by Master Lyra

First published

A long poem about Twilight's view on the world ending around her.

What do you do when the world ends around you?
Twilight Sparkle decides to write a poem.


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What do you do as the world falls around you?

Do you let it fall, and see the ones you love die?

Do you cry, weeping at the loss of so many?

Do you huddle and pray, pray for salvation?

Do you join in, and feel the pain of others?

A dilemma, it is.


Why must I ask this question?

All I wanted was to live.

Happy. Carefree.

But fate has other plans for the world.

Harmony; gone.

Happiness; abandoned.

Hope; lost.

Almost all of them are gone.

I huddle in the corner of my library.

My home. My place.

Applejack wanted to be with her family.

Rainbow Dash perform one last trick.

Fluttershy be with her animals.

Pinkie Pie wanted… to party, celebrate.

Rarity sat with her sister, watching as the fires burned and the smoke fill the sky.

I write this here with Spike.

He cries.

I tell him it’s okay.

He doesn’t believe me. He says we’ll all die. No life left. No pony at all.

I stay silent, writing this poem.

I guess it’s irony that I would end with my beginning.

Writing, reading, studying.

Celestia tried to stop it, but failed.

The sun itself seems to be ravaging across the land, burning, fire.

The smoke… killed many pegasi.

I’m not convinced RD is still here with us.

I cry, as you can see.

The tear drops of remorse splashing on this lonely parchment.

It’s hard.

So many things I haven’t experienced.

Love, a career, a family.

So much is lost to the black hole that is this end.

I suppose there is a small amount of humor in this.

Discord even tried to help us.

Two enemies making due to survive.

Alas it failed, horribly.

I guess I had a nice life.

A short one, but a good one.

The best friends a pony could have.

Sure, we had our differences.

Sure, we squabbled.

But we were good, good friends.

We fit together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

We were the Elements of Harmony, after all.

Why am I writing in past tense?


So, so much of it, we lost our Elements.

I’m a little worse at magic.

Pinkie doesn’t laugh as much.


The fire burns outside.

I can see it now.

Looming in the distance.

A fire killed many.

It feels like a summer heat. So hot. So bright.


Why a fire?

My greatest fear is fire.

The tongues like hungry kittens at your hooves.

Your hooves are their milk.

Hungrily they lick, their tongues like scratching paper,

and they want more.

Your body becomes all their food-

I’ve realized what I’ve just written.

I guess I’m losing it.

Not the first time.

Heh, so close to the end too.

Sanity is a fickle thing; it comes and goes according to situation.

Spike has calmed down. He’s accepted his fate.

I think I’m going to write a bedtime story for him now.

So we can sleep.


“Once upon a time, there was a prince. He ruled half of Equestria with his sister.

One day, he found that his subjects were in distress! He wanted to go investigate, of course.

However, the source of this stress was interesting. It was him. They thought he ruled ineffectively.

But, he would have none of this. He thought it was just a random resistance rumor spread to scare him.

He went to his sister later that day. But she was nowhere to be found.

The rest of the day he spent in worry. Where could his sister be?

He had his servants search the whole castle for her. But what they found was obvious: nothing.

Weeks passed with no reports or sightings of his beloved sister.

He journeyed across his shared kingdom. But he found nothing.

A year passed.

The resistance turns out to be real. He is overthrown and lives in seclusion, no family.

He spends a lot of his free time writing poems about his sadness.

Eventually he can’t take the guilt and pain.

He starts slowly. Berating himself at first.

But it soon becomes more. He takes a small knife and makes small incisions on his forelegs.

He does it to help, but it only hurts him more.

Then he turns to alcohol. He gets addicted, and can’t stop.

Most of the day he wandered aimlessly, intoxicated beyond belief.

In his small moments of sobriety, he writes poems about his life.

They’ve taken darker turns. They become about killing and suicide.

About lost hopes. About the end.

The only thing that he goes on is the thought of finding his sister alive.

Truly, she was the only thing he loved. His shameful dethroning preventing any other mare to even think about being with him.

He was a public humiliation.

His mother and father died years ago. He never knew them.

He was kept separate at all times, for reasons unknown.

One day, he wanders across the land he used to own.

He comes across a few members of the new parliament. He tries to avoid them, but is seen.

They laugh at him.

Point their hooves at him and topple over.

But the real leader comes out to see the commotion.

The pony chuckles at the form at a once so powerful figure.

The imposing figure says only one word.


The guards around the leader force him to follow his bitter rival.

The leader shows him to a lonely shack. It’s rundown.

He miserably is shoved in.

The door is locked behind him.

A dozen or so candles light the small room. It’s nothing special.

But he notices something in the corner.

A slumped over figure.

He crawls up to it.

It’s his sister.

With multiple wounds to the head.

No heartbeat.

He sits there for a second.

He knows what to do.

His personal servant taught him a lullaby, and it always worked.

He always slept like a baby.

He didn’t bother to wipe the tears streaming his face as he turned to his dead sister.

He just sang.

‘Hush now, quiet now, it’s time to lay your sleepy head.

Hush now, quiet now, it's time to go to bed.

Drifting, off to sleep,

Leave exciting day behind you.

Drifting, off to sleep,

Let the joy of dream land find you.

Hush now, quiet now, it’s time to lay your sleepy head.

Hush now, quiet now, it's time to go to bed.’

He fell asleep too.

For the final time.”

That’s good. He’s asleep.

I feel my eyes drooping.

These are my last words.

I am Twilig