the wagon? Was she really that desperate for companionship?

Deep down, she was certain she knew the answer—at least to why she had stayed. Evening Star might have prided herself on being unconcerned by friends and social silliness, but deep down, she was lonely—too lonely, in truth, to face the idea of leaving.

She shivered, blinking back the wetness in her eyes in the darkness and trying not to hiccup. She was fortunate Trixie seemed to be a heavy sleeper.

Eventually, Evening Star felt herself drifting off too, her face sticky with still-drying tears.

She opened her eyes to pure darkness, as she had for weeks now. She could vaguely remember a time in which she had dreamed, but that time was gone. Now sleep brought with it only herself and the lonely void, its inky blackness surrounding her until it came time to awaken again. The silence was pleasant, in a way. She sat in solitude in the emptiness and closed her eyes, though it made no real difference either way.

A distant sound made her snap them open again.

There had never been noise in the void before. Eyes wide and the first hints of fear flaring up in chest, Evening Star strained her ears, glancing about her wildly as if she might make out shapes in the darkness. There was nothing around her.

As she listened, she began to realize that the sound was a voice—but greatly muffled, as if being heard from both underwater and far away all at once. There was an urgency to it—and yet, try as she might, she could not pick out the words.

“Who are you?” she called out into the darkness, frantic now. “Please!” Then, abruptly, a question bubbled up from within her unbidden, falling from her mouth like a sudden torrent of rainwater through an unpatched hole: “Who am I?!”

The voice grew almost imperceptibly louder, even as Evening Star’s wild eyes searched the emptiness for any sign of its origin. She could, at last, make out one word -

“... Sparkle …!”

Sparkle. Her. She was Sparkle. She knew not why she was so certain of this, but she was, and suddenly her desperation became motivated not by fear of the unfamiliar but instead panic as she realized the dream was ending. No! She had to know more! Had to…

“--Sparkle!” came the voice again, and the mare’s ears fell to pin themselves against her skull as the darkness crumbled around her.

She woke up.

Author's Note:

just an experimental thing i intend to update every 1-3 days until its completion. hope you enjoyed, possibly!