Kukures

by Commissar Rarity

First published 17th of August, 2012

Lyra's strange dreams begin to flood into real life and jeopardize her life.

To sleep, perchance to dream. But for Lyra Heartstrings, sleep is a distant memory.

Ever since the royal wedding, her dreams have been filled with the horror of being a slave to the changelings. And they seem to be getting worse. They're getting so bad she can't even sleep through the night anymore. And with her sleeplessness comes new obsessions. Obsessions with a strange song. Obsessions with a strange word that doesn't seem to be in the dictionary - any of them!

Lyra must discover if she's going mad, or if there's something more sinister at work.

Cover pic is "The Stars in Her Eyes" by Zephyrsdaemon on DeviantArt.

thanks to sqarishoctagon for prereading.

Overture for the Modern Lyra

She sat alone except for the lyre. She plucked it, more out of habit and idleness than anything. Her large, lovely golden eyes stared down at her distorted reflection in the polished surface of the lyre. A tear slipped from her eye and splashed on the golden shimmer, tarnishing it as it left a wet trail down the surface.

“Ly?” A soft, husky voice drifted to her ears from behind.

Lyra shifted, adjusting her rump. She was sitting on a bench overlooking the seapony fountain in the park, in the upright position preferred by lyrists. Her two-tone tail flicked as she glanced irritably at the pony sitting down next to her.

The newcomer was a light blue unicorn very similar in appearance to Lyra. They were, in fact, sisters. Colgate smiled at Lyra, flipping her dark blue and white mane as she did so.

“You ran out of there pretty quick, Ly.”

She only grunted in response, turning her head as not to look at her sister.

“I don’t blame you,” Colgate said, voice still soft. She reached out to stroke her sister’s mane, smoothing the ruffles that had developed. “It’s hard for all of us.”

Lyra still said nothing, her plucking at the lyre the only answer. Colgate noticed the tune for the first time. It seemed rather simple, a charming little thing. Then – plunk – a sour note. Lyra grimaced and repeated the phrase. A different note, still jarring and wrong finished the phrase.

“That’s a nice song. Is it something you’re writing?”

Lyra paused and looked at her sister, gold eyes clouded with a mixture of emotions. “You don’t recognise that?”

Colgate sat there a moment, combing her mind. Nothing was coming up; she had never heard such a song before. She shook her head with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, doesn’t sound familiar at all.” She glanced away briefly, and continued unsteadily. “Look, we need to talk about –”

“Mom,” said Lyra. “This was the song she sang to us every night before we went to bed. How can you not recognise it?” Her voice had a manic edge to it. “I remember it – not all of it, but enough. I just can’t get this last phrase right. I start thinking and then it gets green and I can’t remember and it slithers away and it keeps being green.” She cradled her head with both hooves, the lyre dropping from her grip and landing in a cloud of dust.

Colgate drew her into a hug. “It’s okay, Ly. I still have nightmares about the caves too. It’s as hard on me as it is on you,” she whispered into her sister’s ear.

Lyra did not reply. She shrugged her way out of the embrace and picked her lyre back up. She began to play the song again, the simple chords flowing from her hooves. “It’s tearing me apart.”

Plunk.

“Me too.” Colgate looked away, at a robin in the fountain preening itself. “Wish I’d been here longer. Never wanted to go with dad.”

Plunk.

“I’m a terrible person.”

Plunk.

“No you’re not. Why are you even saying that?”

Plunk.

“I moved out. Couldn’t take it.” Lyra lowered her head, a tear running down her cheek. “It just – I couldn’t. Hated that house.”

Plunk.

“Nopony’s blaming you.” Colgate looked back at her sister. She was still plucking away at that lyre, trying desperately to find that last perfect note. “Will you come back with me? Maybe play a bit for her? The doctor says it won’t be long. I know she would’ve loved to hear you play one last time. You’re the only one who really deserved the name Heartstrings in this family…”

The lyre’s string snapped in twain, both ends waving in the slight breeze. Lyra sighed heavily. “No. I don’t want to remember her this way. Happy memories…”

Her sister nodded, and hopped down from the bench. “I get that. Drop by the house. Tootsie and Twisty need to get their minds off things.”

She trotted away, heading back towards town. Back towards the hospital. That horrible, white, sterile place where nothing but pain existed. Lyra looked out at the fountain again, at the birds playing in the water.

Lyra sat like that for a while. The sun passed the trees and was on its way down when she finally moved. It was not by choice, however.

The sound of rolling wheels came from behind her, and in no time at all, the bench shook with an impact. An orange pegasus filly flew over the bench, bouncing on her head and into the fountain. Lyra jumped off the bench, lyre clattering to the ground. She ran over to the fountain.

“Goddesses above! Are you alright?” she asked, breathless.

The pegasus popped out of the fountain. She was soaking wet, and Lyra noticed she was wearing a helmet. “I’m fine! I’ve had worse spills than that.” She hopped out of the fountain, shaking herself off. “Ugh, wet feathers. I don’t suppose you know a spell that’ll dry me off?”

The unicorn shook her head, mane bouncing. “All I can do is levitation. Everypony in my family’s that way. Anything else just…” She made a raspberry with her lips.

The filly giggled. Her face fell as the giggles subsided. “Ohhh… It’s getting late. I need to get home.” She scampered back to the bench, and set her scooter upright. The collision with the bench had cracked the front lip, but it seemed to be fine otherwise. She hopped up on the scooter and began kicking the ground to build momentum as she rolled away.

Lyra watched for a moment as the filly skated off onto the dirt road heading back into Ponyville proper. Should probably be heading home too, she thought. A shimmering aura of seafoam green enveloped her broken lyre and brought it closer to her. Cradling it to her chest, she trotted off, following the filly. She hummed the tune in her head, an odd off-kilter time.

She soon began to catch up with the filly, despite her being on wheels. Lyra smiled as she began to trot alongside the pegasus. Tootsie’s been asking for a scooter like that for quite some time. Maybe she’d would know where to–

Lyra’s ear pricked up. Over the sound of the scooter’s wheels and her own humming, she could hear grinding behind her. She cocked her head over her shoulder and almost froze in fright. A great steel wagon was rushing at them.

Heart pounding, she reacted on pure instinct and dropped her lyre, tackling the filly and rolling onto the soft grass. The wagon roared by, kicking up dust. The scooter made a horrible cracking, grinding noise as the wheels of the chariot pulverised it. Lyra’s instrument did not escape unscathed either – all that was left of it after the wagon had passed was a twisted gold frame, barely recognisable at all.

The unicorn looked up at the wagon as it passed. There were no ponies pulling it, only steam pipes in the back. It reminded her of the juggernaut of a carriage those cider shucksters rode into town on. Instead of a nattily-dressed unicorn sitting atop it driving, there was a skuzzy, mangy earth pony. He looked down, eyes locking with her for one brief moment.

Time seemed to freeze. His eyes were so strange. She was lost in them, swimming in a pool of green. Green.

A word popped into her mind. She almost laughed at the bizarre timing of it all. As the wagon drove into the distance, she found she could not remember the word. Was it cookie? Kookaburra? Cares? It slithered away as quickly as it had come.

“Holy crap,” the filly said, muffled by Lyra’s chest. “We almost died.”

There was a long, silent beat.

“That was awesome.”

Lyra stood, letting the filly get a chance to recover. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah…” The little pegasus looked at her late scooter with a pout. “Wish the same could be said about that. My mom’s really gonna kill me.”

Lyra saw something at that moment. It was herself as a filly, coat pure and clean. No cutie mark in sight. Always dreading what would happen if she made the slightest mistake.

“That bad at home, or just expensive toy?”

“Both.” She looked away, trying to hide the shame on her face.

The bond strengthened at that moment. “Hey, uh…” Lyra coughed, her embarrassment showing in her face. “Do you know Twisty Doo or Tootsie Flute? They’re my nieces, about your age. I have an idea that might save you from a bit of trouble.”

“I know them. Hung out with them a few times, but not much. What kind of plan is this?” The filly’s voice grew suspicious, the distrust of adults all children seem to have bleeding through.

“The type of plan where everypony’s happy. What would happen, if say, my nieces invited you over for a sleepover, to get their mind off things? And what would happen if, during this sleepover, somepony just happened to leave a brand new scooter outside?”

The filly gaped at her. “You’d do that for me?” she asked, her voice betraying her absolute incredulity.

“Darn straight I would. I can’t stand to see…” Lyra’s voice quavered a bit. “I… I’m just a nice mare, I guess. I suppose we should have introductions. I’m Lyra.”

“Scootaloo,” the filly said. “What kind of catch is there? There’s always a catch, that’s what Rainbow Dash always says.”

“The catch is…” She leaned down to Scootaloo and whispered conspiratorially, “You have to help my niece learn how to ride a scooter.”

The pegasus nodded with an eager expression. “She’ll learn from the best Scootaloo in Ponyville.”

Lyra smiled again. “Great. Let’s get moving, pilgrim.”

“Pilgrim?”

“Eh, don’t ask.”

***

The clock rang out midnight as Lyra slipped her key into the door. She opened it slowly, trying to keep the noise to a minimum. It was late, and BonBon always turned in early because of her job. She shut the door and tread carefully up the stairs, avoiding the ones that would creak.

Lyra slipped into her room, setting the key down on her nightstand. She slid into bed, drawing the covers up tight.

Celestia preserve her, things were getting bad. The stress from everything was wearing on her. Not even the couture, culture, whatever that word was could help. She held her head with both hooves. What was that word? It had already usurped the place of the unfinished song, and taunted her.

Soon, however, the soft chirping of cicadas and the other sounds of summer lulled her into a sleep.

She dreamed of green and things chittering around in darkness. The song drifted in the background mixed with a husky, echoing voice that teased her. She could make out neither the words nor the notes of the song.

She willed herself to listen. The song was almost over. She had to hear those final chords, had to hear what the voice had to offer, had to –

Lyra snapped awake, heart beating fast and erratic. Her bedsheets were tangled in a heap on the floor, and her coat was slick with sweat. She put a hoof over her heart, feeling it pulse in a mad rhythm. She began to take in deep breaths, trying to calm her inner storm.

Through her curtained windows, she could make out nothing but darkness. She levitated her clock over, peering at it with the dim light her horn provided.

Five-fifteen.

She set the clock back down and pulled her covers back up.

She did not go back to sleep that night.

***

BonBon wrapped her terrycloth robe tight around her. She was prone to chills, and always had been, even as a filly. Even the warmth of a summer morning could not stop her from shivering. One thing that never failed to bring some warmth back to her was coffee.

She began her descent down the stairs, and already the smoky aroma of coffee was drifting from the shared kitchen. Either Lyra or Slipshod was up and brewing coffee.

It was Lyra, which was rather unusual. The unicorn usually slept in late, especially on weekends. To see her up before ten was a rare sight indeed.

But then again, BonBon reflected, she’s been really stressed lately.

She was in a terrycloth robe as well and held a cup of coffee in a ring of magic.

“Good morning, Lyra,” BonBon said, crossing through the dining room to the kitchen. The coffee jug was sitting on the island. It had not been out for long, and steam still rose from its spout. She grabbed a mug and began pouring the coffee. When she noticed Lyra had not yet responded, she continued. “How are things? You know… with your mum and all?”

“Same as before,” Lyra muttered. Her voice was dead, toneless. “She’s still dying.” She took a sip of coffee, staring blankly at the wall. BonBon noticed that she looked tired, like she had not slept for some time. “Is it wrong,” she asked, looking at BonBon, “to wish she would just die already? End the suffering we’re all going through?”

BonBon paused, remembering to set the jug upright when her mug began overflowing. Sipping gingerly at the mess she spoke again.

“Well that’s really between you and Celestia. But if you really want to know what I think… No, it’s not wrong.” She walked over to the table and plopped down in a chair, wriggling her legs as they hung frustratingly close to the ground. “But I’m just an actress in training. I don’t know much about this kind of thing. And I don’t really care about these things.”

Lyra grimaced. Though BonBon was probably her best friend, tact had a habit of escaping her airy head. She said nothing, just sat there and continued staring at the wall in between sips of coffee.

“Have you seen Slipshod today?” BonBon asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

“He went out. Sink’s broke and he needed to get some tools.”

BonBon took another sip, trying to figure out a new tack with which to approach her friend. Her mind raced, flitting from subject to subject. Weather? Everypony loved talking about the weather. Oh, how about –

“Music! How’s the music going? Write any good songs lately?”

“Somepony ran over my lyre and broke it,” Lyra replied, voice still toneless.

“Oh.” She had officially run out of things to talk to Lyra about. Except… “Uh, how’d you sleep? You look kind of tired.”

“I woke up at five. Couldn’t go back to sleep.”

“Well I’m sure it’s just the stress.”

“Probably.” Lyra set her mug down. “I have to go. They’re probably expecting me at… y’know.” She hopped out of her chair, catching herself on all four legs. BonBon followed suit.

“Do you want me to go along? Provide a bit of support?”

“No.” Lyra’s voice was sharp and acidic, jarring compared to her previous tone – or lack thereof – and completely out of character. “I’m fine. I don’t need anypony’s support. I’m my own mare, I can do fine on my own, mom.”

Both mares froze. Lyra blinked twice, her mouth moving in an O shape like a fish gasping for air. She flushed red and backed away. “I- I have to go.” She turned and ran out the door.

***

The radio in the window crackled a soft, smooth swing rhythm. The wobbling needle was backlit by a dark green glow. There were other radios in the window, some wood, some metal. Some with red trim, some with white. But none of them had that green light.

Lyra stared at it, the green reflecting in her gold eyes making the colour of sickness there. She could hear that slimy, husky echoing voice whispering in her ear. The nonsense word she obsessed over finally formed in her head: Koo-ker-ee. Kookeree. Kukures.

The static grew until it drowned everything out. The world faded to darkness around her. The voice slithered, spoke. Kukures, kukures, it chanted. She could see a shade appear in front of her. It approached, staggering as it did so. The only thing she could make out through the shadows were two radiant green eyes, tainted emeralds in a crown of blackness.

“Don’t you remember me, Lyra?” it hissed, the chant of kukures coming to an abrupt halt. “I miss you. Come back.”

Lyra could feel a tug at, well, her heartstrings. She could feel what the shade said was true. It missed her deeply. It wanted her to come to it, it wanted her to-

-be green. Be green like she was before. Mind consumed by the green.

“No,” she said, backing away from the advancing shade. “Nononono! Not going back! I can’t be green. I can’t be green!”

She couldn’t move anymore. Oh Celestia, she was up against a wall. Nowhere to run. The shade was almost near her, she could see its long, perverse tongue reaching out towards her, dripping with some vile pus. She wrapped her hooves around herself to ward off the thing. Maybe if she couldn’t see it, it’d go away, like the boogiemare when she was a filly-

“Lassie?”

Lyra snapped her eyes open. Her chest heaved from the still-rushing adrenaline. Looking up, she saw a palomino pony dressed in an official-looking blue uniform. A truncheon hung from his hip, which struck her as useless, given he was an earth pony. He was looking at her with concern.

“Are ye alright, lassie? Gave us all quite a scare ye did, what with the screamin’ and all.”

“S-sorry,” she said quietly, her voice cracking. “I’m… not feeling well. Under a lot of stress.” She got up with a little help from the police stallion.

“Well, if ye’ll take some advice from good ol’ Uncle Paddywhacker, ye should jus go home and get some rest. Laird knows ye probably need some. I mean, take me wee bairns for an example. When me missus first had ’em, I was in such a state! I was hallucinatin’ that the Mare in th’ Moon ’erself was come down to take over all’a Equestria. I mean, what a laugh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lyra said, not paying attention to what she was agreeing with. A wave of dizziness swept over her, causing her to sway dangerously off-balance. She could feel her stomach slosh to the side as she started to tip over. Paddywhacker caught her, moving faster than his prodigious size implied.

“Careful there lass! Here, come with me and I’ll get ye somethin’ to steady those legs of yers.”

He guided her over to one of the tables at the café. She sat, head spinning. When Lyra felt well enough to look up from the ground, the police pony had returned to the table, with two foam cups in tow. He set one on the table in front of her. She took it and took a ginger sip. It was some kind of herbal tea.

“Chamomile tea,” Paddywhacker exposited. “Me mum, her mum and her mum’s mum all drank this and the habit was passed down to me. Frankly could be worse, right?” He sipped from his cup. “Now then. I don’t want you getting up until you’re ready. I’ve asked a couple of nice ponies to sit with ya till you feel better, alright? Sound reasonable enough?”

“Yeah. It does.” Lyra wished she could feel the cheer she faked in her voice. She watched the rotund pony trot off for a moment, then her gaze drifted over to a pair of ponies approaching the table.

One was a grayish pegasus mare with a light blue mane tied up with a cute bow, and the other was a dark grey earth pony stallion with a black mane. His only discerning feature aside from his colouration was the unbuttoned checkered shirt he wore. He rubbed his hoof through his mane nervously as the mare came up.

“Hey there. How’s it going?” Her voice had the accented slur of a valley filly, but there was an unexpected pleasantness in it. “I’m Flitter.”

The stallion came up, still looking somewhat nervous. His chin bore a fair amount of stubble, clearly a pony who abhorred the razor. “I’m… look, just call me Inky.” He nodded towards Flitter. “It’s what she calls me at least.”

“I’m Lyra,” she said. “I don’t really know why he sent you guys over here. I’m fine. Really.”

“In my experience most ponies who are fine don’t have screaming fits in the middle of the street,” Inky said, slipping into a chair across the table. Flitter sat down as well, scooting her chair closer to his. “Believe me. I’m a writer, and I’ve spent time in asylums and the like. Sometimes it’s even for research.”

Flitter shot a dirty look at Inky and turned warmly back to Lyra. “Look, he’s a cop. If he had just trotted off and left you here he’d be at risk for a lawsuit, by earth pony standards.” At Lyra’s perplexed stare, she added, “My dad was a lawyer. He taught me a lot because he thought I’d be one too.”

“I feel fine now,” Lyra said. She wasn’t lying, not this time. Whatever spell she had fallen under – dizziness, madness, whichever you prefer – it had passed now. She felt able enough to continue on her way. She still wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t have another episode like earlier though.

“If that’s what you think,” Flitter said, rising from her chair. “Just go to a hospital if you start feeling weird again, okay?”

The writer withdrew something from his shirt pocket and dropped it on the table. He pushed it towards Lyra with a hoof. “I’ve been through a lot of the same stuff you seem to be going through. Call me if you want to talk about it.”

Lyra just nodded as she slipped his card into her saddlebag. The couple gave a farewell wave and trotted off, hoof-in-hoof. Lyra sat there for a long while, finishing her tea and watching the ponies pass by. The tea seemed to have helped. Her once-racing mind and heart were now much calmer, soothing even.

***

She looked up at the clock tower. It was just a bit after two. She really needed to get to the hospital.

Lyra hopped down from her seat, landing neatly on all four legs, and trotted off back towards the hospital. For one frightening moment, she thought she was going to have a dizzy spell again. She propped herself against a bench and waited, but it never came.

She took in some deep breaths, feeling her body come back under control. She took a ginger step forward, then another. When Lyra was confident of herself, she continued at a steady pace. All the events of the day seemed to melt away, like they had never really happened in the first place.

“Hey, Lyra!”

Lyra paused, and turned back to face where the voice had come from. A palomino unicorn was trotting up beside her. It took a moment to place him, but she finally recognised him as Extra Edition, a reporter for the Ponyville Times. Being a reporter, he had a tendency to show up at the worst times. Like now.

“Hey, Extra Edition.” Lyra’s tone was flat. She sighed at the thought of having to put up with Extra, even if it was for a little bit.

“I heard you had a little incident in the town square…” He sounded like he was fishing for a story. Lyra felt a flash of irritation. All her pain was nothing but a potential story for a gossip rag.

“Just an anxiety attack. I’ve had them before, just not in public. It’s fine.” It was true, too. She’d had anxiety attacks before as a filly, and for a few weeks after the wedding. But for the most part, they had petered out. Until today.

Extra looked slightly disappointed, almost making a pouty face. “Well, fine. Looks like this pony’s gonna have to look elsewhere for breaking news.” He winked and scampered off, camera bouncing off his chest.

Rolling her eyes, Lyra continued to the hospital.

***

Her pace slowed as she came in sight of the hospital. It always filled her with a mix of warmth and dread. Warmth because it was a pleasant enough place – even homey; for long ago it’d been a mansion belonging to a rich noblemare, and she had donated it to public service. Dread because few things that were good came from hospitals. There were births, yes, but most of what Lyra had seen come from hospitals was pain – either physical, mental or emotional.

And she had experienced all three in recent times thanks to the hospital.

Colgate was sitting on the front steps, head buried in hooves. Lyra’s heart froze, then sank. Her pace quickened, hooves beating a frantic rhythm on the cobblestone.

Her sister looked up at her. Lyra came to a sudden stop, skidding a few inches before her momentum died. She could see, reflected in Colgate’s eyes, a fresh coat of pain.

She didn’t need to hear the words come from Colgate’s mouth.

She already knew what had happened.

Studies Show Family Portraits are Good for the Soul

The golden lyre hung on the wall, reflecting the last rays of sun. The runes etched in its frame glittered, reflecting in the golden eyes of its watcher. Lyra flicked her little tail, wondering what it would be like to pluck a string- just once.

“Something on your mind?” a low, pleasant voice came from behind her. She turned and looked up with a smile.

“Daddy!” She bounded up and embraced him. “You’re back from Cantalawt?”

“I sure am,” he said, ruffling the filly’s mane. “And you know what? I’m gonna stay for a while now.” He looked up at the lyre as he let Lyra squirm out of his hooves. “Admiring the lyre?”

Lyra paused, looking embarrassed to admit it. “Yeah… Kind of.”

Dad leaned down next to her. “You know that’s the Heartstrings family lyre?” She shook her head no. “Well, it is. See, long ago, there was a beautiful mare – the spitting image of yourself (he winked) – and her name was Heartstrings. She was the greatest lyre player that ever played.

“One day, the princess was very sick. The smartest doctors, the best shamans, the greatest magicians- none of them could cure her. But Heartstrings knew what was wrong. The princess had a broken heart. So she sat at the princess’s beside and played her greatest composition. And you know what?” The filly shook her head again. “The beauty of the song mended her broken heart and in gratitude, Heartstrings was given that lyre. It’s stayed in the Heartstrings family ever since.”

Lyra blinked up at him in amazement. She’d heard the story before, but it never failed to impress her. Seeing her adoring expression, Dad gestured to the lyre. “Want to play it?” She nodded eagerly. Wreathing the lyre in an orange light, he floated it down to the filly, who snatched it as quickly as she could.

Lyra examined the lyre with the intensity of a scientist who had found a new species of insect. She ran a hoof down its sides, tracing the runes. With a frown, she reached out and plucked a string. A single clear note drifted out from the lyre. Smiling, she looked up at her father for approval. He laughed and ruffled her mane again.

“Maybe somepony in this family actually got the music talent.” He looked as though he had something to add, but a loud crash! From the kitchen broke his train of thought. His mouth quirked downwards. “Sounds like your mom’s having a bit of trouble in the kitchen. Let’s go help her.”

Lyra set down the lyre as carefully as she could, and trotted off after her dad, trying to match his long strides. As they turned the corner into the kitchen, she could see her mother, standing over a carton of shattered eggs.

“I’ll get the mop,” Dad said, walking back the way he came.

Lyra leaned down, tail flicking nervously as she took a closer look at the eggs. There was a strange grey-white slime covering them. In fact, the eggs themselves seemed wrong. She just couldn’t put her hoof on it…

From the gramophone in the den, a crackling recording of strings began playing. Lyra’s ears pricked back. That song was so familiar… Like she had heard it before in a–

–in a dream.

***

Lyra opened one eye, and was greeted by darkness. She sighed as she rolled over out of bed. At least the dream had made sense to a certain degree. That had been one of Lyra’s most cherished memories – the day she got her cutie mark. There had certainly been no accident in the kitchen that day.

Levitating the clock over to her, she checked the time. 4:10. An indignant groan escaped her lips. First 5:15, then 4:40… at this rate she’d never get a good night’s sleep again. It’d already been a week with poor sleep – any more and she was certain she’d go mad. Lyra rubbed the bleariness from her eyes and started downstairs, grabbing a notepad, some ink, and a quill on the way.

The song… it was the one in her head, but something her father had said was nagging at her. As she descended the final step into the dining room, it clicked into place. The song was a classical piece for a solo lyre. It had all the elements of classical Equestrian, it just didn’t sound like any classical composition she had heard.

Lyra was far from a good composer. She had tried her hoof at it repeatedly, but her compositions ended up either derivative or dull. She certainly wasn’t talented enough to spontaneously invent a song in the style of classical composers. But at the same time, there was no way for her to get a song she’d never heard before stuck in her head.

Lyra sat down at the table, and set the notepad down. Using only the light from her horn, she began scribbling down the notes from the song she remembered. It took a great deal of squinting and cursing, but she finally managed to get it finished.

Now all she had to do was find somepony with better knowledge of classical music than her. Or a book, at least.

***

Lyra was there, waiting, when the sign in the library window flipped from closed to open. She paused for a minute before opening the door. A small purple dragon, overladen with books paused to peek out from behind his precarious burden.

“Sorry, we’re a little busy with studying right now. My buddy at the front desk can help you, though.”

Lyra nodded in acknowledgement and stepped over to the desk. She glanced around, marveling at the books. Her family had only moved into Ponyville a few years ago, and aside from a wild party a couple months ago, she had no reason to go into the library. There were so many books in here. If you didn’t know what you were looking for, you could get lost easily.

“Hoo?” came an inquiring sound. Lyra snapped her head back to the desk. A brown owl perched there, catalog in front of him. He did not appear to be too happy.

“Oh. You’re up late.”

“Hoo.”

“Yeah, me too.” Lyra tapped her hoof to her chin in thought. “I guess I need a few dictionaries. What kind of dictionaries do you have here?”

The owl grasped the catalog with a talon and began flipping through it. He paused, and turned the catalog around to face her. “Hoo-hoo.”

Lyra looked down at the catalog, eyes scanning the pages. Foalster’s Equine Dictionary, Griffin Grammar Guide, Whinneapolis University Equine Dictionary, Russet’s Thesaurus… They were all so useful. She made note of their Pony Decimal System numbers and looked back up at the owl. With a ‘Thank you!’, she trotted off towards the first book.

“Hoo,” the owl hooted unenthusiastically.

Within a few minutes, Lyra had collected all the books she needed. She found a reading table nestled in a well-hidden nook and set her books down.

The Whinneapolis University Dictionary – there was no entry for kukures. Lyra shrugged; she hadn’t expected them to. The Equine professors there were obsessed with preserving the original Equine language and its offshoots, and vehemently ignored or ridiculed other languages.

Russet’s Thesaurus – again, no entry. On reflection, she wasn’t sure why she grabbed a thesaurus.

Griffin Grammar Guide – an entry! “The sound a griffin makes when he’s choking on the bones of his enemies. See also: bonemeal pie; enemies of the Griffin Empire (everyone)”. It was not strictly a grammar guide, nor was it pleasant. Unless she had sprouted wings, a beak, and claws, Lyra was pretty sure she wasn’t a griffin, so that definition of the word was out. She checked herself for signs of imminent molting anyway.

The Encyclopedia Foaltannica had another entry: “Name of the fictional lost city in the classic adventure novel King Shetland’s Mines based on the myths of the eponymous mines. The great white unicorn hunter Quatermare underwent a search for the mines, which she found in the underground city of Kukures. The exact etymology of the word ‘kukures’ is unknown”. It went on from there, but Lyra was too disappointed with that line to continue.

Lyra cradled her head in her hooves, feeling a pounding start somewhere in the recesses of her skull. She wasn’t getting anywhere, and she was doing it at a fast pace.

“Need any help?” She snapped her head up at the sound of the slightly nasal voice. The librarian-cum-magician was walking over to the bookcase by her, levitating a small stack of books. Lyra caught the title of one of the books, Lordran: The Land of Giants.

“I’m just trying to find a word I heard, but it doesn’t seem to be in most of these.”

“Huh.” The other unicorn placed the last book in the shelf and walked over. “What word?”

“Kukures.”

“Can you spell that?” the librarian asked, levitating a book from a shelf on the far wall. Lyra spelled it for her, and she flipped through the book. “Well it’s not in this one, and this is the end-all dictionary in Equestria. Are you sure it’s not just some nonsense word a writer or somepony made up?”

“No, it’s in these two books.” Lyra telekinetically pushed the grammar book and the encyclopedia over. The librarian took them and flipped them around to read.

“Ah, it’s a griffin word. That explains a lot, really. Did you know that griffins go to great lengths to avoid showing other races too much of their culture or language? Just getting a copy of this book required a lot of effort, and any ambassadors or exchange students perfectly mimic the culture they’re exposed to.” She noticed Lyra’s eyes glazing over, and hurried to get to her point. “I don’t know where you heard this word but I’m surprised at it. Like I said, getting this grammar book was hard. I only have it because I wanted to learn more about griffins after one visited a while back. You can take it for studying if you want. And here’s a book on Equestrian myths to study the King Shetland’s Mines connection.”

She proffered the books to Lyra, practically shoving them in the other mare’s face. Lyra took them, more out of obligation than actual desire. “Er, thanks. I have to be going now.”

“Alright, you know where to find me if you have any more questions,” she said with a chuckle as Lyra trotted out the door.

***

Lyra thumbed through the grammar guide, occasionally pausing to take a bite of her clover sandwich or a sip of chamomile tea. She’d been reading the whole thing ever since she left the library and reached the cafe, and she was making good progress. Already she had read of the methods used to contain griffin mages (they clipped the mage’s wings so they couldn’t fly and escape) and proper caretaking of airships. And those were just the especially interesting facts.

Setting the grammar guide aside for the moment, she opened the book on myths – The Complete Broncos Grimm and Dissertations on the Origins of Such Faerie Tales. Lyra scanned the table of contents, searching for the myth of King Shetland’s Mines.

Flipping to the correct page, she began reading the post-story notes. They were dry, and Lyra began to feel herself drift. She snapped her eyes open with a jolt, feeling a presence nearby.

“Wow, you’re jumpy,” Colgate said, sitting in the chair next to Lyra. “Something I shouldn’t be reading in that?”

“Just tired.” Lyra wiped some drool off her chin. “Oh, horse apples,” she said with a look of dawning realisation. “We were doing the photo thing today.”

“Yeah we were. Everypony else is at the Snapshot waiting on us. Good thing I decided to take the scenic route or I’d have missed you.”

Lyra sighed, and packed the books in her saddlebag. “I suppose we should get going then.” She slid off her stool and shouldered the bag.

***

The Snapshot was a small, dark building nestled into a back corner of Ponyville. Lyra had been there a few times in the short time since it had opened to get some promotional shots of her for various concerts and events. It never made much of an impact on her, but it was cheaper than the other photography studio in town. The amount of effort the photographer put into her work also seemed higher than the other studio as well.

As Colgate swung open the door, Lyra could see her nieces, uncle, and brother-in-law waiting. She felt a flush come over her at the thought of making them wait so long. She passed a trio of well-dressed unicorns sleeping on a bench, dapper hats covering their faces. Her tail drooped between her legs – not only had she made her family wait, but these stallions too.

“Here we all are,” her sister piped, throwing her arm around Lyra’s neck. “I, uh… I think since it took so long we’ll only take the one pic.”

An elegant pinkish earth pony mare stuck her head out from behind a curtain that partitioned the studio. “Oh! Well that’s fine.” Her voice had a burr to it that Lyra could never pin down. “One picture, five bits.” She slipped out from behind the curtain. “Don’t just stand there, sillies. Get over there to that black curtain.”

The Heartstrings family huddled in front of the curtain she pointed out, rearranging themselves after a bit of trouble. The small room was cramped, but they made do. The pink mare had to pull the camera back to get them all in frame, almost pinning herself to the table behind her. Uncle Heartstrings positioned himself in between the two sisters and Lyra gently poked him in the back.

“Why isn’t dad here?” she asked in a low voice.

“An emergency in the capital or somesuch.” His voice had the rough edges of a San Palominoan farmer.

“Oy there! Stop talkin’ and smile, eh?” The Heartstrings put on their best smiles as the camera flashed twice. “Yeah, think we’re good here,” the photographer said as she pushed the camera lense in. “Nothing at all like pulling teeth – short, easy, and painless.” She either did not see or chose to ignore Colgate’s unamused glare at that comparison. “Come back in a few days and we’ll have a big old picture that says ‘Heartstrings Family’, yeah?”

There were nods all around and the family soon made their way out the door. Lyra stayed behind a moment, lost in thought. Mind still elsewhere, she took a step forward only to be stopped by the sharp rap of wood on her knee. She followed the smooth, black rod to its owner: one of the sleeping stallions.

He wore a pinstriped suit and vest and a bowler cap. His horn poked out from under the cap, pushing it back on his head. A bushy mustache curled from his muzzle, a dark blue to match the pastel shades of his coat and suit. Something about him was familiar to Lyra.

“Heartstrings Family?” he asked, peering at her from under the brim of his hat. “As in Lyra Heartstrings?”

“Ye-e-s…” Lyra began to feel distinctly uncomfortable. “Why do you ask?”

The stallion adjusted his stance to look at her better, flipping his cane back up to rest on his shoulder. “Because we’ve met.”

“Doctor Trotson?” Lyra’s eyes flicked over to the doorway, where Colgate was standing. “What are you doing in town?”

Trotson smiled. It bore the appearance of being pleasant but not the feeling. “My new term on the security council just began, so I’m in need of a new portrait. The photo studios in Canterlot charge a hoof and an antler to begin with so I decided to come here.” He gestured at the photographer. “Plus, the lovely Miss Daydancer here is an acquaintance of mine and I will take any excuse to see her.”

A lantern lit in Lyra’s head and she remembered where she knew him. Doctor Trotson, head of the Ministry of Intelligence. Someponies called it “the Secret Police”. Maybe they were right. When Trotson had led the questioning of her, Colgate, and Twinkleshine after the royal wedding, he’d been much more cold and brutal. Now he was nothing but charm and sophistication.

“And I’ve been rather interested in how you two have been getting along in the last few months.” Trotson stood, laying his cane on the bench. “Losing control of oneself, to be trapped in your own body as another directs it… It’s a terrifying experience.” The edge in his voice showed that he was speaking from experience.

“I’ve been doing fine,” Colgate chimed in. “Had some nightmares for a few weeks, but I think I’m over it for the most part.”

“Good to hear. You must have the constitution of a bison, madam.” He leered suggestively for a moment as he said, “A very attractive quality in a mare.” He winked.

“I’m married.” Colgate’s voice was flat and venomous. “And I think I hear my husband and children calling me, if you don’t mind.”

“Very well,” Trotson said, removing his hat and giving a curtsy to her. “A pleasure speaking to you as always, my dear.” As Colgate huffed her way back out the door, he turned his attention to the seafoam unicorn still standing in the middle of the studio. “And what of you, Miss Heartstrings- any strange compulsions or thoughts?”

Lyra was surprised to hear herself talk. “Actually… I do. More like obsessions, though.” The two ponies on the bench pushed their hats up to peer at the mare. She didn’t notice, however, and continued. “Like… I keep having dreams. Really weird ones. They’re all…” All what? How could she possibly describe them? Her cheeks burned in foolishness. “Weird,” she finished awkwardly.

The two ponies on the bench exchanged glances as Trotson tapped his chin in thought. “You said obsessions too. What of them?”

Lyra scratched the back of her head. “Like… A song stuck in my head. It isn’t finished, and I feel like I have to finish it. Write the ending. And there’s this word. Gibberish really, but it won’t get out of my head.”

“What word?”

“Kukures.” An acute case of déjà vu swept over Lyra as she said this, mind drifting back to her morning spent at the library.

He shook his head. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of that word. But to me it sounds like a form of post-traumatic stress disorder. Are you aware of it?” She nodded in response. “Good. Now then, I know a great many psychologists, but only one lives here in Ponyville. I believe it’d do you good to go meet her.”

Lyra’s tail flicked in happiness. “Really? You think it’s just that?”

“Of course, dear.” He floated a notepad and quill from Daydancer’s table and scribbled something on it before ripping the page out. It hovered over to Lyra, and she took it into her yellow aura of magic. “Just tell her that her friend Trotson sent you. She’ll understand.”

“Thank you. You don’t know how much this will help,” she said as she started for the door.

The tinkle of the bell signaled her exit, and Trotson slowly turned to his companions. “Keep an eye on her. If she’s triggered… Well, you know what to do.” He smiled broadly, looking back at Daydancer. “So! Need a few portraits, love.”

The Doctors Feel Good

These chairs are really comfortable, Lyra reflected as she leaned back. They may have been a garish purple colour, but they must have been made from pure cloud stuffing. She tried to tap her hoof on the floor to ease off some nervous energy, but she found herself sinking too far back into the chair to reach it.

Lyra was still struggling to escape the cushiony vortex when the faint tinkle of a bell and a clear voice calling her name out reached her ears. She waved a hoof with a yell of ‘Coming!’, and continued fighting the pull of the comfort singularity.

“Hold on, let me help you.” Lyra felt somepony grab one of her flailing hooves and pull her out of the chair. She fell forward, almost knocking over her savior.

“Er, sorry,” she said, picking herself off the other pony.

The other pony was a handsome, older earth pony mare with a dark grey coat and a much lighter grey mane, which was done up in a bun. She wore a pair of silver glasses that intensified her sharp blue gaze. She stood up and adjusted herself with a smile. “That chair is always giving ponies trouble. I don’t think they filled it up with enough clouds if you ask me. Lyra Heartstrings, no? You can call me Casey.”

Casey extended a hoof and Lyra shook it. “Casey,” she repeated. “Is that short for something?”

“Yes, unfortunately. My office is this way. Shall we?” She gestured down the hall. Lyra started down and paused to look back at her. When Casey nodded, the unicorn continued until they reached her office.

“Take a seat,” Casey said as they entered her office.

The office was small, as Lyra had expected. There was a window with open shutters looking out over a duck pond on the wall opposite the door. Hanging on the wall above a dark green couch, was a painting of a regal-looking airship. If one were to squint, one could see the faint form of an alicorn at the bow looking off into the clouds with a spyglass.

“It’s the Seaworthy,” Casey commented. “Ever hear of it?”

Lyra paused. It sounded familiar, but she couldn’t remember any stories from school. “Not that I remember.”

“It was a great airship, built by the finest craftsmen of the Alicorn Empire. One tempest-tossed night, the Seaworthy ran aground. The Imperial forces never got around to looking for it due to various wars brewing. There was a Daring-Do book about the ship. My daughter used to read it all the time, before her company got worse.” Casey sat down and gestured for Lyra to follow suit.

“You said Doctor Trotson referred you here,” she said, flipping through the papers on her clipboard. “And that you have insomnia, night terrors, acute depression, and anxiety attacks. If I understand, your mother recently passed away?”

Lyra nodded. “Yeah. It, uh, it wasn’t a heart attack. It was something like… card something.”

“Cardiac arrest?”

“I think.”

Casey nodded, and scribbled something on her clipboard. “Diseases of the mind have a tendency to be passed along in families. Did your mother have anything like that?”

“Rapid mood swings. I, uh… I have that too sometimes.”

Another nod, another scribble. “What about this insomnia? Could you detail the history of it for me?”

Lyra put her hoof to her chin, thinking. “It started about a week ago, right before my mother died. It’s been getting worse every night. At first I woke up at five, but now I’m waking up closer to three.”

It seemed as though Casey knew only how to nod and write things down. “Hmm. Changelings feed off of love – you know this, right?” At Lyra’s affirmative, she continued. “They feed on all sorts of love, including lust to an extent. What types of ponies are you attracted to?”

“Guys, I guess. I don’t have much of a, uh… yeah.”

“Any specific type of guy?”

Lyra frowned, narrowing her gaze. “Uh… Flank Sinatrot’s pretty hot.” She paused for a moment, frown growing deeper. “Why does this matter?”

“If there is some Changeling interference, they could be feeding idly off any ambient emotions you have. Also I’m a psychologist. I have to be nosy about these things.” She smiled cheerfully, but Lyra didn’t sense any cheerfulness behind it.

There were quite a bit of questions along the line, all related to Lyra’s health and past. It was all tedious, and she found herself wondering if there was ever going to be a point to all this.

“Magic.” The word was unexpected, and Lyra snapped out of boredom to look up from the dark rug.

“Magic?”

“Magic,” Casey repeated. “Magic’s in all of us, and it amplifies our special talent. You may have other talents, but that one special talent… That’s what the magic works on.”

“Yeah? This is magic kindergarten stuff.” Lyra’s voice was a little harsher and sarcastic than she had intended.

“Your cutie mark is a harp, or maybe a lyre. Pardon me; I’m musically ignorant. Tone-deaf to boot. Your special talent is playing the harp or lyre. Magic has a habit of affecting the brain. Therefore, because of your emotional trauma you’ve become obsessed with this song. You say you didn’t compose it, but you did – more accurately, your subconscious did with the help of your magic talent.

“Your insomnia and dreams are also because of the various traumas you’ve experienced in the last few months.” She shrugged. “Simple really.”

Lyra stayed silent a moment, long enough for Casey to rip off a bit of paper and offer it to the other mare. “I think they’ll help,” she said. “It won’t make everything go away; but it can help you cope with it.” Lyra gave a skeptical look, and Casey moved the slip closer. “Please, at least try.”

She sighed and took the slip, wrapping it in a gold aura of magic. “I’ll try then.”

Casey smiled. “Then you’re on your first step.”

***

Lyra glanced down at the piece of paper Casey had given her. She still couldn’t make out the scrawling letters, but she had a feeling the pharmacist would. Ponies in the medical profession had a strange ability to decipher each other’s arcane writings.

The pharmacy she was going to was old, and going to it was practically a Ponyville tradition. Lyra had come here many a time to get aspirin, mare necessities, and other sundries. She always felt the name was uncreative, though. Ponyville Pharmacy wasn’t the catchiest name, but she guessed simplicity won over catchiness sometimes.

A clear tinkle of bells rang as Lyra entered the shop. It appeared to be empty – the few aisles it had were barren of life, and the counter behind which the pharmacist usually sat was empty. Scratching her head at this mystery, Lyra took a step forward. Almost as if on cue, a blue and green head popped up from under the counter.

“Hoy, smallfry!” Lyra fell backwards with a surprised yell, landing painfully on her rump. “Oh dear, you aren’t Pinkie Pie.”

“Evidently not,” Lyra murmured as she picked herself up. Her heart was still racing from the sudden appearance of the pharmacist. She trotted over to the counter and took a better look at him.

The pharmacist was a dull blue, with an equally dull green mane. A thick framed pair of glasses sat precariously on his muzzle, warping his eyes to an almost-comical size. “Sorry about that. Pinkie Pie just left to get her purse and I was expecting her.” He rubbed his head as he smiled sheepishly. “So, how can I help you?”

The name tag on his white jacket read ‘Chemist Tree’. Lyra winced at the pun. Instead of saying anything about it, she simply slid the slip of paper Casey had given her. Chemist took it and scanned it.

“Cel-lestia!” His nervous green eyes flicked between her and the paper. “This is steep. I don’t even carry any of this. In fact,” he said as he set the paper down, “you don’t need any of this. I know exactly what’ll do the same job with much less pain.”

He disappeared behind the counter again, and exited through a door to the side. He gestured for her to follow, and she did. Chemist started kicking a ladder over to a shelf on one of the side aisles. Climbing it, he spoke again. “See, that’s the problem with ponies these days. Medicate all the problems. They forget we spent thousands of years working all these problems out on our own, with none of this rubbish.” He looked down at her. “Catch what I throw at you, okay? Anyway, my dad’s big thing ’fore he went away was: Find the natural way to do things. Like the zebra lady that – watch out – lives in that creepy forest. Of course we aren’t quite as natural.”

Dismounting the ladder, he landed next to her and picked up the bags she was holding. He returned to his home behind the counter, and she followed him to the other side.

“Now then, these three medicines will do what she wanted five medicines to do.” Chemist held up a red bag with a complicated name on it. “These guys? I just call ’em red chewies. You chew ’em. Don’t swallow, chew. They work on the nerve receptors in your brain and kind of rewire the ones that don’t quite work right.” He set that bag down and displayed a pouch that read ‘PLEASANT DREAMS BY LUNA’. Below that was a disclaimer in much smaller print: ‘Not actually approved by the Princess’. “This is a basic sleep aid. Take two before bed, preferably with water. If not water, then nothing with caffeine.”

He held up the last item, a generic looking white pill bottle. “Now this here, this is something I want you to be careful with. Any side-effects, I want you to stop taking them, come here, and talk to me. This is an anxiety pill. It may say anti-depressant, but for you it’s an anxiety pill.”

Lyra nodded, and he swept the items into a bag with a smile. “Time to check out, dear.” He named a sum, and Lyra began to count out the bits.

“I’m sorry about your father’s death,” she said absent-mindedly.

“I never said he died,” Chemist replied, “only that he went away.”

Lyra paused and looked up at him. “Went where?”

The pharmacist pony only shrugged. “Away. To be honest, nopony really knows where. He was a medic for the royal guards. One day he just left. His old sergeant swears up and down it was some Changeling thing.” He shrugged again. “I just sell ponies drugs. I don’t know and don’t care about what goes on out there. I care about what goes on in here.” He tapped Lyra’s breastbone. “Well, not your body in particular, just… bodies in general.” Another shrug. “I’m an old pony. Never mind my babble.”

***

Lyra returned home, thoughts of the pharmacist’s story racing through her mind. What if she were to suffer the same fate? Just wander off one day, never to be seen again? As she stepped through the threshold to her room, she realised something.

She didn’t believe Casey.

It was strange, something like that being a sudden revelation, but it was true. Despite the silk-toned, pleasant reassurances, Lyra knew she was wrong. She wasn’t having some nervous breakdown because of stress. The Changelings had done something to her, and this was the result.

Lyra sat on her bed, hoof running anxiously over the checkered sheets. She stayed like this a while, trying to process everything. Her mind refused to stand still, racing from one thought to another, the events of the day crashing together.

Day gave way to night and anxiety gave way to sleepiness. Lyra took her new pills and settled down for the night, bundled like a newborn foal in her blankets. Soon, sleep overtook her.

Her dream that night was strange and disjointed. It went by in a flurry of colours and indecipherable shapes. The song was there, muffled and slowed as though it were played underwater. She heard “kukures” said by a distant voice, accompanied by flashes of green. With one final clarion call of “kukures”, Lyra woke with a jolt.

Her fur was sticking to her sweaty body. She felt sick to her stomach. As was becoming a nightly ritual, Lyra levitated her clock over. The hands pointed to 2:15.

Letting the clock drop, she buried her head in her hooves and cried.

An Old Friend

Shock, hollowness, and a bit of relief: this strange mixture of emotions were all Lyra could feel. The funeral was over; her mother was buried. She went through the expected niceties – a hoofshake there, a hug here – robotically. The faces of the ponies expressing their sympathies blurred together in a confusing jumble.

She stood at the back of the crowded room. The sound of so many ponies in such a small place was overwhelming. The wake had started a short while ago, and most of the ponies had stayed for the free food and booze and not out of any obligation they felt. Lyra didn’t feel like cider though – and even if she did, the warning labels on her new medicines specifically cautioned against the mixing of the two. None of the drinking ponies seemed to have any desire to talk to her, but that was perfectly fine by her.

“Lyra!” a soft voice with the hint of a Vanhoover accent reached her ears. Lyra glanced to the side with a start. The speaker was a white unicorn with a curly, soft pink mane. The manestyle reminded her of BonBon, which was strange as it was usually the other way around.

“Twinkleshine!” She hugged her old friend with a warmth that had been missing from her earlier hugs.

“How ya been doin’?” Twinkleshine asked, blue eyes sparkling.

Lyra very nearly lied, but at the last moment, her mouth betrayed her. “Not well.”

“Yeh, I can see that.” She glanced over to the cider barrels. “I’m gonna grab a pint. Or two. When I get back, let’s get to some catchings up, yeh?” Twinkleshine trotted off to the cider barrel, and returned with two mugs of cider as promised. She offered one to Lyra, who just shook her head. Through gulps of cider, she asked, “So you been in that concert? I bought the record. None too shabby, yeh? Aside from that, what you been up to?”

Lyra shrugged. “Not a whole lot. Just trying to stay sane.”

Twinkleshine nodded, stroking her cider mustache thoughtfully. “I can see that. Must be hard on ya. I can’t even imagine.” She shook her head and finished her first mug, setting it on a tray a passing yellow filly was carrying.

“Well, what’s new with you?” Lyra asked, eager to move the topic of conversation away from herself.

“I only got accepted to be court astronomer in the Starswirl the Bearded wing of the Royal Archives!”

“That’s great!” Lyra smiled, actual enthusiasm filling her. Something started to niggle her at the back of her mind.

“Some fella from Los Pegasus almost got it, but he got caught with a mare of the night in one’a’them casinos. They felt it wasn’t right to have court astronomer represented by somepony of such… poor morals.” She laughed, and took a giant chug of cider.

“Would getting drunk count as poor morals?” Lyra eyed the now-empty second cup of cider, which joined its cousins on a different passing filly’s tray.

“I only get drunk on the weekends, and that’s at home. I have a cute l’il stallion who works for me and he takes care of the weekends. He just doesn’t know it yet,” she added with a sly wink.

“Ah,” was all Lyra had to say to that.

“Oh, ’fore I get too dickered to remember: I don’t get much time off and I really wanna catch up with ya, but I gotta go back tonight for my first shift ever. Maybe… eh, you wanna come back to Canterlot with me for a bit?”

Lyra had a feeling the other mare was a fair ways along to being ‘dickered’ already. As she opened her mouth to say no, something clicked in her mind. The library of Starswirl the Bearded, full of reprints of rare, arcane texts. Anything you could imagine was in there.

Including – hopefully – something more on kukures.

“Of course!” She hoped she didn’t sound too eager.

“Yeeee, can’t hardly wait,” Twinkleshine said, slowly edging into the crowd, eyes on the cider barrel. “It’ll be like magic college all over again. Or the Royal Wedding, only minus the mind control and Changelings.” With that, she was swallowed up by the stream of other ponies.

Her friend gone, Lyra made a half-hearted attempt at mingling. She didn’t know half of them as well as she would like, and she liked less than half of them half as well as they deserved. In her distracted state, she bumped into one of the filly waitresses, knocking over a tray of mugs. To her relief, they were all empty.

“Sorry.” Casting a look down, she saw that the filly was the very pegasus she had saved back when all this began.

“Oh, hey Miss Lyra!” She scoured her mind for the filly’s name.

“Hi, Scootaloo. What are you doing serving cider?”

“Apple Bloom’s sister said we could if we didn’t drink any of it. Just between you and me, I don’t even like cider,” she said with a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. “Anyway, we’re trying to get our cutie marks in beverage serving. I don’t really like that idea though.”

Lyra nodded. “Did things work out with your mom?”

“Yeah… Didn’t even notice the scooter was new.” She glanced over Lyra’s shoulder. “Oop! Gotta dash! Somepony’s waving at me.”

Lyra looked to see who it was as Scootaloo expertly weaved her way through the crowd. It was the town drunk, Berry Punch. She was standing on a table, moving her hips in what Lyra could only assume was meant to be a sexy dance. Colgate stood nearby, a look of horror frozen on her face.

There was nothing here for Lyra anymore, and the antics of Berry Punch were signaling the end of the wake. Lyra began to slink out of the room, avoiding unwanted attention. The only thing on her mind was packing for her Trip. The capital letter was evident in her mind, and it surprised her. It hadn’t seemed so important to her until just now.

She left the building in a gallop. She had to get home, and fast.

***

As she walked home, Lyra’s mind couldn’t help but wander back to when she first met Twinkleshine. They had both been young mares, barely out of school and into university.

Lyra had been living with somepony else during uni, namely one Octavia Melody. Octavia was a quiet sort, having moved to Canterlot from Prance. The two would talk in hushed tones all night about music theory, and their respective instruments. At the time, Lyra wanted so bad to play her ancestor’s lyre. It was almost all she could talk about to Octavia. Likewise, Octavia had a dream – a rather foolish one, in Lyra’s estimation – of playing stand-up bass in Flank Sinatrot’s band.

Octavia admitted the whole idea was a little foolish. “A foal’s dream in the night,” she poetically called it. And yet, she still held onto it, learning the bass at night and the cello at day. Soon she stopped talking to Lyra when she came home, simply collapsing on the bed, dead for the night.

This had a natural side-effect: Lyra was now lonely. She wasn’t too big on many of the other unicorns at uni, especially not the ones in the magic school. The one mare she tried to befriend was a little awkward and not too fond of other ponies, so Lyra had given up.

In fact, she had almost given up entirely on meeting a new friend when she met Twinkleshine. It was at a local bar, of course. Lyra went there strictly to play her lyre. Occasionally she tried the guitar, but found it unappealing. She still would, if somepony requested it though.

It was a smoky establishment, despite the fact that nopony ever smoked. This always made Lyra feel slightly ill. Either she was developing a smoke allergy, or she had one already.

One night while strumming her harp to an old pegasi tune, a white pony with a pink mane had stumbled up to the stage where she and a drummer sat, playing their music.

“That,” Twinkleshine had drunkenly slurred, “is one fine playing thing.”

Lyra had only nodded with a fake smile.

“You,” Twinkleshine continued, “is one fine player.”

Lyra nodded again.

Twinkleshine plopped her very drunk flank flat on the floor in front of Lyra. “Do you know…” She hiccupped. “Do you know the song ‘Promise’?”

Lyra held up one hoof, and set her lyre down. She levitated her guitar over, and after plugging it in, began to strum it. The chords of ‘Promise’ began to fill the room. The sunglasses-wearing drummer that usually stayed silent during her playing began to supply the much-needed beat to the song. Twinkleshine bobbed her head in time to the song.

Once the final sounds of the guitar faded away, Twinkleshine burped and said, “Y’know, you’re not so bad even.”

Then she passed out.

Lyra dropped her guitar – well, it wasn’t her guitar, it was the establishment’s guitar – and hopped down to Twinkleshine’s side.

“Girl, don’t even worry ’bout her,” the drummer said, flicking his sunglasses down with a spark of magic. “She comes in here every weekend and does that. Usually somepony drags her home.”

“Do you know who?” Lyra asked.

The drummer shrugged. “Always the same. Some powder blue pony. Think the name’s Moondancer.”

“Moondancer ain’t comin’ anymore,” the barkeep called out. “She said last week she was sick of hauling her friend’s flank back home all the time.”

“Oh.” The drummer shook his head. “That girl’s way too uptight.”

“I’ll take her home,” Lyra said. “Does anypony know where she lives?”

“She wears a bracelet with her address,” the barkeep replied. “Probably for times like these.”

Sure enough, on her left foreleg was a bracelet with a Canterlot Heights address. Lyra had to squint to make it out.

“Is there a way I can get a cab?” she asked, trying to pick the other mare up off the ground.

The drummer hopped down from his station behind the drum set. Walking over to her, he said, “There should always be a few outside. Here, let me help.”

The two ponies managed to each loop a foreleg around her neck and half-walk, half-drag her out the door. Outside, they managed to hail a passing hansom. With a great deal of effort, they managed to shove Twinkleshine in the back of the cab. Lyra hopped in beside her.

“Thanks for the help,” she said to the drummer. He smiled and waved at her as he trotted back inside.

The ride was short, and to Lyra’s surprise, Twinkleshine awoke on the first jolt.

“And yer pretty too,” she muttered.

“What?” Lyra asked.

“Oh. It’s the harpy filly. I was jus’ sayin’ to my friend Moon… Hey, where is she?” Twinkleshine’s slur suddenly vanished and she seemed more aware.

“She went home, I guess. They said she said she didn’t want to deal with taking you home all the time.”

“Her loss.”

She remained mostly silent the rest of the ride, but Lyra filled the silence with prattle about music. It was gratifying to her to finally open up again, after weeks of not being able to talk to Octavia. To Twinkleshine’s credit, she listened very well and made the occasional comment.

As the cab pulled up to Twinkleshine’s apartment, the mare looked over at Lyra and said, “You seem like a nice gal. Wanna hang out sometime?”

Lyra smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Sweet. How bout tomorrow sometime?” Lyra nodded in response. “Good! See ya then.”

Twinkleshine hopped out of the cab and Lyra watched. She almost thought that–

–that she was about to run into somepony.

“Oh, sorry,” Lyra said, skidding to a halt. The pony she had almost run into only nodded with a slight smile. “I was totally lost in thought.”

His green eyes glinted in the sun as he replied. “Oh, no worries.”

Lyra stepped around him, and was well on her way to her house when he called out after her.

“Excuse me, miss! I have a question.”

“Yes?” Lyra stopped and turned to face him.

“I was wondering…” He took a step forward. “Have you seen my friend around? Dark fellow, green eyes. Bit of an overbite. Name of Cookie Barrel?”

She frowned, combing through her memory. Nopony similar to his description came to mind. There weren’t many dark-coloured ponies that she could think of.

“No, sorry.”

The other pony sighed. “Ah, well. I’ll find him somewhere. Thanks anyway, ma’am.”

He trotted off. Lyra watched him for a short bit, mulling the short encounter over in her mind. He didn’t seem like a bad sort, and she hoped he found his friend.

She started walking again, setting herself back in the direction of her house.

***

The suitcase was sizable, emblazoned with an insignia of three plastic-wrapped candies. Most would assume they were just hard candies, but Lyra knew better. They were lozenges, which made sense. BonBon’s cutie mark were lozenges – she specialised in voice work and had been on the radio several times.

Regardless of her friend’s work, Lyra had to nick it from BonBon’s room. All she owned were overnight duffle bags, and since the other mare had a dream of becoming a travelling actress, it was a no-brainer to borrow the suitcase. She still stuck a few of her duffle bags inside, for a reason that was important. It was just escaping her.

“Lyra?” She looked up at the sound of her name. BonBon was standing in the doorway. “Why are you packing?”

“I’m… going away for a bit. I… I don’t know how long.”

BonBon frowned, but Lyra didn’t notice. She was too busy packing, adding some mare essentials to her pile of travelling hats and boots. “Ly… What’s wrong with you? I know you’re upset at your mom’s death – but this isn’t like you at all. You’re strong. You don’t run away from things. That’s what I do.” Her voice broke, and she stopped talking, looking away in embarrassment.

Lyra paused in her packing. “I’m not strong, not at all. Remember that concert? I was sick to my stomach for weeks beforehoof, and I couldn’t play without feeling like I had to throw up for a month afterwards. How is that strong?” BonBon didn’t answer. “How is that strong?”

“I worry about you, Lyra.” BonBon’s voice was soft and to the point of braking again. “I care about you. You’re the best friend I have. You’re my only friend who isn’t hanging on to me, hoping I make it big. Whatever you’re planning… Just think about reconsidering, okay? I don’t want to lose you. I-” She stopped talking, looked down, and walked out slowly.

Lyra shut the suitcase, and stared at where her friend had stood. After a long while, she stood and dragged herself and her suitcase away.

***

“You ready?” Twinkleshine’s voice was almost lost in the bustle of the crowd around them.

“I sure am,” Lyra replied. She was more than ready to go. Her eagerness was palpable, her face turned up in that manic grin of hers.

“Let’s go then, yeh?”

The train whistled, and a flower of black smoke blossomed from the engine. Twinkleshine hopped up the steps, levitating Lyra’s suitcase. Lyra followed her, pausing at the top.

As the train began its rhythmic chugging, she looked back over her shoulder. BonBon stood on the platform, watching her leave. It might have been a trick of the light, but Lyra could have sworn she saw the glimmer of tears in her friend’s eyes.

Lyra felt a sharp stab of guilt cut deeply into her heart. And then BonBon disappeared, swallowed by the passing scenery. Her eyes burned with fresh tears.

The Stars in Her Eyes

The sun shone brightly, making the white stones of the city glow. Lyra squinted against the dazzling light. She’d spent so much time in the less-vibrant town of Ponyville that she was unaccustomed to the almost heavenly glow of Canterlot. She slung BonBon’s duffle bag over her shoulder and stepped down from the platform, hooves clattering on the cobblestone. A rickshaw rolled past her, bearing another passenger from the train.

It was good to be back. The city was less grand than it had been when she was a filly, but it was still a thing to behold.

“Good to be back, yeh?” Twinkleshine asked, trotting up alongside Lyra.

“Yeah…”

The other mare glanced down at a nonexistent watch. “They’re not gonna let us into the archives till sundown at the earliest, so you should hang out. See the sights, smooze with old pals… Hey, your dad’s a guard? You could see him, even.”

Lyra nodded with a smile. She’d been thinking about that on the ride over. “I have an idea of who to see already.”

“Well good then! See ya in a while, yeh? Yeh.” With that, Twinkleshine trotted off, disappearing into the crowd.

The unicorn sighed and slowly made her way to her destination. From what she remembered, her friend lived somewhere in the noble district, which meant a good climb upwards to the higher portions of Canterlot.

The early morning sun gave way to the noonday sun, and Lyra finally found herself at her destination. The house she stood before was a fair-sized townhouse. A treble clef inside an “O” was burned into the door, the mark of the mare who lived there. Lyra could hear muffled music from within, rhythmic drums, the slap of a bass, and the mournful sound of a saxophone.

Taking in a deep breath, she rapped on the door. After a few moments, the music stopped and the door slowly opened. A grey mare, standing on her hind legs, studied Lyra with impassive violet eyes. She smiled.

“Salut, Lyra! It’s good to see you. Just how are you?”

“Hi. I’m good. How bout you?”

Octavia shrugged. “Good as well. Please, come in. It’s nice to see you – a bit odd though, with no warning or anything.”

“Yeah,” Lyra said. “I was in town and decided to come see you. I have a little problem, see. I have this song stuck in my head and I can’t get the ending down. I hoped somepony like you – somepony who knows music like the back of their hoof – that they could finish it for me.”

The earth pony frowned. “A collaborative symphony?”

“No, not really. It’s just a short, simple little song, but I can’t get to the resolution. It’s driving me nuts.”

The frown grew, but Octavia nodded. “I can see what I can do, but I can’t quite promise things. Come.” She trotted over to a grand piano that sat far to the side in the foyer.

Octavia’s house was of a fair size, but still lavishly decorated. The few times Lyra had visited she had been in awe at how Octavia could afford such a house. In fact, she was still trying to figure that out. Lead cellist couldn’t pay that much, could it?

The mare plinked a key and sat down. She looked up with expectant eyes. “I assume you have some sheet music?”

“Oh sure do.” Lyra dug through her saddlebag, finally withdrawing a crumpled set of notebook pages. She floated them over to Octavia, who set them on the piano, smoothing out the wrinkles as she did so.

Slowly, Octavia began the song. She went through it a few times, clumsily at first, but soon she was playing like she had always known the song. The musician paused on the final part of the song, repeating over and over, eyes shut and mouth moving noiselessly.

Finally, she laughed. “Tsk, Tavi dear! Over-thinking as always.” She continued the melody and closed it with what seemed a sudden stop.

“It stopped,” Lyra observed.

“Of course it did.” Octavia hopped off the bench with a smile on her face. “It’s meant to begin again. The part you were missing was just the bridge back.”

The unicorn blinked, trying to process this. “Well darn. Now I feel dumb for not noticing that.”

“It happens to the best of us.” Octavia started to walk past Lyra, to a hallway on the opposite end of the room. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable while I make us a pot of tea. Then we can chat, yes?”

Lyra nodded, though Octavia didn’t notice. She glanced around, eyes flicking from one decoration to the other. A hoofful of golden records, a standup bass in one corner, and was that – it was! An autographed picture of Flank Sinatrot himself.

When Octavia returned with the tea, Lyra was bubbling with excitement, her misery forgotten for a moment. “Did you really meet Flank?”

“Oh, yes.” Octavia handed her one of the teacups. “He’s a charming stallion, for the most part. He can be…” She shook her head. “Oh, never mind me. You probably want to know how I met him. I played a few album sessions with my bass…”

Octavia spoke for a few hours on her experimental steps into jazz and meeting legends like Dizzy Geldespie, Louie Hoofstrong, and Nat King Colt. Lyra sat, utterly entranced by the stories. It surprised her a great deal that the otherwise posh mare had a fondness for jazz.

“Jazz is a brilliant form of expression,” she said at one point. “It’s freedom in music form – not chained down by the rules that plague other styles. Jazz is improvisation and improvisation is freedom. You play for yourself, not anypony else.” She fell into such a long silence Lyra thought she had fallen asleep. Then she started up again, giving a short treatise on how jazz improvisation worked.

The whole thing was fascinating, but Lyra found herself running out of time. It was getting close to nighttime, and she still hadn’t found her dad yet. She excused herself, exchanged goodbyes and left in a hurry.

***

Lyra had no intention of stopping on her way to her father’s, but a stallion gave her pause. He was dark blue with vivid green eyes. The same vivid green eyes as… The pony from the steel wagon? No, the pony who stopped her in the streets the other day; the one looking for his friend.

“Hey!” she called out. He paused and looked at her, frowning. “Did you ever find your friend?” she asked, trotting up to him.

“My… friend?” he asked, frowning even deeper.

“Yeah. Cookie Barrel, I think you said?”

The stallion did nothing but continue to frown. “Look, miss, I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“But you were in Ponyville the other day,” Lyra sputtered.

“Ponyville? Why the bugger would I go to Ponyville of all places?”

Lyra couldn’t think of anything to say. She just stared at him, aghast. It was the stallion from the other day; she knew it! He looked exactly the same. How could… How could he…

A horrible feeling came over Lyra. Her throat tightened so much she could hardly breathe, and her heart began to go a thousand miles a second. Her chest tightened as well, like a fist was clutching her heart. A wave of dizziness swept over her. Despite her tight throat, she felt like she was about to vomit.

This can’t be happening, Lyra thought. All of a sudden, she felt the soft touch of a hoof on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw the stallion standing over her, a look of both fear and worry on his face.

“Miss? Are you alright?”

The tightness in her chest loosened a little, as did her throat. “I’m… not fine,” she managed. “I have anxiety attacks. Sorry to worry you.”

The pills, she thought. Setting Bonbon’s duffel bag down, she dug through it. Withdrawing a small container of pills, she popped one in her mouth and swallowed hard. For a moment, it felt like it stuck in her throat, making her wince.

“Do you need me to stay with you?” the stallion asked, still hovering over her with a worried look.

“No, no, I’m fine. I just need to collect my thoughts.” Lyra coughed, the pill finally dropping to her stomach. The stallion nodded, and walked off, still glancing back to make sure she was okay. She waved him on, still sitting on her hind legs.

Clutching her head in her hooves, Lyra let out a quiet sob. She just wanted this to end. She wanted to be normal again. No anxiety, no sadness, just the Old Lyra. All smiles and jumps for joy.

Whatever happened to her? Lyra thought. Whatever happened to the way I used to be?

The answer was obscenely simple: It went away when the changelings took her body away from her.

Her shadow was long when she finally stood up and continued on her way.

***

Lyra sat on the steps to the muddy-brick townhouse, saddlebags sitting on her lap. She was in the ward where the royal guards lived when not on duty. If her memory was right, dad would be coming home –

Now. A pale green unicorn clad in bronze armour was making his way down the otherwise empty street. His mane was cut in the plain, severe manner of the army, and it bounced slightly as he walked. His gold eyes were full of good humour, and they twinkled as he took notice of her.

“Lyra!” he shouted, breaking into a run. He swept her up in a hug, her bag clattering to the ground, as she was wholly unprepared.

“Dad,” she said, voice muffled by his pressing of her head into his chest.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” He let her loose. “I’m just happy to see you again. It’s been ages. Couldn’t really visit during the war.” Father Heartstrings smiled sadly before glancing up at his door. “Here, let’s go inside and sit a while.”

Lyra’s eyes traced the arc of the falling sun as he did so. “I, uh… I can’t stay too long, ’cos I got places to be later.” She looked back at him with a small smile. “But I’ll try to stay as long as I can.”

“Good! I’ll put on some tea.” His voice became muffled as he slipped in through the slim door. Lyra’s stomach rumbled in protest at the thought of more tea.

The flat was cramped and rather old, a far cry from Octavia’s lovely townhouse. It made Lyra want to wince that her father lived in such a state of disarray. He kept the flat nice and clean, but it was still an awful-looking place to live, in her opinion.

“Here we are,” he said, coming out of the kitchen just a room away. He hovered a pair of steaming tea-cups next to him.

“Thank you,” Lyra said, accepting one as her ear twitched slightly.

“I really wish I could’ve made the funeral,” he said, voice tightening. “I was out on a bug hunt and didn’t get the news until I got back to Canterlot.”

“The only pony you got mad was Uncle, and he already doesn’t like you to begin with.”

Her father simply nodded, a troubled expression crossing his face. He must have been thinking about his poor relation to Uncle, his brother-in-law.

They chatted a bit about the family. He was, of course, interested in what his grandchildren were up to, and Lyra was more than happy to oblige.

“I wanted to give you something,” he said after a while.

“Oh?” Lyra frowned. She didn’t quite know what he could possibly give her, except-

Except the family lyre.

He took it down gingerly from the scuffed and torn wall, and hovered it over to her. She took it in her own wrap of magic, placing it on her lap. Lyra plucked experimentally at one string. The sound that emanated was pretty beyond her belief. It hadn’t been used it years, and yet it was still in perfect tune. And what a tune it had!

“I don’t know what to say.” Her voice was soft, almost lost beneath the string’s vibration.

“Don’t say anything. Play.”

Her hooves moved of their own accord, plucking the strings and playing a beautiful melody. The song Octavia had finished for her. It seemed like the moment of playing the song would last forever, those notes stopping time itself. Then the ding-dong of the great clock tower rang, and that feeling was shattered.

“Horse apples,” Lyra said. “I really gotta get going.” She could have sworn it was earlier than it was. That song had eaten away all her time. Strange, it didn’t seem very long at all when she played it.

Packing away the lyre, she looked up at her father. “Sorry to-”

She stopped, smiling. He was asleep, a bit of drool escaping his open lips.

“Sleep tight, dad.”

***

Twinkleshine was waiting for her at the gate that led to the royal archives. “Ready?” she asked.

“I guess so.” Lyra shifted from one hoof to the other nervously.

Her friend placed a hoof up to a small engraving inset in the centre of the gate where the two halves met. There was a chime and a brief glow before the gates swung open. Twinkleshine trotted through with a smirk. Lyra stepped carefully through, half-expecting to be zapped by some sort of magical force that didn’t quite like her being there. Nothing happened though, and she smiled unsteadily before continuing.

There was a terraced pathway to the towering archives that wound around a hoofful of statues. Snarling chimaeras, regal alicorns, militaristic griffins, and slender draconequuses towered over the path. Lyra slowed to admire them a bit before catching up with Twinkleshine. There was something about pre-Mare in the Moon era art that was missing from modern art. Lyra couldn’t put her hoof on it, but she had always preferred the music and paintings of the previous era.

Twinkleshine paused at the entry to the library, and turned back to face Lyra. “See that tower?” she asked, pointing to a tower on the far end of the building. It was tall and from Lyra’s perspective, it appeared to have a black line cutting the rounded top in half.

“What’s with the top?”

“There’s this big mechanism that folds the top of the tower in so the telescope can see the stars,” Twinkleshine explained as she inserted the magical key to open the giant doors leading to the library’s lobby. There was a click and the door swung open of its own accord. “Here we are. Let’s go in, yeh?”

“Yeh.” Lyra followed her friend in.

The library was larger than Lyra expected. The bookcases were easily three stories high and rolling ladders were required to reach the top. Each case was crammed tight with ancient, yellowed tomes.

“I have no idea where to start,” she said to herself.

“There’s the Catalog.” Twinkleshine pointed straight ahead.

In the centre of the gigantic lobby was an old, twisted tree. It was not very tall, only about half the height of the bookcases, but it made up in width what it lacked in height. The whorls of its trunk somewhat resembled the face of a monkey. It was an Ent, one so ancient it had almost slipped into the sleep of trees.

“He knows a heckuva lot, yeh.”

“Okay, thanks,” Lyra said, starting for the Catalog. “Where’s the tower, anyway?”

Twinkleshine gestured to the right side of the lobby. “Just follow the sun-and-moon symbols to the east wing and you’ll find it. See ya later!” She scampered off, following her own directions. She was a little unsteady, making Lyra wonder if she had been drinking too much.

Lyra was uneasy. The Catalog was larger than it had seemed before, and the whorls were definitely a face of some sort. It seemed to be looking right at her expectantly.

It was… well, creepy, for lack of a better word. She’d certainly heard of Ents before, but she’d never had the opportunity to meet one. Much less the Catalog that the library had been built around.

“Er,” she started. “I don’t suppose you speak.”

Raroom, the Catalog boomed. “In sooth it does. What do thou desire?”

“I need a book to help me find out the meaning of a really old, obscure word.”

“It knoweth many books of these. It knoweth the text of the books. What word dost thou seek?”

“Kukures.”

Booraroom. The Catalog fell silent, and Lyra thought the whorls deepened into an odd frown. After a long while, it spoke once more. “There is no such word that I know of.”

She cradled her head in her hooves, feeling a throbbing there. All this for nothing. That hasty exit, the hurt she gave BonBon… She needed to get away, get her mind off this. She needed to rest.

She needed Twinkleshine.

***

The white mare was glued to her giant telescope, peering through the viewer to pilfer the secrets of the universe. Her pink tail swished back-and-forth excitedly.

“Something going on?” Lyra asked as she entered the astronomy room.

“Just a rare planetary alignment. Ain’t nothing too unusual.” Twinkleshine punctuated this last remark with a wink before turning back to observe the planets.

“Sounds cool.” Lyra shrugged her saddlebags off and laid on her back, gazing into the stars. Without even realising it, she levitated her new-old lyre onto her chest, laying her front hooves on it. Slowly plucking the strings, she began to play it.

There was no real melody to it, not at first. The longer she played the more of a melody she teased out. Soon there was a beautiful, ethereal song echoing through the chamber. The music of the spheres.

Lyra was surprised at herself – this wasn’t The Song, and it was good, yet entirely original. How could her subconscious be a better composer than she was?

The mystical twang of strings soon died, slowly bringing themselves to a halt. Lyra felt her eyes grow heavy, and she fell asleep.

Lyra suddenly snapped her eyes open. Twinkleshine stood over her, face almost touching Lyra’s. Her eyes glowed green, like… like a changeling’s.

Lyra’s fur matted to her as sweat poured down her body. Her heart pounded, and she felt sick inside.

A bit of drool dribbled onto Lyra’s chest.

“Save me,” Twinkleshine hissed. “Save me, Lyra. You’re the only one who can.”

Lyra woke with a jolt. Twinkleshine glanced down at her, still enrapt in the beauty of the stars.

“Somethin’ wrong?” she asked.

“No… nothing’s wrong,” Lyra answered. She took in a deep breath, trying to steady her heart.

It had just been a dream. And yet, it felt so real. None of her other dreams had felt so real.

Shivering, Lyra curled up again, trying to go back to sleep. Sleep that never came.