Book 1 - The Behemoth came to Canterlot

by Equimorto

Rev13

It was, in a way, not dissimilar from reading a book. A really well written book, a really engaging one, one that really drew the reader in and made them truly sink into the narrative, but a book nonetheless. A fictional story they had no control over. Something they could experience and something that could very much make them feel things, but not something they could change or alter in any way. With a couple key differences. For one, she could not stop that the way she could stop reading a book. For two, though slightly less important, she did not have control over the pacing the way she would have had while reading a book.

She wished she'd been reading a book instead. She wished she'd been doing almost anything else, far away from where she was, but specifically her mind wandered to reading because of the situation she was in. It felt like it had been ages since she'd last read a book. She could probably recall when exactly it had been that she'd done so, and what exactly she'd read then, but even without doing so she felt it had been too long. She regretted it, even though she'd never thought she would. She'd realised she never would get to read another. She'd liked reading, when she'd had the time for it, before bigger and more important things had taken priority. She'd always taken for granted that she could do it again if she ever felt like it. It was such a simple thing, and yet it suddenly seemed so important. She regretted not reading more, when she'd still been able to.

On one end, though, there was something exciting about what she was going through. Scary and exhilarating and terrifying and wonderful all wrapped up into one. What was happening to her, regardless of the leaning of it, it was something great. Something special. Something extraordinary. If leaving her old self behind disturbed her in profound ways only such a fundamental altering of nature could produce, the self she was moving towards was something undeniably greater than what she'd been. A truly noteworthy achievement for how great she had been before it already.

She could not help but feel regret. It was only natural. For all the things she could have done differently, for all the things she hadn't done, for all the choices that had seemed so important at the time and looked so meaningless when faced with a conclusion, and all the things that had seemed insignificant and suddenly she missed when she knew she'd never have them again. And yet, frightened as she was, she was still fascinated by the prospect of what would come next. Fascinated by that greatness bestowed onto her that she herself could not have reached, that greatness so beyond her that it was taking control of her and not the other way around.

How much of herself would remain in it? How much control would she have? She couldn't know. But she was past the point of getting a say in what would happen. She could only watch it play out at that point. So, she decided, she may as well watch how things would play out from there. She may as well choose excitement over fear, when she had no choice in the way things would continue.

Comments

[Speckle]

This sounds a lot like Twilight...