Room

by AstralMouse

Wall

I couldn't sleep.

Maybe it was the uncomfortable floor, maybe it was the thought that just above me, my window was lying to me. Maybe it was the creeping worry that, somewhere in the vast emptiness, somepony was out there. Something evil that would chase me down and eat me if it saw me? Somepony who could rescue me, but had to find me first? Sweetie Belle or Opal, just as scared and confused as me? All of them were terrifying in their own way. As lonely as I felt, perhaps being alone was for the best. I wouldn't wish this on anypony else, after all.

While I couldn't keep track of time very well, it felt like I had rested for an hour. It didn't really matter, though, since the real measure for how long I needed was simply how my legs and hooves felt. And, feeling good enough to continue, I stood up.

I decided not to bring anything from the window with me, having no easy way to carry it. The blindfold, however, I kept around my neck, as it had already proven useful.

The walls stretched away endlessly on either side of the window, and I realized I wasn't actually certain which way would be faster. Going right, and keeping the wall on my left, seemed a little bit better as I visualized my bedroom. And there was no sense in sitting around being too indecisive.

So, I began my long walk.

The first thoughts I had now were about just how big this place was. I was no Twilight Sparkle when it came to math, but I knew my way around a measuring tape. I tried to mentally calculate about how far I had walked from my bed to my window, estimating the actual size of my room to be…

I really didn't know.

Big. It was big. More than a full day to walk from one side to the other. Not that I could measure days anyway, or even be sure of just how many hours I had walked already.

How long had I been awake?

Would I be able to sleep on the floor?

What if it got cold?

I certainly wasn't going back to my bed.

I spent some of my time using my magic to play with my mane. As a filly, one of my favorite things to do with my mane and tail was to pull the curls straight and let them bounce back into place. It was a terrible habit, but I had long since gotten over it. Doing it again, however, rekindled some of my childlike glee.

I found myself giggling and feeling like a silly filly. It was a good thing that nopony was around to see it.

When the novelty of that wore off, I did other things that younger me enjoyed. I played imaginary hopscotch, practiced my prancing, did some silly spins and dance moves, and pretended I was missing two limbs, having to walk using only my back right and front left legs. I also sang some songs I still remembered after all these years.

All in all, it was a nice way to spend maybe an hour.

I couldn't see my window anymore. Being near the wall, it was no surprise that it vanished quickly, but being back to awful sameness gave the illusion that I wasn't making progress.

Curious, I stopped to try ripping the wallpaper with my magic. With some difficulty, it did tear, revealing the plaster behind it.

I resumed walking, happy to see the visible scar disappear behind me.

While I wasn't completely under the illusion that I wasn't making progress, actually seeing it put my mind at ease again. Traveling here was beginning to feel like walking on a treadmill, so it did help to have some proof that I was really moving.

There was a long period of time, then, where nothing notable happened, and I was content to hum to myself while occasionally ripping my wallpaper. Sometimes, I leaned against the wall and walked along it, dragging my horn across its surface, probably looking like a lunatic.

I have no idea now how long it was before I spotted another landmark.

It was one of the pillars that rose up to support arches over my window and sewing station, and just along the walls in general. In the distance, it was just a tall white line. The arch part was either not there, or too high up to see. Likely the latter.

More notably, however, it was also where my wall angled to the right, and seeing more faint purple beyond the pillar was heartening. Progress. I was going to make it to my door.

As I got closer, I could make out the white and purple diamond pattern on the pillar itself.

I passed by it without stopping. It had nothing for me, but the slight right turn felt reassuring.

Strangely, my corkboard that should be covering this wall was missing. It was where I would normally pin up drawings of dress designs or lists of materials. It was custom made to fit in the arch behind my shelf and sewing table, nailed to the wall.

Well, it was no matter. Hopefully. I was still sure I was going the right way.

I had a spring in my step for a bit, but as the pillar disappeared and the sameness returned, I once again needed to keep my mind occupied.

Thinking of my sewing station brought a new idea. I began designing dresses in my mind, mentally sketching them on paper and putting together rough drafts on my ponnequins. I'm sure my hooves and legs ached, but I successfully ignored the pain and pushed onward.

And once again, time was lost to me as I walked in silent, imaginative thought.

I did come up with some stellar ideas that made me wish I had my sketch paper or a notepad. But, such is the life of an artist. Some great ideas are doomed to be forgotten because of circumstances.

I didn't despair, though; I took it as a challenge. I was just going to keep coming up with better and better designs until I found one that was unforgettable!

Well, needless to say, I did. Through sheer power of will, I designed a dress that would shake the very foundations of Canterlot fashion! It would bring high society to its knees! It would change Equestria forever! The Princesses would make me Chief Royal Fashionista! It would…

Well, okay, maybe it wasn't that grand, but it was definitely one of my best works.

And even without a sketch, I could see it all so clearly in my mind's eye that I could never forget it.

I can hardly believe what happened next, myself, but I swear it's true. Just as I had finished putting the final touches on my dress, I saw my brown, arch-shaped corkboard, with yesterday's designs still pinned up.

I galloped to it, laughing hysterically and crying tears of joy. There it was. Pins and papers and… oh no. My materials were all stored on my shelf, which was somewhere behind me. Since it wasn't part of the wall, it must have been somewhere out in the carpet sea, too far away to see.

Fine, I thought, I'm not going to forget this dress anyway.

I took some pins and stuck them through the blindfold's elastic in a way that wouldn't let them poke me.

It might not have been the best use of my time to be drawing dresses anyway.

And so, it was back to the endless march.

I eventually came upon one of my smaller windows, revealing a bit more of Ponyville, still disturbingly unmoving. It was especially disorienting seeing some of the same view I had seen so long ago. It felt like I had walked halfway to Canterlot, only for my window to show a difference of maybe ten steps. I repeated the experiments from the last window, with the same effects. More certain than ever of my goal, I left the broken glass and eerie daylight behind without looking back.

There is little to say about the long walk to my door. I passed several more pillars, but my walls were otherwise barren. There were many times that I stopped and cried softly, wishing it could be over. I told myself I was only resting, but my legs were often fine.

My hooves became tired of the carpet, like getting sick of hay fries after eating them every day for a month. I missed the crunch of hard-packed dirt roads, the clop-clop of stone and wood, the cold wetness of grass.

I missed the smell of the outdoors, the chill of wind through my mane, the sounds of nature and busy ponies. The stagnant, odorless air of the room was driving me mad.

I missed my bathtub. Warm, soapy water soaking into my coat and mane.

I missed the spa. Massages and hooficures and steam rooms.

I missed my friends. My family.

Sweetie Belle. I wanted to hug her and never let go.

If I had to guess, I'd say it took a full two days of walking after the corkboard. Maybe more, maybe less. I never slept, despite trying several times while resting. I can only assume that sleep is impossible here, because I at times certainly could have fallen asleep on colder, harder surfaces than my carpeted floor. The actual feeling of sleepiness just kind of came and went, though, instead of getting more intense as it should normally.

Through it all, the only thing keeping me going was knowing I would reach my door. Without that, I wouldn't have survived. I would have lost my mind for sure.

I knew, with absolute certainty, that my door would be the answer. I couldn't afford to doubt it. I needed it. I'd have my way out, and I could see the ponies I love. I could make my perfect dress.

But now, here I am, and I don't know what to think.

Next to the door, I found a small table with a quill and a note on top of this journal.

What really caught my eye at first was that the table is not mine. Everything else I’ve seen in this room is my own furniture and decorations, but this table is different. Just part of the magic, I suppose.

Anyway, you've no doubt read the note by now, so you know as much as I do.

This is a curse. Where it started or how it was passed to me, I don't know, but it happens every morning when I wake up. I always wake up… here. And every morning, it gets bigger. But my memory of it is completely erased each time, the moment I walk out the door, and I go back to reality feeling perfectly well rested.

This journal started out lighthearted, as each Rarity woke up in a room not much bigger than the real thing. The fifth one said she felt like a mouse with mouse-sized furniture, and she couldn't imagine why this was a curse. She called it cute. I almost want to slap her for that.

The ones just before me had it rough, judging by their entries. Perhaps I was lucky. I decided to write my full experience down for you as proof that we… or, I can get through this. I have to. The alternative is too horrible for the Element of Generosity to even consider.

I… We. We must remain strong.

Because, as you may know, the only way to be rid of the curse is to pass it to somepony else by signing the paper.

And I beg you: Tell your story in the journal and walk out the door. Please do not sign the note.

Comments

[TehEpicDuckeh]

0.0

[HiddenEntity]

Oh ho ho, there's a different but same Rarity every time you leave the room, holy moly...

This is what horror should always be, a feeling of displacement, that something's nit right.

[Rustybuckets]

Well now that i think about it, what's stopping the victims from just signing it immediately every time they get the curse? Before it gets bad, they read the note, sign their name, pass it on. Then the next person reads the note, signs their name, then passes it on. There's nothing implicating that it'll be worse for the next person, or that there's any consequences, because the next person doesn't have to suffer at all if they immediately sign it.