Chapter 16 - The House
Light Flow was feeling a considerable amount of dread.
After leaving his sanctuary hidden in the depths of the Everfree Forest, he had made his way back into Ponyville. He had dragged his hooves the entire way, and distracted himself any way he could, but there was simply no putting it off.
Oh wait, what was he saying? Of course he could put it off.
From where he was just sort of loitering around in front of some café, he could do some excellent pony watching. His ragged cloak and strange smell were attracting some gawkers, but it didn't bother him quite as much as it had before. The ponies staring at him were wide open to being stared at themselves, after all.
Even if they were beginning to look scared.
But he barely saw the wide eyes and the tense postures. He had something a little more tangible in sight.
Well, it was actually quite a bit less tangible, but his metaphor still made sense! Though it pretty much had the opposite meaning of what he had intended. It wasn't even really clear what he was talking about really, and if he was actually trying to explain it to another pony he was sure they would be quite confused. Or they would just think he was crazy, since It wasn't like they would understand his words even if he was explaining it correctly. Maybe he could find the time to create some sort of informational packet to give to like-minded ponies. Were there even like-minded ponies out there? He supposed it would be pretty improbable that there wouldn't be. Maybe he could make some sort of grand trip around Equestria to collect underlings and comrades, and eventually establish some sort of Necromancer's Alliance?
He stowed the idea away for later, and belatedly realized he had somehow strayed very far away from his point.
He was looking at souls, damnit!
From his place in his lonely iron chair at his lonely iron table, he had quite a good view at the ponies sitting at the less lonely table in front of him. The gawkers he had been staring at had all been scared off by his unblinking dark visage, which he supposed was a good thing. Intimidation was key, or something suitably ridiculous.
He set his hooves on the table and tried to peer closer at the ponies. He probably looked really creepy all hunched over like that, but he didn't even kind of care. He had given up on maintaining a socially acceptable appearance when he chose to spend three days sitting around in a forest.
The ponies' souls were becoming very interesting to look at. They had always been pretty fascinating, but he had sort of tuned them out after a year or two. Just the same old shiny things in the same old uninteresting ponies.
But now that he understood the genetic makeup of souls a little better, he was beginning to recognize some patterns within the mysterious colorful spheres.
The certain ways that some parts of them moved were reminiscent of what the book had said were deliberate patterns. Souls were obviously all different, but at their most base levels they all had the same makeup. Layers of genetic and magic code that were always in the same generic configuration. Sure, that configuration could differ in trillions of tiny small ways, but the overall product always followed something predetermined.
He took a moment to lean back off the table and wonder something. He knew animal souls looked pretty much the same as a pony's, but they probably had a bunch of differences. The books didn't really say anything about it, which he supposed was fine; but his inquisitive mind was burning with the unanswered questions.
He would have to get his hooves on a pony soul and an animal soul so he could compare.
He had actually been really looking forward to holding a soul in his own two hooves. It was one thing to have his hooves near a soul, like that one time he had talked Applejack into doing something that was apparently very uncomfortable for her.
But he could only wonder at the feeling of actually touching one. Would it be smooth? Would it be warm? Did he have to keep a firm grip on it, or would it just stick around once he had made contact? He wanted to know so bad.
But he obviously couldn't do any of that right now. It's not like he could just rip a soul out of somepony's chest, right? The book had said that there was a spell for it, so obviously it was required. There was just no way for him to get a soul right now.
No matter how much he wanted one.
He eyed the tantalizing orb floating in the pony only a few hoof-lengths in front of him. He quickly licked his lips, before just slightly biting down on them. The pain was helping him focus, but it was still very tempting. He could hear his thoughts trying to convince him, whispering assurances and methods and plans in his ears.
He bit his lip harder, and he tasted blood in his mouth. It was getting loud...!
He could have it. He could take it right now. He could just reach out and have it. All to himself forever and ever all for him. Nopony would stop him, it's not like it was illegal or anything. There wasn't any law against stealing souls, and it wasn't even actually stealing. It was basically his birthright, he was born to do stuff like that. Nopony could stop him really, he could just hide in the forest for the rest of his life if he needed to. Him and his trees and his books and his dog and his soul. Warm and pretty and glowing and moving just for him to look at. He could have all that if he just stopped being such a baby and took it. Just take it, just TAKE IT!
Amidst all the screaming in his head, one lonely thought rose up above the din.
"I have to get out of here."
The table rattled slightly and the chair screeched as Light Flow bolted away from it. He got more odd looks, but he completely disregarded them. He heard blood roaring in his ears, a river of white noise preventing him from putting any sort of rational thought together.
His eyes were beginning to itch again, like back at the cemetery. It was a deep scratching feeling that just made him wish he had claws instead of hooves. The edges of his vision were getting blurry, and he had to blink repeatedly to clear them. He didn't think he was crying?
He closed his eyes, which was probably a pretty bad idea while he was running, but he didn't care.
He just kept seeing what he could've done there. What he could have accomplished. The pretty colors of a real soul in his strangely red hooves. The wonderful vibrant dancing amidst a backdrop of scarlet. Like a performer on a stage, acting out a show just for him to the piercing tune of terrified screams.
He quickly left the cafè behind, trying not to think about what he had been tempted to do.
What he had almost done.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
As Light Flow quickly scampered away from the small building, he had no way of knowing what he was inadvertently running from. A danger lurking just behind him, in the most obvious of places.
A pair of guarded cerulean eyes carefully watched him leave. Slowly tracking his hurried movements as he left for the Residential District.
A cream-furred body rose from a seat at the table just behind where he had been sitting, and moved to follow him.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
He was calming down, sort of.
The thoughts were finally fading from memory. Flowing away from his overtaxed mind like blood in a river.
Okay, metaphors like that weren't helping.
But he really was feeling better. His eyes didn't itch, and his heart had stopped racing a while ago. He was just walking down the street adjacent to the Residential District. It was probably helping that there weren't any ponies on the streets due to the relatively late hour. It let him revel in the familiar comfort of being alone.
Alone. Draped in the orange fineries of the setting sun. The flaming colors dancing across the dirt paths and framing his uncertain gait with long, dark shadows. Like a solitary blot of darkness in an otherwise uniform sea of light.
Speaking of, he could have sworn his shadow was moving out of sync with him, but he wasn't entirely sure it was actually happening. Just little differences in how it moved. He flicked his eyes down, and watched his two-dimensional copy rear up with what appeared to be a knife grasped in its hoof, before stabbing itself in the chest. He blinked, and his shadow had returned to trotting alongside him.
Okay so he was hallucinating now. He should probably see a doctor about that.
It wasn't anything too debilitating though, especially since he could still tell something was wrong. It could wait until he stopped being able to separate his imagination from reality.
Putting his imminent mental disorders aside, he was getting close to the object of his journey. The very place he had been running so desperately from.
He could see it now, framed almost perfectly by the setting sun. It was as if a great orange monster had come to consume the last dregs of his old life. Forever rendering him unable to reconcile with who he used to be. A rather fitting metaphor for the never-ending passage of time, he idly supposed. For even though the sun and moon may rise and fall again, they could never again return to the days and nights they had passed. Forced to forever herald a new dawn and dusk, whether they wanted to or not.
He hated how symbolic all of this was. He should have come at noon or something.
But he was here, and he didn't really want to risk another mental breakdown, so he had to confront his feelings now.
His house was directly in front of him now. Shadowed as it was by the sun, it was a fairly menacing sight. The fear he felt was more due to what lay inside though, rather than the sight itself.
He really didn't want to do this. There was a kicking, clawing feeling in his chest that told him to just keep running, forever if he had to. Or maybe he could just put it off another day, what harm would that do? Visions of murder and the like built character, after all, so It would be completely fine to put it off for another week-ish. He had a lot of studying to do, and those books weren't going to read themselves. Just another month, and he would be ready to face the memories. Next year for sure, and he could come home.
Anything to avoid the pain.
His hooves tread softly over the tiny growths that were supposed to have grown into a full bed of grass. He picked his way through dead flowers that had never really gotten the chance to live. He came to a stop in front of the small welcome mat that had a big inky hoofprint on it.
He looked up at the front door of his home.
And he opened it.
It was immediately comforting in all the worst ways. He could already smell a very familiar scent, mixed in with all the smells of old cloth and family pictures. A warm scent, like cinnamon and sugar.
He already wanted to leave. So he opened the door wider and stepped inside.
His eyes immediately trained themselves on something of sentimental value in his living room, and the memories flooded into his mind unheeded. An old, stained coffee table. He remembered when he had spilled that soda on it, and his mother had told him that it was okay, and that she still loved him. He had been bawling and screaming about how she would hate him, and that she would be better off getting rid of him. But she had just scooped him up and held him until he calmed down. He still remembered getting more upset because he had been getting her fur dirty.
He vaguely acknowledged closing the door behind him as he quickly lost himself in the bittersweet memories.
He looked at something else. The worn out brown couch that they had spent so many nights on. The lumpy pillows and the frayed fabrics. He would sit there nestled into the comforting embrace of his mother while she read stories to him. They hadn't been the stories he liked, but he had listened anyway. He and his mother would sit there together until he inevitably nodded off to the soft tones of her voice, and he would always find himself waking up tucked into his bed. It was like magic.
He felt his jaw lock into place, and he pushed down the growing warmth in his eyes. He couldn't stop now, he was just getting started.
The similarly old bookshelf, where his mother would hide new books for him to find. He and his mother had been discussing buying a new one, since it was a bit rough on the eyes.
The shaggy brown rug he and his mother had picked out when they moved here. It was the only piece of furniture he had ever had any say in buying that wasn't black, and his mother had been so shocked when he hadn't pushed the issue.
All the weird knick-knacks his mother bought at thrift sales. Tiny snow globes that didn't work, little ornamental forest creatures, even a painting of a blue sunset. So many useless little things that clashed horribly together.
The terrible white curtains his mother had said were 'elegant'. The off-color spot in the wall from where he had accidently hit it with a hammer. The empty shelf with a crack in the middle.
So many family photos.
His eyes roved over some of them from where they were displayed on the mantle, above the fireplace his mother always told him not to play in even though he already knew not to.
Most of them were just pictures of his mother smiling awkwardly while he tried to look distant and uninterested. But there were a precious few where they both looked normal, and happy. Like a real family with a real son who didn't act like a maniac.
He ran his hoof over one of them, leaving behind a small clear streak in the dust. He wished they were all like that. He would give anything to have more of those memories.
There was one with an extra pony in the frame, but he moved past it. He had done his grieving there a long time ago.
He moved into the kitchen. His mother had spent an especially large amount of time here.
She had loved to cook. There were too many memories to count of her just standing in here, humming a pleasant tune as she made some sort of dish or treat. It was such a vivid image in his head, if he closed his eyes and just imagined that she was still here.. That he could hear the tune, even hum along... Maybe he could reach out, and just....
He could almost believe that she was still there...
But he opened his eyes all too soon. The kitchen was still here, and his mother was still gone.
There were still the memories though.
There was the kitchen table, where he and his mother had spent many nights sitting and playing board games.
So many games of Monopoly. So many failed Jenga towers. So many fake games of Poker. So much laughter.
So much lost.
There was the familiar opened letter still sitting there on the table. Still stained with tears.
Empty, practiced condolences delivered by a doctor with nothing behind his eyes. Worthless garbage.
He picked the letter up in his red magical glow, and tossed it into the nearby trash can. He couldn't stand looking at it anymore.
He turned his attention to the counter next to the stove. He ran his hoof over a small crack in the polished surface. He had once tried to help his mother cook, but he had forgotten the cutting board when chopping vegetables. His mother had been angry, but she was mostly upset that he hadn't been safe.
She was always doing that. She had always thought of him first. Always putting him before everything else.
Maybe that was why she had never told him she was sick.
He closed his eyes and heaved out a shuddering sigh. He couldn't stand here thinking about it anymore.
He made his way out of the kitchen and to the stairway.
He eyed the loose bottom step, and remembered when he had played a late-night prank on his mother using the loud creaking noise. She had been so mad, she had grounded him for a whole week. Of course, grounding a pony like him usually meant forcing him to go outside all day.
He had been endlessly obstinate in the face of his mother's exasperation. He wished he could tell her how much he valued her anger. She had never just sat back and let him get away with whatever he wanted.
He set his hoof down softly on the creaky step before making his way up the rest.
The hallway had never been of much interest to him before. Just something he had to walk through every day to get to and from his room. But now he saw so many things he had never really paid attention to before.
There was a little table that he wasn't sure he had ever even seen before. There was a tiny little flowerpot on it, and it held a fragile little yellow flower.
It was beautiful. He had never seen a flower so beautiful before.
He reached out and touched the precious little thing. He didn't know what kind of a flower it was, but he vowed to find out. He stayed there a moment, just caressing the delicate little stem, before taking his hoof away and reluctantly moving on.
There was a picture of a cottage on the wall that he had never given a single thought to. Never even registered it. The same went for the flowery pattern on the walls. He had never even seen any of it.
How much had he missed?
He eyed the door to his bedroom, but discarded the thought. It was just his room. Nothing special about it.
Instead, he pushed open the door to his mother's room and headed inside.
He closed the door behind him, and turned around to take it in.
He hadn't spent a lot of time here, for obvious reasons. The only times he had really come in here had been when he had bad dreams. Just a frightened little colt wordlessly seeking comfort and love. And his mother had always been ready to freely give both.
He had never said anything, he remembered. Always snuggling away under the covers with a brave face on and silent tears in his eyes.
He did a lot of things like that.
His eyes turned to a little brown vanity by the wall.
It must have been where his mother made herself presentable every day. He never really understood why she put so much time into it, it wasn't like she had any interest whatsoever in dating.
He slowly made his way over, flicking his eyes about the room all the while.
The surface of the mirrored armoire was sleek and clean. It made sense, since he had never been in here to spill anything on it.
His eyes glanced up to the mirror before glancing back down. He already knew he looked bad, and he could shower later.
One of the drawers was slightly ajar. He absentmindedly slid it open, not expecting to find anything of interest except maybe some makeup or something.
His eyes widened, and he suddenly felt short of breath.
There was a single thing inside the drawer. A plain white envelope with the name 'Light Flow' written on it in familiar magical writing.
His lip trembled but he bit down on it. The pain would help him stay grounded. This was exactly the kind of thing he had been looking for, hoping for even.
He delicately levitated the letter out, not entirely sure that it wouldn't crumble away to ash in his magical grip.
He turned it over, and found there was no seal on it. Just a simple adhesive paste. It was a relatively new way to seal letters, so he knew this one wasn't from a long time ago. This had to have been written within the last five or so years.
He used his magic to carefully tear away the part of the letter with the paste, and glimpsed a plain white piece of paper inside. His heart quickened. This was it. The big cliché heartfelt letter.
He hoped it was as stereotypical as possible.
He gently levitated the paper out of the envelope, and set the envelope back down on the vanity. He unfolded the paper with a considerable amount of trepidation. As the paper unfolded, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. In, and out.
He opened his eyes, and he read the letter.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
To Light Flow.
My greatest treasure.
If you are reading this letter, then I want to begin by apologizing.
I'm so sorry, my precious little shadow. For so many things. So many things I must have left unsaid.
By now, you must know about my greatest and worst-kept secret.
I have been sick, for many years now.
It wasn't long after your father died and we moved to Ponyville. I began to feel faint pains in my chest that gradually grew worse over time.
None of the doctors I've ever met with have been able to identify the cause or the effects.
All they knew was that my heart was slowly failing, and there was no way to stop it for good.
That's right. Your mom caught an unknown, incurable disease. Isn't that so cliché?
I'm sorry, you probably don't want to hear any jokes right now. I can only imagine what state I must have left you in.
There were a lot of reasons I never told you, though none of them very good admittedly.
I was always afraid of the way you'd react. Because you're a fixer, Light Flow. You see a problem, and you don't stop until you've found some way to make it go away. You pursue solutions relentlessly, and nothing less than perfection is ever good enough.
If I had told you, you probably would have tried anything to find a cure, and when that would inevitably fail, you would blame yourself forever.
I know. It really is just about the worst possible reason to deceive you. I guess you're not the only one with honesty problems.
Speaking of, you should listen to your friend Applejack more. Now there's an honest young mare if ever I've met one. If there's anything I'm going to do with my new-found authority, it's going to be pushing you closer towards her. She's a good influence, and very cute besides.
Don't let that one get away, or you'll regret it. Trust me.
I'm sorry. The tone of this letter is all over the place. I know how much you love literature, and the disparity must be making you even more upset. I'll do my best to keep it gloomy and dramatic from here on.
You're probably wondering how you never noticed. Probably thinking of how good I must be at sneaking around.
Well, I'm not really.
Light Flow, you have a tendency to just sort of... ignore things, if they aren't immediately interesting. It's not a bad thing to be a focused pony, but sometimes you maybe take it too far.
I'm not trying to make you feel bad, even though it may seem that way. I'm just trying to give you a little motherly advice, now that I'm sure you'll listen.
Don't let life pass you by Light. It won't wait for you to look up and notice it.
Now listen, this part's important.
I've talked to Mayor Mare, and I managed to get her to pity me enough to make a deal.
She's agreed to halve the rent and utility for the house until your eighteenth birthday. You should be able to comfortably cover that with the government stipend for underage orphans. You'll have to register for it at Town Hall, but I know you can handle a little bureaucracy.
You'll likely have to move after your eighteenth birthday, but it would have been about time for it anyway. I love you little shadow, but you can be hard to live with sometimes.
I'm sure any other mother would have made arrangements for their child to live with somepony else, but I'm not any other mother, and you're not a regular child.
I know you'll do just fine on your own, even be happier that way, really.
But I don't want you to be alone all the time. So I've talked to Granny Smith, and she said that she'll make sure Applejack has time to come over and check on you every once in a while. It's a little grim to say, but you two have a lot in common.
Who says a mother can't meddle from beyond the grave?
I'm running out of space now, and I don't really want this to be essay-length anyway. It's not healthy to drag out goodbyes, or so I've heard on the radio. So I think it's time for me to go.
But I want you to remember something, Light. And to promise me something.
You have to live.
I know you'll be sad to see me go, but everypony dies eventually. There's no way of changing that. You have to pick yourself up off the ground and find the strength to keep going.
That's what it means to live.
I love you Light. More than you could possibly know.
I love you.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Okay.
He was crying, which made sense. It was a normal reaction to having your emotions put through a blender.
He could barely see through the tears actually, which made it a wonder that he had finished the letter at all.
He shakily levitated the letter up to his mouth and gently pressed his lips against it, only for a second.
It had all been so her.
He held the letter against his forehead for a moment before levitating the envelope back over to him.
He clumsily packed the letter away in the envelope before dropping it back into the drawer. He closed it with a loud 'bang'.
He rubbed his eyes, and stared up into his own reflection in the mirror.
He took note of the redness around his still leaking eyes, and he wondered how it had happened. He only remembered rubbing his eyes once, though the entire letter was sort of a blur.
He was pretty sure he was in shock. He wasn't really feeling anything but a deep, dull sadness.
He had an idea for what he should be doing right now.
Because his mother was right about one thing in the letter. He was a fixer.
But that could wait until later. Right now there was only one thing he wanted to be doing.
He turned away from the vanity and towards his mother's pristine white bed. She would probably have been angry for what he was about to do, but it's not like she was here to stop him.
He stumbled over to the mattress and collapsed onto it. He felt a familiar comforting warmth envelop him.
He could smell her here, so strongly. The scent of cinnamon and sugar filled his nose, and took him away to far away nights.
Nights spent silently crying in a mother's embrace while her soothing voice filled his ears.
But this night there would be no embrace, and nothing to sooth him.
And there would be no silence.
This one was a long time coming.
Light's been bottling up his emotions, and running from the pain for three chapters now. If he hadn't taken the time to properly grieve, he would have gone insane.
Which was pretty heavily implied by all the strange things he's been doing and thinking. In case you didn't realize somehow.
Also, I've decided on a path for the story. So that's exciting.
I had to kick my own ass to get this out today, so enjoy it! 
i enjoyed writing it though
Stats
Page generated in 0.032 seconds
Total duration
1,018 users online
61,234 hits today, 2,004,447 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
Ooooh a path. I hope he chose to be like a white necromancer or something.
Guess ill have to wait and see ^_^
10768712
No spoilers from me!
Great story so far! I’m a sucker for necromancy too, can’t wait to see what comes next :)
I'm very surprised and happy this story had no dislikes yet!
Maybe I should change thatThis is a sad chapter. Makes me feel sad feelings. Well done for proper invokation of emotion.
10769131
I've never been so happy to make someone sad!
No but seriously, thanks so much for the comment! I'm glad the chapter was good enough to make you feel things!
10768954
I've got plannns~
Don't worry, all will be revealed in time!
Maybe not for a long time, but eventually!
10768848
im gonna cALL THE POLICE!
No but seriously, It's pretty baffling to me too.
I haven't even really gotten any hate, either. Unless you count some compliments I got when I published the story that kinda hurt to read.
It's incredible that there hasn't been anyone coming around telling me I'm bad and I should feel bad. I guess that's a true sign that this story has a long way to go.
10769207
Honestly, I'm kinda jealous considering that when I published my first story, I got more dislikes than likes on the first day, but after that, the number of likes went up gradually.
I never really liked the concept of a like/dislike since that most of the time they are opinionated and it shows the world how many people like/dislike the story which can make people stray from reading certain stories they might enjoy. I've read stories that I liked even though the writing isn't the best, but I honestly don't care that much.
I also hate it when people dislike without giving a reason, meaning I can't improve or fix whatever is bothering them. Instead of showing the world my story isn't worth your time, just don't read it, simple as that!
Sorry about the length of this comment, but it was just something I've been thinking of for a while now that I need to get off my chest
10769379
No no, I totally get it!
There's no nuance at all in a like/dislike system. A like could mean undying love for a story or just a simple enjoyment; and a dislike could mean pure hatred or a tiny issue. There's no way to really tell how people feel with this system.
Some sort of multi-tiered system, like stars, is usually what people point to for a better solution, but truthfully I've never thought It was that much better.
In the end, the only real way to know how people feel is if they leave a comment, and who has the time for that, right?
Well, apparently you do, which I appreciate very much!
10769459
:)
And what about when one have no more strength to draw on?
10769783
That's when one takes their strength from those around them.
Whether they're willing or not is something that you'll have to wait to see...
Thanks for the comment btw!
10769792
No problem. However, let me finish with something a bit grim. What about when people no longer have anyone left, and even if they did, they're so mentally broken and exhausted that they literally aren't capable of standing up, or even moving their limbs? I mean, I guess there's the wheelchair, but then someone would still have to push it. Obviously it won't be this pony, but there are a very few people...
10769812
Well, this is a strange place to start a philosophical discussion, and I'm not sure I'm well-equipped to answer that question, but I might as well try.
I had been making a cool comment about Light potentially stealing souls, but it sounds like you were talking about something a little more physical, and not really even related to the story at all.
In that case, I would say that words are very powerful. The right words from the right person can be capable of creating more strength, even when there was nothing left 'in the tank' so to speak.
Failing that, I'd say it would be about time to give up, as pessimistic as that sounds.
10769863
You know, I don't really disagree. I mean, if someone is so drained that they can't even find the strength to lift an arm, then they can't really call for help or anything. So...yeah, I can see someone just kinda giving up if that's the case and they have no way of contacting rescue. I mean, there's not much one really CAN do if they're so drained that they don't have the mental and physical strength to move anymore. Anyway, I am hoping that AJ will come to this colt's rescue.
Awesome story you've created, I'm definitely following your story.
Damn dude that was heavy.
This was a really good chapter, probably my favourite.
My emotions, they've been shot
This chapter is too well written, I haven't felt this genuinely sad for a character in a long time
10770750
You've just improved my day massively!
also sorry about making you sad but only kindaHoly fuck that was brutal.
It was very effective. Extremely so. I cried. Nice work.
10775242
Is it bad that hearing that you cried made me extremely happy?
Probably.
Also, thanks so much for the wonderful comment!
This chapter made me cry it was very sad. I wasnt expecting his mother to past in the way that she did.
So I got tears in my eyes as I write this. Good chapter though. Few storoes have done this to me.
This chapter was incredibly well done. I mean I’m sad, but I’m also happy because it was well written? I don’t know, but well done on you for making me feel this way.
10802514
That's very kind of you to say so!
It's weird, getting comments like yours. Making people sad is exactly what I wanted to do, but I kinda feel weird about being so happy about it?
What a touching letter... Hopefully he follows his Mother's advice and pays more attention to his surroundings in the future.
Side note, I'm throwing a guess out that the pony following him is Bonbon. Not sure why its Bonbon but I think there've been stories where she or Lyra have been undercover government agents so it makes some sort of vague sense... Also she's the only Pony I could think of that has a cream colored coat and maybe cerulean eyes???
I bet that all those hallucinations and voices he's been hearing is Nightmare Moon. While it could be argued that it can be the dark magic corrupting him, I feel like he would have a resistance due to his Necromancy talent... Furthermore, I feel like giving ponies Day Terrors would fit among the powers she has, as well as manipulating others with strange thoughts. This would likely be close to how she took over Luna.
This chapter hits hard, harder than anything I have read in a long time (maybe ever). It's just ... damn.
STOP I TEARED UP READING THE LETTER BECAUSE I CAN RELATE 😭
10816870
I'M SORRY I DIDN'T MEAN TO MAKE YOU FEEL REAL EMOTIONS!
10806053
It's actually canon. Bon Bon has been shown in the show to be a Secret Agent for the organization called SMILE, real name Sweetie Drops.
It is quite a shame mom didn't leave me a note -- and I did really look. That note is very important to leave.
10828242
Not necessarily, it's a personal choice if people want to leave a last letter for their family
Stop! How dare you!
You didn’t need to play with my feels like that, then hang a lampshade, and then actually make me feel sorry for Light!
It’s not like I almost cried or anything.
10865973
I am the master of emotions! Bow before me and my surprisingly hard-hitting story elements!
The whiplash is the part that makes it hurt.
Oh, this was a good one!
Fuck im CRYING I NOW ITS WEEK TO CREY BUT FUCK<>>>?
I'M NOT CRYING! YOUR CRYING!...
congratulation's author you made me shed manly tears
This went from a funny story about a relatable awkward emo foal to an extra depressing tragedy in what felt like 10 seconds.
11202376
I'm gonna be honest: it only gets worse from here. And, depending on who you ask, the sad factor is heavily outweighed by the bad factor.
Of course I, as the author, would still advise that you keep reading; but I've gotta ask: how much do you enjoy wheeling yourself around in circles?
Because reading this story is a lot like that sometimes.
Hombre... esto fue muy triste, no al punto de hacerme llorar, pero se transmitio la tristesa, realmente espero ver de nuevo al protagonista que le decia a todo "meh" y que se deja llevar por la situacion (a menos de que se trate sobre nigromancia) y no el depresivo enojado que fue durante los ultimos 3 capitulos, algo esencial en la trama y muy humano para la historia (O deberia ser pony? ni idea)
This has been a fantastic display of grief. Bravo
My emotions. They hurt.
11565335
Hey there my latest and most... enthusiastic reader, I'm glad you're enjoying the story, but you're kinda gumming up the comment section.
Could you do me a huge favor and- since you do seem to like the story- consolidate all of your thoughts during a chapter as you read into a single comment that you post when you finish the chapter? You're completely within your rights to post whatever you like in the comments and to post one every chapter if you so please, but I've gotten about thirty notifications about your comments in the last few hours, and it's making me feel strangely.
Thank you for reading and for being so darn vociferous, but I've got to enforce some kind of etiquette for comments. Gently, I will add, but I would very much like it if you just... smooshed your thoughts together.
I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!
in an organized fashion
His mother calling him “her little shadow” is the most gut-wrenchingly sweet thing I have read, because she absolutely embraced and loved him for who he was and that is beautiful
God damnit, I didn't come here for a fucking tear-jerking goodbye letter, I came here for a badass Necromancer... Well, I guess you gotta take the tragedy with the comedy...
Daaaamn. That really was a tear jerker of a chapter. I absolutely loved it.